Zig Ziglar had a point when he said, “F-E-A-R has two meanings – Forget Everything And Run or Face Everything And Rise. The choice is yours.” I choose to rise.

Trust me, over the past several months I have wanted to run – hiding in a closet has looked appealing! But the truth is, I need to face my fears. Actually one of my biggest fears – the diagnosis of breast cancer. Ask anyone who knows me well, and they will tell you I always felt like a ticking time bomb, and the possibility of a diagnosis like this has always been a bonafide fear. What I do with that fear, is up to me…

Stolen joy

After learning the news that breast cancer was found, I felt defeated. I thought I had beat it to the punch and won.  That joyful, carefree feeling I had immediately following surgery, and the week after, was GONE. In its place came sadness, fear, frustration and anger. I barely could utter the words ‘breast cancer’. It made me sick to my stomach.

Recovery not going quite as planned

In the midst of learning the news that I wasn’t free and clear, that I couldn’t just move forward but had to speak with an oncologist, I was still trying to heal and recover from surgery. Everything seemed to be going ok…

Until it wasn’t.

Removal of the dreaded drains

I was two weeks and one day post-surgery. The day I had been looking forward to since the day I had my surgery. This was the day the four grenade-like bulbs that hung from tubes coming out of my sides would be removed. The drains. I would finally be free to move about and do what I wanted to do, wear what I wanted to wear and shower without a chaperone. Today was going to be a good day!

Pain like I have never felt before, and mind you, I have given birth to twins

Going back to the exam room, I didn’t think much about drain removal.  I tried not to read too much on the Internet prior to having my surgery, because everyone has different experiences and I wanted to go into each phase of this journey without any preconceived notions. I just didn’t want to know the intricacies of how all of this worked and what would happen.

And thank goodness I didn’t, because I am not so sure I would have willingly laid back on the exam chair and let the doctor pull out the drains.

I asked if I would be getting an injection of something to numb the area where the drains were going to be pulled from. My doctor said no and that it would be over before I knew it.  As he and his nurse carefully ‘milked’ the last bit of what was in the tubes into the drain bulbs and clipped the stitches that held the drain tubes in place on my sides, I flinched as I felt the sting of what felt like 1,000 tiny needles being jabbed into my side.

I remained quiet, eyes watering, wincing in pain, thinking, this isn’t going to be good considering all they just did was clip stitches. My husband could see the distress on my face and held my hands that were raised just above my head. He told me to squeeze.

The doctor told me to take a deep breath and hold it. As I did that he pulled the drains out of my right side.

OMG!!!!!!!

The pain I felt was like NOTHING I have ever felt before. It was like WALKING.THROUGH.FIRE. My sides were on FIRE!!!!!!

I could feel myself hyperventilating, shaking and starting to well up in pain. I tried to keep myself under control, squeezing my husband’s hands like my life depended on it.  I literally started to say the Hail Mary out loud while lying in the chair. I think the doctor thought I was bonkers!

Before I finished my prayer or could protest, the surgeon moved to the other side of my body where he gave me the same instructions to take a deep breath and hold it.  And again, as he pulled, which felt like a violent yank, the pain and burning was something I had never felt before. I yelled in pain fairly loudly, not caring that there were patients in his waiting room or that it was unladylike or that I was losing control in the chair. To be honest, everyone in that room (and the waiting room) was lucky I didn’t curse like a sailor, because that is EXACTLY what I wanted to do.

As soon as the drains were removed, I pulled my knees to my chest because I began to feel like I was going to vomit. Then I felt like I was going to faint. It is amazing what goes through your head when you are in that much pain!

I was literally sweating and my heart was racing. The sweet nurse who helped remove the drains left the room to get me a cup of water. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I had no idea what had just happened to me, but I didn’t like it. I felt violated. I took a sip of water, then got up. Walked out of the office and thought good riddance…..I will NEVER have to have drains put in again.

