The Surgery and Hospital Stay

This post is extremely long and detailed, but I wanted to remember these events for myself. My mother's cancer has been a major focal point in my life for the past couple of weeks and is basically all I can focus on right now. So forgive me. I will be posting about other life events soon.

The days leading up to mom's surgery were complete torture. My sisters and I did everything we could to get mom ready: last minute shopping, deep cleaning her house, emotional support talks. Whatever she needed we did. 

On the 11th we all met at her house at 5 in the morning and got her all checked in and prepped for surgery by 6. I felt tense and anxious the second I stepped foot inside the hospital. I tried to keep my nervousness to myself but I'm sure my mother could see right through me. She seemed calm but knowing my mom she was probably just keeping her feelings to herself, trying her best to not freak any of us out. We sat in her surgical prep room with her, quietly and anxiously waiting for her surgical team to come and get her. When they finally did arrive, I couldn't help but burst into tears as I hugged her good-bye. She just held me tight and said everything was going to be fine. It was so like her. Always my mother, my comforter. No matter how scared or nervous she was, she took the time to make sure that I was ok.

I knew exactly what was going to happen to her in there. I had discussed the surgery with her on multiple occasions. I knew that everything was going to be removed: breast tissue, skin, nipples. Nothing was going to be left behind, no chances would be taken. If need be, a few lymph nods would even be removed for testing if they looked suspicious. I knew that she had both a general surgeon and a plastic surgeon. Her general surgeon would remove the breast tissue and the plastic surgeon would be placing her implants. The implants would need to be placed inside the chest muscle wall. He would make a cut between the muscle and place inside a special, inflatable implant. The temporary implants were there to stretch the chest muscle to make room for her permanent implants. Since the chest wall isn't supposed to be stretched, they were specially made to be inflated over a period of time. The back has a metal plate to avoid him puncturing her other organs on accident and the rest of it looks kind of like a balloon. When she recovered enough, he would come back in every few weeks with a magnet to find the implant and a long needle to fill each implant with saline. Eventually, she would have two more surgeries, one to reconstruct the inside of her breast and the second to reconstruct and "beautify" the outside. It helped to know what was going on in there but I was still a nervous wreck.

Us three girls and my little brother waited in that room for the next four hours. We made a trip to the cafeteria for breakfast and shortly after that the tension slowly disappeared. We enjoyed laughing and joking with one another with no kids to interrupt our conversation. It felt good to disconnect from everything that was going on but the fear, anxiety, and tension returned all too quickly when her doctor came to give us an update. I was on pins and needles waiting for him to say if it went well or not. For some reason, I worried the most about her not waking up from surgery. But everything went better than expected and she was in recovery waking up at that very minute. They completed the surgery one hour earlier than expected and were very pleased with the results. The anesthesiologist had a hard time keeping her asleep so we were warned that she would have a hard time coming out of it all the way, due to how much medication they had to pump into her body. He reported that they removed all her breast tissue and a few swollen lymph nods on her left side just to be safe, and that all of it was being sent to pathology for testing.

 Shortly after the doctor's report, a nurse came to bring us to her recovery room. We thought she would already be in there but instead we sat and waited a full hour for them to bring her to us. I felt like I was going to puke, my anxiety was so high and my heart felt like it was going to pump right out of my chest. What if something went wrong? What if they couldn't wake her up? 

After that extremely long hour, they finally brought her in. It was nothing like I had been expecting. She was so pale, so still. Her breathing was shallow and labored. She looked like she was in unbearable pain. The nurses kept asking her questions, making sure that she was alright, but all she kept saying was seven (Later we found out she was trying to say that she was the 7th child in her family, in response to the question: what is your name? Haha yeah I never would have guessed that.) My sister Kayleen was the first to start crying and of course that  pushed me over the edge as well. It was heart breaking seeing my mother like that when just hours before she had been sitting up, laughing, and joking with us. Before the surgery, she insisted that none of us stay with her at the hospital, claiming that it wasn't necessary. One look at her and we all knew that someone had to stay the night with her. Kayleen decided to take the first night and it was agreed that Savannah and I would take over the next two nights. 

The next day when I arrived at the hospital, Kayleen's eyes were all red and swollen. She looked tired and physically and mentally spent. Mom was having some major panic and anxiety attacks during the night and the pain was still out of control even with the morphine drip. After catching up with her, I made my way up to her room, flowers and 'Get well soon' sign in hand. One look at her and I knew she was still in a lot of pain. During the time that I spent with her, I held her hand as she cried and said over and over, "They're gone. They're all gone." I tried my best to comfort her during her panic attacks and couldn't help but smile when she would finally relax and then look at me all concerned and asked me if she scared me. Again, even with all that she was experiencing, she couldn't help but be my mother.

