BRCA JOURNAL: CHAPTER FIVE

(Chapter 5 of 5. Read part 1 here.)

I Had a Mastectomy and Lived to Tell About It

On February 3, 2009, I had a bilateral prophylactic mastectomy with reconstruction. I decided to have the surgery because I had tested positive for the BRCA gene. As my previous journal entries attest, it was not an easy decision.

The weeks and days leading up to the surgery proved to be the most emotionally arduous I had ever endured. Anxiety, fear, sadness – you name it, I experienced it. How would they look? How would they feel?

Would I ever fully recover from the shock of it all? I never faltered from my resolve to have the surgery, but I suffered many sleepless nights and shed many tears during that period of time.

The Day of the Surgery

On the day of the surgery, I woke up at 4:00 a.m., took a shower, blew my hair dry and kissed my children goodbye. The smell of their sleeping breath comforted me and I felt an eerie inner calm as my husband, Jim, drove me to the hospital. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I remember not feeling any of the fear or anxiety of the previous weeks. I must have been out of my head, because it felt as if the car was floating down the expressway.

When we checked in at the hospital and the nurse put the plastic hospital bands on my wrists, the pit in my stomach returned. Those silly plastic bracelets felt like steel shackles to me. I tried to distract myself. I focused on finding my husband the best spot to set up camp in the waiting room, but he picked up on my apprehension and said, “You are going to be okay, honey. I love you and the kids love you and we want you to be around for a long time. You are 100% doing the right thing.”

Enter my first tear of the day.

Jim stayed with me as I changed into my gown, the nurse placed my IV and the doctors examined me. He didn’t leave my side until I was taken back into the operating room.

My cousin, Couni, would be meeting him in the waiting room and would help distract him from his own anxiety during what turned out to be an eight-hour surgery.

Couni, a nurse, had called me months earlier to tell me that she was staying with me during my entire hospital stay and immediate recovery. She didn’t ask, she told me.

I am so glad that she ignored me when I tried to convince her (and myself) that it wouldn’t be necessary.

My last memory was of the anesthesiologist saying, “Okay, we’ve begun” and me replying, “Does that mean you’ve started the drip?” I knew with his nod that I was only moments away from escaping to never-never land.

In the recovery room, it took me a while to come through the fog of the anesthesia and appreciate what was going on. As my eyes adjusted, I knew Jim and Couni were there, but then it hit me: I was in pain. Real pain. My chest was sore, as I had expected, but the pain in my arms was like nothing I had ever felt in my life.

It was a searing pain that began in my arm pits and went down into my hands. The nurse explained that my discomfort may have been due to the fact that my arms had been spread out at my sides and secured to the table during the entire eight-hour surgery. Discomfort? Please! A blister causes discomfort. I felt like I had been hit by a truck.

A friend of mine who had also had a mastectomy told me that I absolutely had to have someone stay with me overnight in the hospital. She told me that I would feel terrible and wouldn’t be able to use my arms. I couldn’t fully comprehend what she meant at the time, but now her advice was resonating loud and clear. I was so thankful I had Jim and Couni with me that night.

They helped me adjust my position in bed, brushed my hair out of my eyes, handed me water to sip and pressed the nurse call button when I needed it. I couldn’t do any of it on my own.

Meeting My New Girls

My first day in the hospital was spent lying on my back drifting in and out of sleep. During the second day, I was able to get up and walk around. I still felt awful but at least I was moving. That night, I told Jim to stay at home with the kids and get a good night’s sleep.