Cue the Sh*t Show

Six hours after my drains were removed, I spiked a fever of 102 degrees.  I was shaking and not feeling well at all.  I attributed it the trauma my body had been through just hours before, but decided to call my doctor and tell him what was going on.  He prescribed an antibiotic for me to take 4 times a day and asked that I keep an eye on my temperature.

I was still running a temperature after being on the antibiotic for more than 48 hours and I was really not myself. I was tired, no appetite and just achy. I also developed red blotches all over my right breast and some on my left. My right side seemed a bit swollen. The red areas were warm. This was not a good sign.

I called my doctor to explain my situation. He said he wanted to see me first thing in the morning – which was a Sunday. He said I may need surgery to clean out the infection and remove my expanders, which had started the reconstruction.

As I hung up the phone, I cried. I was scared to death. So I did what I always do when my back is up against a wall and there is complete fear in my heart.

I prayed.

I prayed my fever would subside by morning and I prayed I wouldn’t need surgery the next day. I asked God and all my favorite Saints for protection. I just couldn’t go through this again.

It’s an infection alright

Miraculously, my fever had subsided overnight, but we still had to go meet with the surgeon because I was still red and swollen.  We arrived at this office at 8:30 am. He took one look at me and said there was more than likely an infection and he needed to take samples from each breast to be cultured, but because my fever had dissipated, he would hold off on doing surgery and see if the antibiotic could do its job. We were in and out of his office within 20 minutes. We headed home, picked up the kids and headed to Sunday mass. I had a lot to be thankful for.

A week later it was confirmed that I had a bilateral infection. The bacteria was serratia marcescens. This type of bacterial infection has been known to be hospital-acquired during surgery.

My doctor needed to change my antibiotic.  He put me on something that could battle the infection better than what I was on. I prayed this was the magic pill. I didn’t want to have to go back in to surgery. The thought of having to be cleaned out, expanders removed and drains put back in had me in knots. So did the thought of going back into the hospital for surgery. Covid-19 was just beginning to spread throughout the United States. The NBA had just canceled its season and MLB wasn’t far behind.

Healed incisions are leaking – this isn’t good

After being on the antibiotic for nearly two weeks. I was feeling good. My energy level was back up and my appetite was getting back to normal.  I still had a little swelling and tightness, but didn’t think much of it. I figured it was normal (because truth be told, you have no idea what normal is when you are going through having a body part – or in my case two – removed from your body and two foreign objects put back in).

Friday, March 20th was no different than any other day.

I didn’t really do anything strenuous, so when I went to shower and change for bed and saw my scabbed incisions were weeping slightly, I took notice.  It reminded me of the times I had skinned my knee as a kid. The wound would heal, but on occasion the scab would separate from the skin and the wound would weep. I thought, maybe this is normal.  Maybe this happens.

I called my mom immediately, wanting her to talk me off the ledge. We both agreed that if it didn’t clear up by morning, I needed to call my doctor. I placed gauze in my bra and went to bed. By 4 am I woke up with a sticky wet chest. The weeping had gone through the gauze, through my bra and onto my t-shirt.

I waited until 7 am to call my surgeon. I sent him pictures of the incisions and what the skin around them looked like.  He instructed me to keep the area clean and dry. He said that I should place surgical pads in my bra to absorb the fluid draining from the incisions and change them several times a day. He said that he would speak to me first thing Monday morning to check in.

He would be scheduling me for what was now considered a necessary surgery in the midst of Covid-19.  He needed to remove the expanders, clean out the infection and put the drains back in. I really didn’t have a choice.

The antibiotic was only doing so much and the timing of Covid-19 was working against us. He wanted me in before the pandemic became worse. I began to choke up telling him I was terrified to enter into a hospital under these circumstances. I didn’t want anyone touching me during the pandemic outbreak.  But the truth is, I didn’t have a choice.

As I hung up the phone I thought, the entire world is in chaos and now so am I.