I had been feeling super anxious about the surgery and someone whose name will not be mentioned, sent me some drugs, illegally through the mail to help with the anxiety the day of the surgery, because I would not be 'going under'. My anxiety was heightened with the nurse called me a few days before the surgery to give me the run down of how things would go, and she causally mentioned that I may not have movement in my arm for a few days. Whatt What? Yeah I freaked out, because I didn't think this was that invasive of a surgery. Then she told me that the Doc probably wouldn't be prescribing me any medication...you're probably thinking "but she just told you you would have mobility of your arm...?" I thought the exact same thing. Get the minor freak out? Oh, and I was supposed to take a test the day after the surgery, the test I was missing for the surgery...and with no mobility? How was that going to happen?
So the morning of, at 5am, I popped that lovely little blue pill, on an empty stomach (because you can't eat for a long time before surgery, which sucks) Mr. B man drove me to the out patent clinic, which wasn't open yet so we got to sit outside. And that's when I realized I was high. My body doesn't react that well to medications. There are plenty of stories about me on drugs...ask for details.
They had me sign some lovely papers, which I probably signed Cookie Monster for all I know. And for the record, I wouldn't be a good drug dealer or user. I feel the need to tell everyone that I'm high, and that I took pills, that weren't prescribed to me. It's an issue. I'm sure they just smiled sweetly and looked at my husband and said with their eyes "could you take your wife to the waiting room so we don't have to report her illegal activity?"
Shortly after, they took me back, had me put on the lovely gown (which I put on backwards and the nurse tried to switch it around on me while I was lying on the table. It was awkward) and the nurser asked me to use the lovely surgical pen to mark where the cysts were. Insert note: I really wanted to write affirmations on my boob with a sharpie (I was super nervous about the surgery remember?) but the nurse told me that wasn't a good idea because the sharpie marker could have something bad they don't' want getting inside my boob. I understand but whatevs. I followed her instructions. So while in the bathroom, I marked the cysts, then I wrote lovely little affirmations all over my boob because now I had a surgical pen. Nothing holding me back.
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| Pre-surgery anxiety |
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| I got to wear these cute booties |
The lovely nurse strapped my arms down (I had some anxiety about that but the little blue pills helped), sanitized me, put up the blue shield so I couldn't see and I got a lovely heating vent under my blanket to keep me warm. So enjoyable. I was numbed (which didn't hurt at all, thank goodness) It was so bizarre to feel the pressure but I really couldn't feel anything. We chatted. Dr. Murph has pet parrots. One is named Auggie, she likes to go to the wild animal park....and suddenly an hour had passed and she was done. I shyly asked if I would have movement in my arm. She laughed at me as if that was a silly question and reassured me that the nurse didn't know what she was talking about, and that I would indeed have movement. I sat up off the table, got dressed and that was it. I literally walked out like it was no big deal. It was no big deal.
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| Where they did the deed |
I was cystless.
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| Cysts. Think small limes |
Ben wasn't in the waiting room. I had to wait for him, but I didn't care. You would think I would be freaked out that my husband left his wife for surgery and went gallivanting through San Diego, although my little blue pill left me without a care in the world. He finally showed up. He had to leave the waiting room because there were these annoying patients, an elderly father and son who were both in there for surgery, and yelling at each other because they couldn't find their cigarettes. Sounds lovely and I probably would have left too.
I felt amazing. Still high, but less high. No pain, what-so-ever. Doc Murph wrote me a prescription for Vicodin, which I didn't fill because one pill would have killed me. Remember, I don't do pills. B man and I left, I recounted the entire experience of what happened behind the closed door. He was probably in complete overwhelm and I yacked and insisted he drive us to the grocery store.
I was so hyper. It was odd. Ben kept asking me to slow down because he was in more shock after the surgery than I was. We got home, I texted pics of my incisions to everyone I know and watched tv and studied for my test.
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| My affirmations I took into surgery |
And that was that. I had surgery. I had my breast cut open. Twice.
And for the following week I had one over sized looking breast because I kept an icepack in my shirt. Although I'm sure no one even knew because I wore a jacket, and if it leaked you couldn't tell. I'm the only one who knew.
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| Ice pack |
The most bizarre thing about surgery, is that that part of your body isn't your body anymore. It is just something cool that you can show anyone who is willing to take a peek. It's no longer my breast. I found myself opening my shirt to anyone who was interested.
Weird, exciting. And I passed my test the day after with flying colors.
Like I said before. Me = Super Woman
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| Day after surgery, my BFF Aaron came to visit |
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| The beautiful surprise roses I got int he mail from my lovely Shai |
