This week I posted the last of three posts about my diagnosis with breast cancer at the end of 2003. Now it seems appropriate to post about my mastectomy. This post, originally called “Valentine’s Day 2004 or… I left my breast on the Mount of Olives” first ran on February 14, 2012. To recap: Part 1 (discovery), Part 2 (biopsy), Part 3 (diagnosis).
Fourteenth of February, 2004. There was a heavy snowfall. In Jerusalem that is almost as rare as it is in Los Angeles. Many streets were closed, and many people were afraid to drive on the streets that were open because, after all, Who knows how to drive in the snow in Jerusalem?
I was in my bed in the hospital and prepped for surgery. The orderly came to take me up to the operating room and I freaked out. No, don’t want! Stop – there must be a mistake – no, no, no! But all that was mostly on the inside. On the outside I appeared anxious (who wouldn’t be?) but rational.
In pre-surgery a male nurse came over to take report on me and check me over. He introduced himself and asked all the questions. He took a marking pen and made a huge mark on my left breast. Goodbye left breast. I made some feeble joke about not getting the wrong one, and he kindly and seriously told me that he would make sure of that. He stayed with me until I went under the anesthesia.
They wheeled me into operating room. People were bustling around doing their jobs. The nurse stayed with me. I heard two other nurses talking about the snow and wondering aloud if the surgeon would make it in. What? He’s not here yet? Please don’t tell me I’ll have to go through this again.
A surgery tech brought out the instrument tray. I looked at it with what I hoped was an interested expression on my face. It was probably more like sheer terror, because my nurse asked another one to set up the screen in front of my chin. “But isn’t she having a general?” “Please, I’m asking you. She’s looking at the tray.” So they set the screen up. But now I can’t see! How can I be sure you’ll do everything right? I can’t see!
All of a sudden I felt a bustling, a purposefulness in the room. “Is the surgeon here?” “Yes.” Terror. Oh dear Lord! God, my God, bless his hands. Bless the work of this team. Bless me and give me strength to get through whatever comes next. Dear God, I am so afraid! Be with me now.
The anesthesiologist came up next to me and uttered the canonical phrase, “You’re going to feel a little prick now.” Excellent! The pleasantly heavy calmness settled over me, and…
* * * * *
Pain! I started panting like a woman in labor. Hoo hoo hoo hoo. My friend Jeannie, also a nurse, was standing next to me. She signaled the Recovery nurse who came over with an injection. I slept again.
The next time I awoke, still in Recovery, I was in pain again but aware of my surroundings, aware of Jeannie. Aware of the bulky dressing and the surgical drains where my breast used to be. Aware of the drain under my left arm. Aware that the surgery was over. Aware that pain could be controlled.
Aware that my life had forever changed.
My friend Aliza wrote about this day from her point of view. Please read her guest post here.