Fear.

An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain or a threat.

Fear.

An emotion I am becoming accustomed to.

Back to surgery

The morning of March 23^rd my plastic surgeon called around 8 am. He confirmed I was an ‘add-on’ to the surgery schedule and needed to be at the hospital by 10:30 am. My surgery, scheduled for 11:30 am, is now deemed an emergency, because not only have I been weeping out of my incision sites for the past two and a half days, we are also now in the middle of a pandemic.

To say I am scared to death is an understatement.

During the operation my surgeon will remove the expanders, clean out the bilateral infection and place the dreaded drains back in my body.  Make no mistake, this infection is bad. It burns. It itches. I’m oozing and swollen. As I pack a gallon size plastic bag with hand sanitizer, Clorox wipes, gloves and a face mask, I have so much fear and trepidation in my heart.

I keep praying. I ask the Lord to protect me during this next leg of my journey.     

Arriving at the hospital

I told my husband I wanted to drive us to the hospital. I was a nervous wreck and wanted control over something that morning and riding shotgun was not going to cut it.

The thought of going into a medical facility with Covid-19 running rampant did not sit well with me. My surgery was being performed in a county that had a high rate of cases already, and were on the rise each day. I was also returning to the place that gave me an unexpected parting gift after my last surgery – a nasty infection.

These two facts had me in knots, but once again… like so many other times during this journey… I had no choice.

I had to keep moving forward and trust in God.

Once we arrived at the hospital and parked the car, I put on my face mask, shoved my driver’s license, insurance card and a pair of blue rubber gloves in a plastic baggie in my pocket. I made my way towards the hospital entrance with my husband by my side. This was the second time we were at this facility within a month to have surgery.

Unfortunately, this time was different.

This time my husband could not escort me in, comfort me as I waited to be called back for my procedure or watch the patient board in the family waiting area to see how my surgery was going or when it was finished.

Nope, this time he had to stand at the doorway of the hospital and watch me walk down the corridor alone.  Because of Covid-19, this time he had to sit and wait in the car until my surgeon called to tell him I was out of surgery.

There would be no opportunity to shout my triumphant mantra to my supporters as I proceeded alone.

Walking into the hospital

With my heart in my throat and beads of sweat on my brow, I pulled down my mask, kissed my husband goodbye, then put it back into place. I began walking down the corridor to enter into the hospital, not daring to turn around for one last look at my husband for fear I would begin to cry. It wasn’t lost on me that this stretch of walkway between leaving my husband and reaching my destination inside the facility must be what it is like to cross over to the other side. Completely on your own, no one around, eerily quiet, bright white light and walking into the unknown.

As I entered into the hospital, I was stopped at the front door by a guard questioning my reason for being there (sort of like the hospital equivalent of Peter at the Pearly Gates). He directed me to another desk where a congenial young man asked me my name. I told him and he asked me to spell it. After spelling my name he smiled with his eyes and said, ‘my last name is the same as your maiden name! I’ve never met anyone with my last name’. In a way, it was like he was put there in that moment to somehow be my ‘family’, take my mind off of everything and make me smile under my mask.

A different feeling at check-in

I ascended a flight of steps to the check-in desk. The thought of pushing an elevator button and getting into an elevator just was not appealing to me.  I didn’t want to touch ANYTHING. As I approached the desk, there was no one in the waiting area. They didn’t even have me sit down or pull out my driver’s license or insurance card.  They did however ask me to sign some forms. I searched my pockets and realized that I had forgotten my own pen at home.

Damn it!

I stared at the pens on the desk for what felt like an eternity. The woman sensed my uneasiness in picking up a pen and told me the ones with the caps on were new and no one had touched them. Oh really? They just magically jumped out of the box they came in and did the cha-cha slide onto the counter?

I don’t think so…

I took a deep breath through my mask and picked up the pen that might as well have been kryptonite, signed what needed to be signed and then promptly asked her for hand sanitizer after I was finished using it.

Prepping for surgery

I kept reminding myself that everyone in this facility was just as uneasy around me as I was around them.  You could see the concern in the eyes of the nurses. I went through the same routine as my first surgery, except this time things moved much faster. There was almost no other patients waiting for surgery. It was a ghost town.

My doctor came in, we exchanged quick pleasantries, he had me sign forms saying I understood what he was about to do. I was super anxious and was on the verge of tears.  I told him I was worried. He said they all were because of Covid-19, but it was going to be ok.

