Taking a look back

Looking back at the last couple posts, I was on a surgery post, then I had to get mad at my unique position. I guess I should finish the surgical post. 


It was amazing at how many people were at the hospital to have out patient surgery. It was so stream lined. Get in line. Wait. Move to the appointed spot. Wait for the person at the desk. Answer a few questions. Stick out your arm for your arm band. Have a seat. Wait for your name to be called. Excruciating migraine. 


Every person I encountered asked me my name and what I was there for. Security procedure. Don't want to have the wrong surgery. Would the wrong one have been so bad? That thought did cross my mind a time or two. Wonder what wrong surgery I could have had that day? Maybe just my appendix? Maybe it would have been something worse than my original surgery.


The first thing I have to do is take off all, yes all, of my clothes. Given some gray socks to put back on and a gown. Yay. Insert eyeball roll here. Get in the bed, cover my head with the sheet and blanket. 




So, into the pre-op arena. Yes, it was like an arena. It was horse shoe shaped, at the opening of the horse shoe is the lab area. Everyone has to have blood work done. Each patient is separated from the other by curtains, just like in a regular room. Each little cubicle has its own lights, monitoring equipment, bed, chair and so on. My nurse, a male, came in and I was laying there with the covers over my head to block out the light. He asks my name and I tell him, my husband tells him I have a sever migraine. The nurse commiserates with me, he gets them, too. As soon as my blood work is done, he promises me that I will have meds to make it go away. 


When was my last menstrual cycle? Did you take anything for the migraine? Have you had anything to drink? To eat? I can't list all the questions, but it seemed endless. 


The anesthesiologist seemed sort of peeved that I had a migraine. Was it my choice to have the damned thing? Hell no!! No, I did not take anything! It was the first one I had had in a long time. No allergies.


The doctor comes in. Nice to meet my husband.  I tell her I would rather not have seen her again this way. She understands, but my decision is for the best. We agree. The next time she sees me it will be in the operating room.


I am hooked up to a heart monitor by another nurse, this one a female. Beeps and buzzers and all sorts of noises, not just from me but from the others around me.


When can I have meds to make the migraine go away? As soon as all my blood work is back. I can hear the first nurse asking the lab if my blood work is done, she is in pain, get it done. He does this more than once. The needle and med, versed, is waiting for me at the end of my bed on the tray. My blood pressure is sky high. No wonder, I am stressed, dehydrated, and in pain. Not to worry, it's understandable. 


Finally, blood work is done and here comes the first nurse. I have an i.v. needle inserted in my wrist, probably my left, I don't remember for sure. This was done shortly after I went into the pre op staging area. He lifts the needle off the table and says I will feel better quickly. All I really remember is my head swimming around. My husband tells me I asked the nurse if it was o.k. that my head was swimming, but I don't really remember doing this. 


I have a vague memory of being taken to the operating room. Also another vague memory of being there and being transferred from one bed to the other, but even shortly after surgery I wasn't sure if I really remembered it it "placed" the memory there--I was told what would happen once I was in the operating room, so I am not sure if I really remember what happened or not. 


The next thing I know is that I am uncomfortable, there is a nurse around me, I ask the following three questions: Am I done, what time is it, and when can I go home?


I remember being really thirsty and what am I given? Lorna Doone cookies, saltines, and graham crackers. You have got to be fucking kidding me! Here I am, have not had a drop of hydration since the night prior and you are giving me that shit! All I wanted and asked for was lots of water, which I was promptly brought. Skip the damned crackers and cookies! Not sure now much I drank, though. 


My husband is there now. Not really sure what he said, it's been over a year now. He probably asked how I felt. I remember trying to sit up--that didn't work out too well. I remember trying to get dressed, had to have help, of course. Stupid elastic waist pants, a shirt, why in the world did I choose to take shoes that needed tied? Very particular about how tight or loose my shoes are tied. 


Anyway, the nurse told me it was 9:30, yes, I was done, and I could go home any time I felt up to it. Believe you me, I was wanting to be out of there as soon as I could. Oh wait, I also wanted to make it to McDonald's before breakfast was over. I failed to make it, only by a few minutes, though. 


Headed to Target to get my prescription pain killer, Vicodin. Had my husband bring out the electric cart--damn thing was almost dead. Went to the bathroom. For the life of me, I did not want to go to the bathroom in the hospital, just wanted the hell out of there. I remember it being particularly funny that I was having to be helped to the bathroom, in the bathroom, getting my stupid elastic waist pants back up, headed back  out to the Vue. He brought out my prescription. 


