Behind the Scenes

Good job on the last post! Everyone followed directions. Nicely done!

When I told Scott that I had written that post, he told me that it was kind of a strange idea. But it was fun, wasn't it? It was like I had dozens of ghost-writers. New blog updates every day, and I didn't have to lift a finger. Plus, now we're all friendly with each other.

As a reward for all of your hard work, here are some embarrassing photos of me. I hope that they make you smile ... or laugh out loud ... about how ridiculous this journey has sometimes been.

Thanks for walking the road with me.

This is me before my first surgery. The outfit I'm wearing is called a Bair Paws gown. It's awesome. Designed to help minimize the anxiety felt by patients and to aid in the prevention of surgically induced hypothermia, this gown is like an air conditioner, a furnace and a fashion statement all rolled into one. First, it does not gap in the back like traditional gowns. Thank goodness. ALSO, it has the capability of being hooked up to different machines during the different phases of the hospital stay. For pre-op and post-op care, a Bair Hugger machine blows warm or cool air into the layers of the gown. The patient is given a remote to control the temperature and to keep them distracted from the perils ahead. (I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.) During the surgery, the clinicians can use the different ports of the gown to prevent heat loss from anesthesia, chilly O.R. rooms and surgical site prep. Ingenious ... and cozy. I miss you, Bair Paws.

Hey, I just thought of a new use for this gown ... menopausal women. I would love to dial up a little personal air-conditioning during hot flashes. Arizant Healthcare, here I come.

Remember when I told you that I was like a human craft project?

Yeah, well, here's exhibit C.

Paper templates + permanent markers + plastic surgeon + me = latissimus dorsi removal blueprints.

I'm not sure what that scribble on my lower back is. Sometimes, you just have to color outside the lines, I guess.

Here I am trying to escape the inevitable.

Okay, not really. This is me en route to surgery. They just let me wander around hospitals, now. I'm like a regular. Okay, not really again. I was coming from mammography where they had trouble locating the metal clip in my breast that was placed during my biopsy, ... which the radiologist had trouble locating when putting in the guide wire ... so that the surgeon could properly locate the tumor. Whew. That was a mouthful. It was also a lot of locating ... and I had to direct all of it. It's as though I am the social director of this here cancer party. I bring all the medical personal together to find offensive cells and then we think of ways to slap them into submission. Wait, that sounds like a really bizarre party. Also, the dress code kind of sucks. It's a rather ill-fitting robe, don't you think?

This is me during the final stages of prep. All ready. I look pretty cheerful for someone about to enter a procedure reputed to make you "feel like you've been hit by a truck."

Oh, not anymore. Here I am post-op. I have huge re-fillable ice packs on my chest and my hair up like Don King because it was irritating my neck. Unfortunately, I couldn't lift my arms more than a few inches, so every time I moved my head, I had to ask someone to come over and refresh my hairdo. I seem to be displeased by this turn of events.

I was also displeased by these compression boots. They wrap around the legs of sedentary patients, inflating and deflating every few seconds, to help prevent blood clots. They also help induce insanity. After a few hours, they itch and irritate and pretend to be the devil. It's like wearing a blood pressure cuff for 23 hours a day and taking a new reading every minute. Maddening.

See? Here I am showing my general dissatisfaction with my lot in life.

And here I am showing how much better you can feel after a couple pints of fresh blood. Mmmm, being a vampire is so rejuvenating.

But, blood-sucking has nothing on anesthesia. This is me after a few seconds on IV drugs. This is apparently what I look like right before I pass out and get wheeled away toward certain doom, a.k.a. hysterectomy. They are a blissful few seconds. And, if you want a soundtrack of these moments, it goes like this: "Scott, hurry up and take the picture; I won't be able to keep my eyes open much longer!"

Ahhh ... anesthesia and pain meds. How I love you. Let me count the ways:

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six ... blelblahhhh, drool."