I went into the surgery last August with complete trust in my surgeons. Dr. Erb, my breast surgeon, would remove the tumor, all of the breast tissue, and all of the lymph nodes in my left armpit. She was well qualified: an oncologist breast surgeon, a breast cancer survivor herself. She was old and curt-- which made me think she was probably a smart and experienced surgeon. Then there was Dr. Michael White, my plastic surgeon with the name of a soap opera doctor. He would take over the surgery after Dr. Erb removed the breast tissue. Dr. White would start the process of breast reconstruction by putting in expander devices underneath my chest wall, moving muscles from my back to my chest to support the devices, and sew me up nice and straight across my chest. (I can explain the process of the reconstruction that I chose at a later date, but just know that this was one of several procedures that I would have. However, this was the most invasive procedure.) Dr. Michael White was recommended to me by MANY people in the Pittsburgh area, including doctors, who called him a "perfectionist" and "the best reconstructive surgeon in Pittsburgh." Plus, he was nice to boot, so...yeah... I felt at ease in his hands, too.
The night before my surgery, Craig and I drive down to Pittsburgh to spend the night at my sister Natalie's place. She made us dinner. As Natalie, Matt (brother-in-law), Craig and I washed the dishes, we had a dance party to Taylor Swift's "Shake it Off". My mom arrived to spend the night as well, and hugged me close.
The morning of the surgery, at 5am, Craig and I drove the 20 minutes to Allegheny General Hospital (AGH) to check in for my surgery. Not one person in the waiting room was in my age bracket. I went back to the surgery prep room where I donned the hospital gown. The surgeons came in to greet me and wrote on my breasts with marker. A nurse came in and stabbed my nipple with a dye that was needed for surgery. Yeah nipple-stabbing feels as bad as it sounds. When it was time, the nurse started to wheel me away to the operating room for a 6 hour surgery. Craig held my hand until he couldn't any longer. I saw tears in his eyes as I was rolled away from him. My mom was also trying to hold it together. I know what they were thinking, "I hope she comes out of this okay."
Six hours later, after the surgery, my memories begin again as I slowly regained consciousness. But Craig will tell me many months later what those 6 hours were like for him. He said that Dr. Erb, the oncologist surgeon, came out to the waiting room after her part and informed Craig, my mom, and Natalie that the cancer was worse than they thought-- it was invasive and was found in the lymph nodes. I can imagine that was one of the scariest moments of this whole process for them. Craig was given this horrible news and I was not even there to process it with him. On the contrary, he had to deliver it to me in a few hours and attempt to stay strong. He couldn't fall apart at this point. We have a rule in our marriage: only one person can fall apart at a time. And, since I had just undergone surgery, I naturally claimed that role for the day. Craig will later tell me that when he heard the news he went for a walk and cried. That he called his parents and cried. The next day, he was relieved of his caretaking duties for a few hours, so he took a shower and cried his heart out. In the last year, as I have talked with men who have watched their wives suffer, I have learned that the shower is the place that many men cry. I know that Craig was crying because he was now not sure if I would live or die after this new cancer diagnosis. However, my memories of that day are slightly more humorous than Craig's. So, feel free to pick your heart up from that puddle of tears on the floor, continue reading, and I will tell you what Katie On Drugs remembers.
That afternoon, I remember waking up in the recovery room disoriented. I had this sense that I was in some sort of Romanian orphanage because of all of the beds lined up in one big room. Then, I remember floating in and out of consciousness once I was moved to the private hospital room. At one point, The Robb Clan arrived with a "Picnic Dinner in the Hospital Room." I think there was a crock pot involved. I remember my loud sister, Elizabeth, sitting right next to me and waking me up every time she spoke/shouted. I remember someone eating a bag of chips across the room. Oh.the.crunching. I remember mustering all of my energy to faintly eek out my first words of the evening, "stop crunching." But no one heard me. In a whisper a little louder than a mouse fart, I tried again, "stop crunching." Still, no one heard me. I tried it a third time, "please. stop. crunching." Each word a labored effort. Amazingly, loud-sister Elizabeth heard me over the sound of her own voice, and she says/shouts across the room, "SHE WANTS YOU TO STOP EATING CHIPS. SHE SAID STOP CRUNCHING. MOM, STOP EATING CHIPS." The room goes silent. My mom, "Who? Me? Oh!" Then she smacks my dad on the arm, "Tom, why did you bring me these?!" Somehow, my always-well-meaning father takes the blame for this one. The evening continues on with eating, laughter, and loud talking. A little further in the evening, Katie On Drugs tries to say softly, "You guys can go now. You guys can leave. You guys can go now. I'll be okay." I guess The Robb Clan is better in small doses after surgery. It's funny how I remember these lighter moments, the moments when I was coming in and out of lucidity. But as I look back on that time, I also remember that never once was I alone. I look back, and I remember my mom by my side, my whole family by my side, really. As much as my family was grappling with this nightmare for themselves, their number one goal through it all was to make the experience easier for me.
My recovery from surgery is a story for another day. But today is the one year anniversary from the surgery itself. So, today, I am celebrating my healthy body, the miracles of modern medicine, trustworthy surgeons, and a family that "shows up", even with chips.
Some pictures of that weekend:
Katie On Drugs and Caretaker Craig (one day after the surgery)
Caretaker Craig, me, Natalie, and Always-Well-Meaning Dad
(two days after surgery)
Not pictured: the rest of The Robb Clan
Thanks for taking the time to find the words to describe that day- I can't imagine what it's been like for you, Craig, and the entire crazy Robb clan :) but am continuing to pray for strength for all of you. Love you!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jenn. I continue to process this past year in various ways-- writing about that day was one of the ways that I was able to process. Thanks for reading, remembering, loving, and praying! Love you too!
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