Waking Up

I had supposedly woken up in a recovery room before being moved to my overnight hospital room, but I don't remember it. I do remember waking up the hospital bed and seeing my husband. At first, I couldn't stay lucid no matter how hard I tried. I would be awake for maybe thirty seconds, say something, then fall back asleep. I remember apologizing to my husband and the nurse because I couldn't stay awake. I don't know why I was so apologetic about that specifically, I am never that apologetic about anything. At one point I  has heard a nurse talking about how she was emptying my drains, and I couldn't pay attention, so I told my husband to pay attention to what the nurse said. Apparently, I told him on several occasions to pay close attention. Seems like I have a difficult time depending on people even when I am under the effects of anesthesia. 

It was late afternoon by the time I had fully woken up. I was dressed in a hospital gown, had a surgery cap over my head and hair, and had large plastic wraps over my calves to help prevent blood clots. The IV catheter was still in my hand with fluids running through it. I had a total of four drains coming out of the skin next to where my breasts had been, two on each side. There was a black bag hanging from a long strap around my neck. I was told that this was a pain ball, constantly pushing a small amount of numbing solution to the surgery area. Two thin plastic tubes ran from the bag and inserted through two small incisions in between where my breasts had been. I felt like a Borg from Star Trek, or like I was waking up from the Matrix. In total, there were seven pieces of tubing inserted into my body.

It was difficult to process the sight of the tubes, but I knew I couldn't handle dealing with that in the hospital, so I pushed the thoughts away. There would be plenty of time to think about that later. It wasn't long after I was fully awake that I had to go to the bathroom. Getting to the bathroom took such a long time that I quickly learned to alert a nurse as soon as I thought I may have to pee, so that I would get there in time. We rang the nurse button, and she came to help after a few minutes. She removed the wraps from my calves and pushed the button on the remote that lifted the back of the bed to help me sit up. My chest muscles felt like they had been used as a punching bag, and my arms were so painful and weak that I couldn't push myself up. I needed a lot of help getting out of the bed and standing up. It was slow going. I imagined myself as an old lady, bending over, moving slowly. Should I ask for a cane? My husband pushed the stand holding the fluid bag, and I shuffled slowly from the bed to the bathroom.

During surgery, my general surgeon had injected a dye in the area of my left breast which was absorbed by my lymph nodes. This allowed her to find the first two lymph nodes that drain the area so she could remove them and have them checked for cancer. The nurse told me that the dye was blue, and after draining through the lymph nodes, it was filtered out by the kidneys. So I did the math, or maybe color theory would be a better term. Normal pee is yellow, add in the blue dye, and my pee would be green. It wasn't just a little green, it was a lot green, a bright green, a Kool Aid green. Even though I had expected it, it still surprised me, and I giggled when I saw it. It has stung a little to pee, but the nurse told me that was because of the urinary catheter that had been in place during surgery. The nurse said that both the stinging and the color would go away quickly, and they did. Soon my pee would turn an almost transparent yellow, thanks to the constant fluids running through my IV. I was peeing about once every 2 hours. By my third or fourth trip to the bathroom my husband and I had were able to handle it without a nurse. My husband was even kind enough to step outside of the bathroom to give me privacy. Bathroom privacy has always been a priority for me, toilet time is private time!

Thanks to the anti-nausea patch that was placed on my skin before the surgery, I didn't vomit at all. That night a tray of food was brought in. I slowly ate some wedge french fries and then cheesecake to see how it sat on my stomach. Happily, I did well, and was able to eat other snacks throughout the night with no issues. The next morning I got to order breakfast from a huge menu. I hadn't expected all the options! I happily scarfed down pancakes, toast, and sausage.

Sleeping in the hospital overnight was difficult. Nurses visited to check vitals or give an IV medication often. I am a light sleeper, so I would sleep for maybe an hour or so at a time. My husband was allowed to stay the night with me, our overnight nurse even brought in a chair that folded out into a small bed, and my husband slept on that. Always a heavier sleeper, he was soundly asleep during several of the overnight nurse visits. Lucky him.

The morning after surgery, I was visited by the plastic surgery resident, several nurses, and the specialty nurse that I had spoken to right after receiving my cancer diagnosis. The doctor went over the medications I would need to take and made sure they were called into my pharmacy. He set up post-op appointments and went over care of my drains, incisions, and the pain pump. The nurse repeated instructions on how to empty my surgery drains, how to shower, and gave me pouches to tie around my waist which would hold the drains. She also gave me contact information for a group that could send a nurse to our apartment for home visits if I needed it.

Since I was coherent, urinating normally, eating, not vomiting, and my vitals were normal, the doctors and nurses agreed that I could go home. They removed my IV catheter and my husband helped me get dressed. It was our first foray into the difficulties of dealing with my drains and my limited mobility and strength. He did most of the work, while I tried my best just to stand up straight. I had the nerve to look at my chest after removing the hospital robe. I took a quick look then tried to forget it. It was a mistake, I did not want to think about my chest yet. I wasn't ready for the tears. I kept pushing forward, unable to process how I looked. My husband then got the car while I got in a wheelchair and a nurse pushed me to the front of the hospital.

The car ride home was painful. I clutched the mastectomy pillow to my chest, the seat belt resting over it. No matter what, every bump and sharp turn was painful. My husband drove as slowly and carefully as possible, but many of the roads were bumpy. The largest hurdle was getting up the twenty two stairs to our apartment. I had to go as slowly and smoothly as possible. I was already winded after the first few stairs. It would be a couple of weeks before I could easily take deep breaths or walk up and down the stairs comfortably.

My nest had been made and set up before surgery, and I gratefully sank into the couch as soon as we arrived. I was so glad to be at home. I cried in relief, then cried harder as I began to process my emotions. Fortunately, we had stocked up on tissues. We were going to need them.