Day 42 I Am Healed

A nurse came through the curtain with a clinking bag of sterile supplies and asked me the same question everyone has asked me since I arrived: " How are you?"  I answered the way most people want me to: "I'm fine."  I wiped the wetness off of my cheeks and put on my "brave" face.  Usually that's enough to make most people disappear back to the other side of the curtain, but not this woman.  "You cry if you want to, feel down if you that's how you feel.  You can't stop those feelings, just let them out.  You are going to be OK.  I know because I've been there myself.  Then she asked me:  "Are you a believer?"  I answered "Yes, I believe in G.d." She wasted no time in gathering me up tightly in her arms and she started praying over me.  She prayed for me, she prayed for my health, she prayed for my husband and asked the Lord to give him strength.  She petitioned G.d with a strong almost ferocious voice as she made her belief manifest, and then she asked me to state what G.d has already done for me, she asked for a statement of faith.  I answered "I am healed."  "And so it is." says she.  Those strong loving arms loosened,  she stood up and left.  I was weeping and my husband was crying, but they were tears of relief.  I had staked my claim on a full recovery, and I was no longer afraid. 

Very soon after that I got my shot of Versed and began my trip to the OR, I remember nothing for the next 5 hours.

I woke in searing pain.  "Wake up now, you are in the recovery room, the surgery is over."  I couldn't open my eyes for the life of me.  The nurses were talking about people they don't like, where they had dinner last night, talking to each other like two High School girls, incessantly and with complete absorption in each other.  I felt like someone who didn't belong in their clique.  I took a difficult breath and said through my raw throat: "pain."  My nurse answered back "we'll get you something soon." and went back to her real job, which is to speak to the other nurses about their personal business.  "Pain."  She ignored me, I am guessing that transitioning people out of surgery must be very boring for her, we must be so tiresome with our catheters and requests for pain medication.  Just demanding shapes under warming blankets asking for stuff. 

Eventually I was handed a button I could press every 6 minutes for pain and was rolled to my room.  That button was my best friend.  My mother-in-law told me when  the allotted time had passed and I pushed that button like a cat jumps on a bird.  Morphine is my friend, I forget all about the teenagers in recovery, my world is that button in my right hand.  All my strength and attention is on crawling out of this crater of agony.

Eventually I am the victor.  My pain is managed and all I feel now is relief.  This part is over, I never have to do this again, the margins are clean, we must wait for the sentinel node biopsy to come back next week.  I am optimistic, because I already claimed my healing.  Amen.

Day I don't know

I have been handing off my classes for the past week.  Bringing in a new teacher, introducing them to my students and showing the instructor what we are up to in class.  Next week I will walk out the door, leaving them in someone elses hands.  My progress notes are up to date so they can be referred to in my absence.  Our first annual fundraising trail ride is on track, volunteers and raffle items are in place.  There are 3.5 weeks left in the session after I leave, mission accomplished.

This weekend I will try to tie up the loose ends at home.  We will install a dog door, a small one so my 15 week old Miniature Blue Heeler Fanny can come in and out but the larger dogs remain outside except when intentionally admitted.  This will cut down on the mess and the chaos.  My large German Shepherd/Irish Wolfhound X is scheduled to be shaved on Monday to assure his comfort in the heat.  Fanny's new Invisible Fence receiver is in the mail and should arrive any day...she's going to hate this, but it will keep her from herding the increasingly angry walkers in the neighborhood.  Puppy or no, she knows her job and those walkers will keep moving.

Post surgical camisole are ordered and will be delivered to our office on the day of my surgery.  Just in time for me to return.  My post surgical wardrobe is determined:  camisole, drawstring pajama bottoms with pockets (for my cellphone), one of my husband's button front shirts (sized XXL, I'm hoping the look is endearingly adorable, not ridiculous.)

Bought a camera that my husband can use to record this journey.  I can count the number of photographs he has taken of me, or taken period on one hand.  If I was hit by a truck tomorrow there would be almost no photographic evidence of my existance.  What makes me think he will do this?  If he does then that's incontravertable evidence that Cancer changes everything.

The first week of my recovery will be at my wonderful, generous In-Law's home.  This will allow my husband to work during the day and possibly sleep at night.  I am unsure about this since I will be on less than my best behavior during my recovery.  Adjectives such as: crusty, anxious, and downright mean would be appropriate to describe me NOW...what am I going to be like post surgery?

There is hushed talk of hiring a day nurse for the first week, hushed because I don't think I will need it, and the idea that I will makes me angry.  My husband does not want to confront me on this, he's doing it "behind my back."  I am letting him because there is no arguing with him on this point, he won't discuss it and is treating me like a child who doesn't know what she needs.  I have resolved that he and my in laws are doing it out of love for me and I am trying not to fight against it.  I hope she has a sense of humor or, if it's a man, he's ruggedly good looking.

I have enrolled my mare in another month of training, and my dear friend has also agreed to keep my puppy for the first week of my recovery.  This might be the end of our friendship since this hardheaded dog will completely dominate her household and is imperfectly housetrained.

My sister in law is managing the meal delivery through an amazing website that organizes that sort of thing.  I can't imagine this being less than overwhelming and I am so grateful to her for her generosity and grace as well as the gift of those lining up with their loving meals.

I have a stack of notes and charitable gifts that I have to acknowledge, plus the meals already being promised.  My personalized notecards should be delivered next week.  I hope 50 is enough, it was all I could afford at that moment.  Maybe I should have ordered 100 just to be safe.  Why was it important for them to be personalized?

Food in the fridge is dwindling, I am on track to clean it out on Tuesday.  Joy.

No Kindle yet...carpets need cleaning but I think it will be OK.  I am so ready for this to be over and be looking at this from the other side where I can regain some perspective so small things don't look large and normal things don't look huge and my "to-do" list doesn't seem so important.