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Chapter 2 – Lost my Double Ds…
Surgery day came faster than I thought it would.
In the days leading up, I busied myself preparing for my absence at work—handover, early report preparation, updates, and generally tying up loose ends.
In the weeks prior, my doctor had updated us based on the MRI results—lumpectomy was a ‘no-go’ as the results showed a larger second area, which also meant that I would not have enough breast tissue remaining. My entire left breast would have to go.
Devastating news, yes.
My husband and I discussed this update and what it would mean. We opted for a double mastectomy to remove or, at the very least, significantly reduce the risk of recurrence later on. My doctor agreed with this approach.
Surgery day was 11 June 2024—my sister’s birthday and coincidence #1000, as she is also an oncology nurse.
We got there at 5.30am and were ushered to our room, but not before being asked to settle the associated bill in advance. The room was no hotel suite, but at least it was private, so I could be comfortable in my own space.
As the sun rose, we got a chance to see the view out of the window for the first time; the Gulf of Paria was just beyond the visitor car park.
A nurse provided me with the surgical garments: surgical gown, hair and feet covers, and I changed. Not stylish, but appropriate for the task at hand for the day.
At about 7.00am, an orderly arrived with a nurse to take me to the pre-op area. They put on compression stockings, and my doctor arrived to prep me.
He used various coloured Sharpie markers to map out his plan for the area—where he would be removing and where he would be positioning the tubes for the drains.
The drain tubes would be inserted under the skin after surgery and would run externally to two silicone bulbs on each side. This would allow excess fluid to drain from the wounds.
Some background: As a part of my surgery, I opted for immediate reconstruction. This was a phased process, with the first stage involving the placement of tissue expanders. These are temporary implants and are stiffer and more uncomfortable than regular implants, apparently.
They also have metal ports which allow them to be inflated. Because of these metal ports, I was given a medical letter to be used when travelling, as the metal could trigger the security sensors at immigration.
These temporary implants would be inflated at intervals to get the area ready to receive the final implants, which would be closer to my natural pre-surgery size.
Essentially, they would act as ‘placeholders’ until my full post-surgery treatment plan was completed. The second stage would involve swapping out the tissue expanders for the final implants, and I was told this could be done after two years.
Anyway, once that process was done, I was taken to the operating theatre, and they inserted the IV access for the meds. The last thing I recall the anaesthetist saying was that I will start to feel sleepy… I was out.
I awoke in another area on a bed facing a wall clock that said 12:15 pm. I had a strong urge to pass urine, and they assisted me. If one thing must be said, it is that having major surgery is humbling.
I drifted back off to sleep apparently and awoke to the orderly taking me back to the room; this was closer to 2.00pm, according to my husband.
The waiting had made him and everyone anxious, as the expectation was that I would be back in the room by noon. The orderlies moved me to the bed in the room, and that was very painful.
Every move felt like torture, as I guess you use your upper body area for more things than you think. Even to sit upwards or change position was excruciating.
Lunch was the exciting meal of whole wheat toast, jam and mint tea. That was the menu for all my meals while warded.
(via Stewart House.)
Both the anaesthetist and my doctor checked in with me later that evening, with the latter saying that everything went well. Great news!
The evening shift of nurses came in, and one in particular was not very pleasant. That made my husband decide to head home for a change of clothes and a pillow so that he could stay with me overnight.
The bed was not comfortable, and that, coupled with my pain, made it hard to sleep as I could not change position easily.
They had also placed a machine on both legs to assist with circulation, and that contracted every couple of seconds while making a sound… adding to the inability to sleep.
(via Videoblocks.)
The nurse who gave me my overnight medication was very pleasant. I would meet her again when I was later transferred to the care of the assigned oncologist, as she also worked with him.
The next morning, I began trying to walk, starting from the bed to the bathroom in the room. I did it a couple of times, slowly. On one occasion, the nurse who accompanied me to the bathroom had to step away briefly to deal with a patient in another room.
In that brief time, I began to feel lightheaded, and I held on to the towel bar and closed my eyes for a second to try to steady myself.
Big mistake. When I opened my eyes, I was on the floor next to the toilet. I could not manage to get myself up because of the pain, and even shouting for help was a task.
I managed to call for help loud enough for the nurses at the front to hear me, and before I knew it, the room was filled with nurses and orderlies. Fun times when all you are wearing is a hospital gown.
Because the pain extended to my armpits, it was a challenge to lift me off the floor. I remember asking the nurse to stand behind me and keep my gown closed so the entire room would not get a show…again—humbling.
They got me back to the bed, and the on-call doctor visited and instructed them to test my blood pressure every 15 minutes, both while sitting and standing.
This led to a dose reduction in one of the meds, which was contributing to the light-headedness. This also meant that I would be warded longer for monitoring and would not be discharged at noon as planned.
My blood pressure eventually normalised, and my doctor sent instructions that I could be discharged by 5.00pm. Great news: I could sleep or at least try to sleep in my own bed that night.
I was told that I needed to walk around the ward on my own before being discharged, so the motivation to go home made me do that successfully. The mind is a hell of a thing, something I would be reminded of throughout this journey.
There was a mix-up with the discharge forms and the associated payment, which delayed our exit—but at around 6.30pm, we were good to go.
Getting from the wheelchair to my husband’s van was another task. The series of movements felt like hot knives cutting through my skin. On the drive home, each bump was exaggerated even though he drove slowly and carefully: bless him.
We got home that night, and my MIL came to check in— bless her. I took the meds prescribed for the night and was able to get some sleep.
We had gotten through 11 and 12 June.
The next day was Day One of at-home recovery. One of the meds had me very light-headed. Having to empty the drains and change the surgical bra were tasks themselves, and I had to rest in between.
I could not take a full shower as the bandages could not get wet, so lots of wet wipes and showering from the waist down was the order of the day. My husband helped with everything. Thank God because it was a lot.
I had purchased button-down tops ahead of surgery as I was advised that I would be unable to lift my arms. This was true.
Moving items to lower shelves was also done in advance so I could avoid the need to reach for things. Even front-close surgical bras were required, and changing in and out of those was also a challenge. Everything was painful at first.
At my post-op visit, I was still in pain and light-headed, and so my doctor revised the prescription, which was a lifesaver. The light-headedness went away, and the pain was better managed.
The drains could not be removed yet as I was still producing quite a bit of fluid. Those would eventually be removed three days later. That process was not painful, thank God.
The bandages were redone, and I would need weekly visits to check and change them for the next month. As the pain reduced, I was able to do more with each passing week.
It was a rough time, but I made it through with the support of my husband. I have to say that while I was the one who had surgery, WE have gone through the recovery period and everything else that followed.
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Keep the faith and the fight. God have mercy on you.