The Surgery

Tomorrow is November 2, 2010. It's election day and it's also exactly one year since the day I had my first cancer surgery.

We watched the movie, Amelia, the other night. It was good. We liked it, anyway. I admired Amelia Earhart's fortitude and tenacity in an era when that was far less acceptable for a woman than it is today. At one point, after her first transatlantic flight, she was writing in her journal. (Today she'd be blogging, right?) Her entry indicated that the two questions she was asked most often were     1). What did you wear? and 2). What next?

This (as so many things do) triggered memories of my experiences a year ago. I debated whether or not I even wanted to blog about this because it is still extremely difficult for me to process some of the experiences and even more difficult to talk about them. But there are just some things that should not have happened and without going into great detail, I just need to share them. 1).  What did you wear?

One year ago tomorrow, I checked into Same Day Surgery at Mercy. The nurse who checked me in led us to a cubicle where she tossed one of their beautiful hospital gowns onto a chair and said "Take everything off and put this on" - then threw back her head and let out a big belly laugh. I immediately felt the tears sting my eyes. I was an emotional wreck anyway, given the situation, and could have really used some empathy at that point. But she laughed...loudly. She walked out then and I said to Ken, "Why would she laugh? What was she thinking? What's funny about this?" That should never have happened. How inappropriate and insensitive.

I changed and almost immediately the pace picked up. It seemed like there were people everywhere in that little cubicle. Ken was sitting next to me. Pastor John was there. Someone was trying to start an IV and someone else wanted to know why the EKG electrodes hadn't been brought in. A tech from radiology showed up looking for the "needle loc." Can you believe it? The "needle loc." That was me. Apparently it's OK to substitute your procedure for your name. I thought about telling her my name was Cathy, not needle loc, but didn't. She was obviously annoyed as it was that I was not ready to go and didn't try to hide the annoyance. Doesn't seem like this should have happened either.

Once I got downstairs where they would do the needle loc and other pre-surgery preps, I really discovered how much fun this wasn't going to be. I can accept the fact that current medical procedures just are what they are. Someday, hopefully, they will make strides in how things are done, but, for now, these things just are painful to say the least. What should be changed immediately, however, is the insensitivity of some to what the breast cancer patient, or any patient, is feeling and going through. The radiologist had a student or intern or whatever with him and this young man was actually cracking jokes in the procedure room. Really? There's a time and a place for everything and that wasn't it. Prior to injecting the dye, the radiologist was explaining the procedure and placed my right arm at my side. His exact words were "I'm placing your arm here and I don't want you to move until I'm done. Don't try to help me - don't try to hit me." I closed my eyes at that point and didn't open them again until they finished what they needed to do and I was once again taking a gurney ride...this time to surgery. Ken was standing out in the hallway and all I could say to him was "This is some fun place."

All too soon the doors to the OR swung open and Ken could no longer walk beside me. I again struggled to fight back tears as we said goodbye.
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My same day surgery ended up being a two night stay, at the end of which I went home to recover and wonder about my own answer to question #2, what's next?

Now, don't get me wrong. The surgeon, anesthesiology staff, nurses, techs, etc. from that point on were all great. They were caring, knowledgeable individuals who made the surgery and recovery experiences as comfortable as possible. The part that haunts me is all of the insensitivity I experienced prior to surgery. It should have never happened. I know that someone, somewhere, is having trouble sleeping tonight because she is just beginning her breast cancer journey and is facing surgery tomorrow morning. I just pray that she will not have to deal with thoughtless individuals who are so desensitized to the everyday situations that go on in the hospital that they forget they are dealing with people...people who are going through a very emotional, very scary, very life-changing experience and who could really use a smile, a pat on the hand or a kind word. You can bet that if I some day find myself face to face with someone who is in a position to do something about situations like this, I will relive this experience one more time and beg them to offer sensitivity training or something as a reminder to all who work with patients. We've come a long way baby, but there's still room for improvement. You know, I just read yesterday that in the 1880s, women having mastectomies weren't even given anesthesia. Yes, we've come a long way!

Later.