I came back the next day, that time to stay the night with her. Joe was being so supportive through this whole ordeal. He worried about me staying the night and not taking it easy but was more than happy to take care of both my little brother Adam (he was staying with us during her hospital stay) and Claire. Knowing that he had everything under control at home helped give me peace of mind. I was mostly anxious about being left in charge and all alone with her. Hospitals always made me nervous, so that didn't help any. But I got a pretty good laugh as I was making my way to the elevator. I was carrying a small duffel bag, pillow, and had a pretty good sized pregnant belly due to the fact that I was 30 weeks along. As soon as I walked through the doors (alone mind you) the receptionist jumped up from her desk and ran over to me. "Do you need help finding labor and delivery? I'll take you up myself! Are you alone? Poor thing, in labor and all alone!" Haha I was trying so hard not to burst out laughing and finally managed to explain to her that I was NOT in labor, nor was I there for myself. She looked a little sheepish but I thanked her for her concern and made my way upstairs, all the way smiling and giggling to myself.

That night was long and hard. The nurses don't give pain medication at exactly every four hours like my mom needed. You had to ask for the medication. So I set my alarm for every four hours and paged her nurse when it was time for her next dose. It seemed to help as long as we stayed on top of it. But every four hours she also needed someone to talk to and help distract her until the medication took affect. I didn't mind staying up with her but at some point during the night I started to feel angry. Not angry at her, or the fact that I had to be there for her, but angry that my dad wasn't there for her. Angry, because it shouldn't have been me sitting there with her all night, it should have been him. But he wasn't there and he didn't care. He was hundreds of miles away, living his own life in Georgia without the rest of his family. He couldn't even be bothered to call and check up on his own children, see how we were handling the whole situation. Hot, angry tears started to roll down my face and I made up a quick excuse about getting her more ice chips and water. The anger surprised me. It was so unexpected just like it usually is when I get upset about their divorce. But I knew she DESERVED a spouse who could love her and take care of her. One that wouldn't mind sitting up with her all night and would lovingly help her through the rough patches. But no such spouse existed for her and I had to remind myself that I had to be enough for her. That everything I was doing for her would be enough in the end.

Most of her anxiety stemmed from the fear of going home. She was afraid about giving up the morphine and the extra care from the nurses (she really did have some pretty awesome nurses, which definitely makes all the difference.) The next day was a big day for her. Her nurse took her off of the morphine in an attempt to prepare her for home the next day. In addition to that I helped her nurse give her her first shower since the surgery, which ended with a lot of tears since it was humiliating for her and the first time she had seen her incision site. The shower wore her out as did the extra amount of pain she was enduring. She had several, well meaning visitors that day but in the end, no matter how good their intentions, it just deepened her anxiety.

 At the beginning of her hospital stay her doctor said she could stay as long as she needed but quickly changed his tune when he came to see her that day. Medically there was no reason to keep her there for another day or two. He recommended that she go home, and insisted that she would heal much faster in her own environment and her own bed. She was so nervous but eventually agreed. He said her anxiety would decrease if we did the one thing she was most afraid to do. So we prepared to take her home. Her nurse pumped her full of any pain medication and valium they could. The nurse showed us how to take care of her incisions and the drain tubes that were placed under her arms. A member in her ward brought a recliner to her house for her to borrow and my sister Kayleen showed up to help me get her home. The transition was hard for her. She fought tears and panic the whole time but we finally made it home with all her flowers, gifts, and belongings.

Kayleen would be the one to stay with her for the week. It was a major blessing that she was able to do that. Rex (her husbnad) had just graduated with his masters and was still on the hunt for a job. He was more than willing to watch their two children at his parent's home so that Kayleen could stay with mom full time. I stayed a few extra hours that night to help get them all settled. I made a quick dinner for the two of them, ran a few errands at the store, and finally at 9 that night, I dragged my worn out body home. I knew that I would have to be back the next day to help shower her (the doctor said she needed a shower everyday to keep her incisions and drains clean) but I was relieved to have a small break and a chance to get a good nights sleep. I quickly drifted off to sleep, all the while offering a silent prayer that she would get better quickly.