After changing into my hospital gown I had two nurses working with me, taking vitals and asking questions. One of them recognized me from my first surgery. They both tried to keep me calm, making small talk. They did an excellent job. Before I knew it, I was being wheeled down to the operating room. This time there was no family around to give me one last hug or wish me well.  This time, I just had tears running down my face and fear in my heart. 

Please Lord, let this go well. Let them get this all cleaned out and under control. Please let me make it through.

After being wheeled into the operating room and switching from bed to operating table, the nurses made small talk. One had recognized me from my first surgery. The room was cold and they put blankets over me. I noticed a random hair on the operating table and flicked it off with my fingers, thinking, is it safe to have surgery on this table? I was too nervous to speak up, so I just laid back and let them strap me in for this ride.

As they put the mask that administered anesthesia over my nose and mouth, I recall starting to hyperventilate with a few tears running down my face. I felt like I was having a panic attack in that moment. I remember turning my head and fighting the mask a bit to breathe, while the nurse anesthetist held it into place. Then everything went to black.

Waking up in recovery

I was crying uncontrollably as I woke up in recovery. All the fear and anxiety I had prior to surgery, carried over to when I began to wake up.

 Although I was crying, I clearly remember thinking, thank you Lord! I made it through.

My next thought was, was the infection cleaned out and under control? My doctor was there and said yes, we had made the right choice. Everything was ok. My next thought was, are the drains back in? Yes, they most certainly were.

My post-anesthesia care nurse was terrific. He was extremely kind and attentive. He slowly got me back to the land of the living and mentioned that his young son had the same birthday as me.  Our birthday was coming up in less than two weeks – mine was going to be a major milestone, 50. 

He asked what my pain level was. I said that I was ok; however, under my left breast was burning even more than it was prior to surgery. I later learned that my infection was such that extra skin had to be removed from that side because of the infection – hence the burning.

As I came further out of anesthesia, I asked my nurse to call my husband and let him know I was ok. I was sure he would be worried. He had been sitting in the hospital parking garage in our car for nearly 5 hours!  What else was he going to do? All the stores were closed because of Covid-19 and he couldn’t visit my parents because social distancing was in full effect.

My selfless husband sat in the car, read the Bible, texted and spoke with caring friends and family on the phone, played solitaire, answered work emails and read his Joey Kramer Aerosmith autobiography.

Standing up for the first time

When it was time for me to stand up, my nurse called another nurse over to help him get me on my feet. Before they stood me up they asked how tall I was. I told them that I was little, only 5’1. They started joking back and forth about their heights. I’m not entirely sure why there were two of them there to help me up, but I have to be honest, I am forever thankful.

As I stood up, they each had an arm wrapped around me as I wrapped an arm around each of their waists. I told them that I didn’t want my bottom hanging out of my gown. They were both young guys and I felt self-conscious. I know they are nurses, but that didn’t stop me from being modest. They assured me that I was all covered up and it was ok to stand.

As I stood up I began to sob.  I mean, REALLY sob.  I apologized for my sobbing and told them that I was exhausted, my anxiety level was through the roof and I had been through so much in the past month. Two surgeries, a diagnosis of cancer and drains put back into my body.

I was tired and I had had enough. I felt defeated.

Do you know what those two male nurses did? They stood there, dried my tears, rubbed my back and told me to just let it out.

I had been through more than anyone should have.

It was ok to cry and let it out.

They were some of the most kind and compassionate gentlemen I have ever met. I was so grateful to be in their care. No nurse has ever treated me the way that they did. They saw me as more than a patient. They saw me as a person. A wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a woman.  And in that moment, that was the kind of care I needed.  I can’t thank them enough.  They were amazing.

Get me out of here

Once they were sure I could stand and was feeling good enough to go home (I had been in recovery for about two to two and a half hours, which was longer than my actual surgery, which only took an hour and a half), they left me alone to dress.  Looking down at myself I realized I was nearly flat chested and the drains were already doing their job. Fruit punch-colored liquid began to fill each grenade-like bottle.

Oh joy…. Here we go again… This is going to be a long week….

My nurse called my husband to have him meet me outside the hospital entrance. As I was being wheeled down the hallways to the entrance, it wasn’t lost on me that everyone was masked and there were very few people around. Fear started to creep back in. I couldn’t wait to get out of this place.

As we reached the electronic doors, I saw my husband walking towards me.  I jumped out of the wheelchair, motioning him to go back to the car.  I told my handler I could take it from there. I didn’t even wait for her to protest.  Walking briskly towards my husband and not allowing him to get a word in edgewise, I said,

“I’m done! Get me the hell out of here!”