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By STEPHANIE LAW
Staff Writer Monday, August 27, 2007

Editor’s Note: Ninth in a series of columns about one woman’s journey through the often-scary world of breast cancer.

My third date with the surgeon in little more than a month. I wasn’t looking forward to removal of lymph nodes under my left arm, but it was necessary to learn whether I was truly free of breast cancer.

The good news, my surgeon said, was that I had a 90 percent chance that I had no cancer there, and, if the analysis was clean, I wouldn’t need additional treatment. No chemotherapy or radiation — no breast tissue left, after all, meaning nothing to treat.

OK, bring it on, I said. I didn’t have very good luck with my first day surgery, the lumpectomy. That turned into an overnight stay in the hospital after I developed fluid in my left lung. I hoped this time would be different — no food or drink after midnight, sign-in at 10 a.m., surgery scheduled for noon, home before supper.

I got there on time, two nurses descended on me to put in the intravenous tube and ask all the pre-surgical questions, such as did I remember to leave my jewelry and valuables at home? Yes, I did. Then the list of specifics: Rings, yes; earrings, yes; watch, yes; nipple rings . . . Say what? I thought we took care of any possibility of that last item during my previous visit for a bilateral mastectomy.

Then my cousin and I (me in my fashionless johnnie) began our wait. Noon came and went. At 1 p.m., the nurse came in and said the day’s first surgery was still going on and I would go a little later. At 2 p.m., the nurse said the operation had a few complications and my surgery wouldn’t be until at least 4 p.m. I had the option of waiting or rescheduling surgery for two days later.

I decided to wait, since another night of fasting didn’t appeal to me. One nurse smuggled me a pill dose cupful of water — just enough to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

I finally was wheeled to the operating room a little after 5 p.m., fully awake since I didn’t have any pre-op medicine in my room. The anesthetist injected something into my IV tube and said, “Twenty-three seconds.” What do you mean? I asked. He said, “You’ll be out in 23 seconds.” I started to say I didn’t believe him, and the next thing I remember is waking up in recovery. Wow.

I was wheeled back to my room and as soon as I was able, I drank about eight glasses of water and ate green Jell-O, chocolate pudding and vanilla ice cream in rapid succession. The doctor let me go home after I went to the bathroom and squeezed out a few cc’s of urine (hard to do since it had been almost 18 hours since I had something to drink).

My cousin drove me home and helped me get into bed. I slept the night away and woke up to some nasty pain under my left arm.

Since the most painful part of the mastectomy was my right side where the surgeon had dug around for lymph nodes, I had suspected this would be an instant replay. It was similar, but this incision was vertical, so every time I moved my left arm, I bent the incision and my arm rubbed against it. I also had a new drain that had to be emptied and the fluid measured.

That drain hurt. Luckily, I was able to get it removed three days after surgery and I could switch to non-prescription pain relievers.

Things started looking up. Then I developed a new pain, on the inside of my arm. It felt as if someone was sliding a red-hot knife under my left bicep; sometimes all the way down my arm.

On the outside of my arm, I got this annoying “itch” deep inside the muscle where I couldn’t possibly scratch it.

A call to the doctor’s office enlightened me. Apparently I had some nerve damage and the pain was common. In fact, it might get worse before it got better. Oh, joy.

NEXT: “Final” visit with surgeon.

Stephanie Law is a copy editor and lives in Sabattus.

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