Honestly, I don't remember much of the ride home. I do remember, however, pulling into the County Market parking lot and all I wanted was tapioca pudding and propel. Most of my co workers asked him how I was doing. It seemed like it took him a while to get what I wanted. 


Came home and tried to eat a bowl of soup. Drank the propel. Ate the pudding. Fortunately, I was told that it would be hard to eat most anything after surgery due to the fact that some of the drugs that get used during surgery make it difficult to produce saliva for a while. Damned if that wasn't what happened. I had a bowl of Italian Wedding soup with mini meatballs. All I could manage to get down was the broth. The rest of it seemed to stick in my throat. Thank goodness for tapioca pudding!!

Happy Anniversary *eyeball roll*

It all started about two years ago, my journey into menopause.

Well, I guess technically, it all started with my grandmother, back in the '70's when she got her diagnosis, but my personal journey started two years ago.

I originally got the BRCA testing to make my mom shut up, to make her quit harping on me to find out if I had a predisposition to ovarian cancer. I never gave a thought or much of a thought to what I would do with the results. Do the tests, find out, have it taken care of, go on with my life.

Um, did I mention this involves major surgery? That you go into instant menopause? That you have all the "wonderful" things associated with menopause? *insert eyeball roll here*

I had my testing, go the results back the week we were heading to Canada for the very first time with our drag car.

I do all the shopping for food, fixing all the food, loading the trailer with all our personal clothes, all the food....the list seems to go on..... and on... and on.....and not only that, I have to deal with finding out how to cross the border into and out of Canada, what items we can have, how much of these items, can I take the dog, what papers does she have to have, what kind of food I can take or not take--did you  know you cannot take root vegetables into Canada from the U.S.? I do! Did you know you have to have a manifest of all your items? I do.

There are all sorts of rules and regulations going into and out of Canada from the States.

Doing this trip, however, is easier in some ways than regular events in the States. At least going into Canada everything I take has to either be in original containers or labeled with USDA stamps--product of USA.
So, most of what I take is already prepared--BBQ from Sam's Club, heat and eat type things, salads in sealed containers from the grocery stores, veggies already chopped in sealed containers, and so on. I don't fix anything ahead of time, just shop, load and go.

Oh, and on the Tuesday or Wednesday before we leave, I get this nice letter in the mail, in a nutshell, it tells me I am BRCA 2  positive. I can't stop to decipher what this means beyond I am at very high risk for ovarian cancer. Time to leave for Canada, gotta go, the semi waits for no one.

I tell my step daughter by text message, who else am I going to tell? I don't even remember telling my mom that week. I can't tell the guys--my husband knows, but his mind is on racing--can't tell either of my sons or the crew member that is with us--I text my step daughter. I had to spill my guts to someone.

Canada crossing goes fine, worried for nothing.

With our racing association, they always have a minister, her name is Renee. I am walking back from my shower or pee break or whatever the reason and I stop to talk to her, I spill my guts and bawl my eyes out. She was a great comfort and gave me some wise words to hold in my heart, she tells me that the diagnosis is a "gift wrapped in trash". It's great that I have the scientific knowledge to find out what the future holds for me, but it's trash that I have the diagnosis. What am I going to do? Well, Renee, I guess I am going to have my ovaries removed to hopefully prevent this disease from taking over my life.

July 2010 was my news, it takes me until January to have an appointment with a surgeon, March 2011 to have surgery. I had a breast MRI in November, maybe December of 2010, along with a pelvic ultrasound and trans vaginal ultrasound. I have touched on those in a previous post, no need to go into it here.

It's hard to believe it's been two years since my original BRCA diagnosis. I didn't even realize it until we were not heading to Canada this year and some of our other racing friends are. Sort of a bittersweet anniversary--two years from my original diagnosis and on top of that we are not racing this coming weekend and friend are. Sweet I have control over my life, over what fate has handed me.

I know some of this is a repeat of what I have already written down, I needed to write it again, for my sanity. I need to relive some of this to keep clear in my mind what has been done, what I have done, what my life was like "before" and what my life is like "after". I don't want my journey to be in vain, I want others to learn from this, that they have to take control over their lives, ask questions, take the initiative in their health care.

Am I home free from a cancer diagnosis? Hell no! Do I have to be pro active in my care? Hell yes!!

So, happy BRCA 2 anniversary to me *eyeball roll here*

Happy rest of my life, I sure as hell hope so!!