Operation day

Thursday June 1st, on the day of the surgery, Gwen dropped us off at 6 am at Faulkner Hospital. My surgery was scheduled at 7 am.

 After registration they whisked me away to prep for surgery: to hear about all the risks, to sign all the paperwork, to meet the surgery team, and --- most importantly--- to get the IV in. I always have trouble with the last one...

I am fair skinned with lovely blue veins, which are oh so deceptive, but no one was interested in listening to me. The nurse tried to get the IV into my wrist twice, but both times the veins popped leaving me black and blue. Now, I have been down that road so many times and I requested the professional IV people (turns out in MA you can always request one after two unsuccessful tries). The IV nurse was able to finally get the IV in, though painfully searching inside my vein for a while -- I was just grateful it was done at least in only one try.

I devote so much time to describing getting the IV, as it was the most dramatic event of that day. 

Once the IV was in, I was cruising down the corridor counting ceiling lamps... and then I woke up in the post-op station after the operation because George was squeezing my bruised hands. 

13 lymph nodes were removed, a breast lumpectomy, and, finally, the port was removed as well. The tissues were sent to the pathologist to figure out whether I actually still have cancer or not (diagnostically the only almost sure way to know).

We grabbed an Uber and by 12:30 pm we were already home. After wolfing down some leftovers, I crashed and slept for several hours.

So, of course I was super bruised and covered in bandages, but not much more pain beyond that, to the extent that I didn't even eat the painkiller tablets. I thought I would wait till the evening and eat one before going to sleep to hold me over through the night, but it never even got to that point.

Port procedure

Three weeks into my chemotherapy regimen, after all the holidays, I was finally scheduled for a port procedure -- this time at Dana Farber in Boston. My overall experience at this location wasn't that great, though the actual procedure went well.

Who knew that within several weeks, I would play favorites! I so like my satellite office at Chestnut Hill (parking, easy registration, direct communications), that I am looking forward to going there tomorrow for chemo treatment instead of Boston.

After a flood of communication of where, when, and required preregistration, it turned out that I was supposed to be at a different building, different floor to draw blood, than rush across the street to yet another floor to check in, then brought along some convoluted labyrinth to the prep station. All this confusion at 7 AM in the morning

with nobody to ask is no fun. Then the nightmare of the nurse not being able to get an IV inserted started. She tried 5 times (!), which was excruciating and with each time she did it with more determination and less care, as if by sheer will her random stabbing would amount to anything. It turns out that large hospitals normally have an IV team that I could have requested... In comparison to that IV experience, the actual cut open procedure felt like a holiday! :)

So, back to the port. Until a month ago I didn't even know such thing existed or were highly desired. A port, per Doctor Google's definition: "A vascular access procedure involves placing a thin hollow plastic tube into a vein to permit drawing blood tests, and giving medications or transfusions directly into the bloodstream, over a period of weeks, months or even years."

In layman's terms, during an hour under local sedation in a bright white room (just like in all those hospital dramas), a small round blip was placed under the skin just below my right clavicle bone. I could hear everyone, see the gleaming machines that performed ultrasound and what else, but sorts of from very, very far away.

And now this will be used for all the blood draws and infusions, though I am hoping not tomorrow, as it takes several days to heal...