Until you actually have to show up at the hospital and finally do all the stuff that you have been talking about, listening intently to, taking notes and actually agreeing to while nodding your head. Talk? That's the easy part. It's a whole other can of beans when you have to get up on the day of the surgery and do this not so fun action part. A few days prior I kept getting calls from family, from friends, the hospital (pre check in) and both doctors all asking me how I am. Each time my answer was the same. Ooohhhh fine (in a slightly different high pitch voice) I'm just trying not to make a run for it. They would laugh and I would laugh but not like a real laugh like a hehe totally fake dry mouth kinda laugh. You see I was only partially joking. Major surgery and stays in the hospital are just straight up terrifying. What's a girl to do? Make imaginary plan b in your head that you can always run off like a chicken.
What's a better plan? Roll in with a crew about 10 deep. And thats exactly what I did. Kinda like a pre party. I am in no way exaggerating when I tell you how much it helped. Immensely is a word that comes to mind. However before "the crew" arrived mid morning I had to check in much earlier at the nuclear medicine part of the hospital for a pre surgery procedure called sentinel node biopsy. I really wasn't happy about that one. It involves needles. And radioactive dye. To further help you understand let's remember I certainly don't have pinky toe cancer. I have breast cancer. Just so we get the idea where it was all going down. Very much needed and important. I know that. It's to check lymph nodes giving the surgeon a clear path to detect how far the cancer has gone but knowing this sure didn't make me skip off to the radiology section. Talk about needing a paper bag to prevent panic attacks. When they called my name to take me back I actually involuntarily said in a strange voice: no esta aqui. Yes I said that. My mom laughed and said you're too much, get back there whacking me on the butt.
As we walk down the hall young man number one says do you know what you are here for today? Uuuhh. I blank out. I didn't know there was going to be a test. I do my best to mutter the procedures in the medical terms all the while trying to peek at the papers he is holding. Close he says while he repeats it to me. This happens throughout the day with each new person who comes in. It's a good thing. You sure don't want to leave without a leg or some other limb and still have the f$@&cn cancer in you because of a terrible mix up. It's just I didn't study for the test.
Off I go for the injections, in the you know what. In a freezing cold room with huge strange machines lying down wrapped in a warm blanket strapped in on this oddly small stretcher bed (either that or it's not made for Latina booties) slightly exposed waiting for the doctor of radiology with 2 young men in their 20s. It seems injection Doctor wasn't ready. After a few more minutes waiting the young man says I'm so sorry he will be right here. I let him
What's a better plan? Roll in with a crew about 10 deep. And thats exactly what I did. Kinda like a pre party. I am in no way exaggerating when I tell you how much it helped. Immensely is a word that comes to mind. However before "the crew" arrived mid morning I had to check in much earlier at the nuclear medicine part of the hospital for a pre surgery procedure called sentinel node biopsy. I really wasn't happy about that one. It involves needles. And radioactive dye. To further help you understand let's remember I certainly don't have pinky toe cancer. I have breast cancer. Just so we get the idea where it was all going down. Very much needed and important. I know that. It's to check lymph nodes giving the surgeon a clear path to detect how far the cancer has gone but knowing this sure didn't make me skip off to the radiology section. Talk about needing a paper bag to prevent panic attacks. When they called my name to take me back I actually involuntarily said in a strange voice: no esta aqui. Yes I said that. My mom laughed and said you're too much, get back there whacking me on the butt.
As we walk down the hall young man number one says do you know what you are here for today? Uuuhh. I blank out. I didn't know there was going to be a test. I do my best to mutter the procedures in the medical terms all the while trying to peek at the papers he is holding. Close he says while he repeats it to me. This happens throughout the day with each new person who comes in. It's a good thing. You sure don't want to leave without a leg or some other limb and still have the f$@&cn cancer in you because of a terrible mix up. It's just I didn't study for the test.
Off I go for the injections, in the you know what. In a freezing cold room with huge strange machines lying down wrapped in a warm blanket strapped in on this oddly small stretcher bed (either that or it's not made for Latina booties) slightly exposed waiting for the doctor of radiology with 2 young men in their 20s. It seems injection Doctor wasn't ready. After a few more minutes waiting the young man says I'm so sorry he will be right here. I let him
know no worries, that I had back up plans to ditch the whole thing and run off to Mexico anyway so this must be a sign. Wouldn't you know very tall and very handsome Dr Radiologist is standing right behind me as I say this snapping his gloves on laughing telling me no Mexico today young lady, we are going to have you out of here in a jiffy.
So there I lie left breast exposed with 3 handsome young men just hanging around joking. No biggie, right? Awwwkkwwaarrdd. Young man number two says hold my hand and proceeds to tell me a funny story about his #160 Saint Bernard who misbehaves constantly while handsome doctor counts and injects, counts and injects. 1 of 4. 2 of 4 and so on until we are done.
Finally I'm done to go meet up with my crew for the pre party before surgery.
