Young Writers Society

September 21, 2013

I am going to hate tomorrow. I was unhappy today, but I’m going to hate tomorrow, with a passionate fury! Honestly, God have mercy on anyone who gets on my nerves, because I will be pissy.

The surgery is scheduled for Monday at 8:30 am. I got my directions from the hospital on Thursday: No food after 8 am on Sunday, the 22. I can only drink clear fluids – teas, lemonade, diluted broths, liquefied jello, apple juice, ginger ale, sprite, Gatorade; but even those can’t be red or purple in color! I have to go back to the hospital before 2 pm to get blood work done (because apparently your blood type expires within 24 hours…moladets!) and pick up the enemas… That’s going to be brutal. And after midnight, I can’t have anything to eat or drink until after the surgery.

Do you know how much I love food?! I am a steak and potatoes kind of woman, and I have to go over twenty four hours without food at all! I’m going to be so moody and so snappy, I pray for Jeff and my family if something sets me off.

At least I’ll get to stay inside for most of the day, and I slightly spoiled myself tonight. I went to the store to buy all of these juices that I’m going to need for sustenance, and I bought a can of navy beans, corn, and a carrot while I was at it. I used up about half of the little red potatoes I had left and made myself a rich, thick, heavy potato-bean soup. I’ve already had two full bowls, and there’s enough left in the pot for about three more. I might have one more bowl before I go to bed, and then have one for breakfast – before fucking eight o’clock!

Ah, it’s already happening… I’m so frazzled, I can barely keep a straight face or a stable thought process. I’m ready for this to be done, but I’m also not wanting to do it. I’m terrified of what could happen. What if it ends up being worse than he thinks, and he has to do more surgery? Actually cut me open and cut into me, taking more than just the tumor? What if I have a bad reaction to the anesthesia? What if I end up rebounding and I have to stay in the hospital overnight, until I’m stable? What if the entire surgery goes wrong and I get postponed, or it takes longer than anticipated and I lose everything –

I need to stop. I’m going to drive myself crazy. I just really don’t want to do this… If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t. At least I have people here to support me. Mom and Jeff are both going to be there in the hospital with me. Dr. Orlofsky and Dr. Allard will be a phone call away. Even Mr. Scott, my boss although he acts more like my second dad, gave me a one-armed hug today and told me that if I need anything, that he’ll be right over. And I know Amanda, Stephanie, Beth, Susannah, and Hannah will be praying for me.

I just want to get this over with. Is that too much to ask?

September 23, 2013

The surgery went well. I don’t remember much of it, but I know how it turned out. I am now tumor free, and I didn’t lose the ovary.

My hand aches from the I.V., but my stomach is the worst. I haven’t taken the bandage off to look, but I can feel it. It feels like the surgeon took a burning hot knife and left it in me. No amount of Advil can take the pain away entirely, because it’s not the prescribed medicine the nurses gave me. That medicine is entirely useless, because I’m allergic to codeine – the pills are codeine based. It really pissed me off, too, when my mom called them to see if they could send a new prescription. “It’s not actually codeine,” they said. “It’s got components similar to codeine, so it should be completely fine.” Yeah, whatever. I’m not going to take a chance and end up back in the hospital because of an allergic reaction, even if I could technically sue over it.

I know one thing, anesthesia really sucks. They took my glasses and all of my jewelry from me. I couldn’t see, and I was already cold and unnerved from the situation. I remember that I was crying, and two nurses stopped by to cheer me up and make me smile. Then…the anesthesiologist came, a Dr. Osborn or Osmond, I can’t remember, and he inserted a needle into the port on the IV. A few minutes later, there was a three-dimensional effect on my vision; the vents on the ceiling and the curtains seemed to be coming in on me, closing me in. The medicine was relaxing, but it wasn’t. It did help me calm down, but the effects also put me toward a claustrophobic meltdown. I felt safe, but I didn’t. Honestly, I don’t think I know what I felt. Then Dr. Dulaney came to me and started talking to me. The last thing I remember was him telling me, “I’m going to take care of you. I will do everything in my power to get rid of that growth and save your ovary. But I want you to understand, I may not be able to; it depends on what I see when I get there. Okay?”

I remember telling him I trusted him, and then I go blank. I woke up back in room 211, with my family around me. Mom was on one side of the bed, and Jeff was sitting on the other. Papa was watching the television, Aunt Angie had left to go to her own doctor appointment back home, and Dad was asleep in his wheelchair in the corner. Somehow I had wound up on my side, and everything hurt. I was fine until I tried to sit up and drink the broth the nurse had brought me, but it didn’t settle well. The resulting bout of nausea, probably induced by the anesthesia, only made my stomach burn until I was crying.

Now I’m home, six hours later. I’ve slept a good bit of it off, but I can tell this week won’t be easy. I’m going to try and sleep on Papa’s couch tonight, until I start feeling better. Maybe tomorrow I can sleep in my bed, a little more comfortably.

September 24, 2013

It’s like yesterday was a dream. I know it happened, because it hurts, but at the same time…it’s like it didn’t. Looking at my hand now, with the bandage covering the big blue bruise left by the I.V. needle, and the bandage on my stomach, I don’t remember anything. I remember bits and pieces… Jeff sitting by me when I came to, my mom petting me on the head, my dad and Papa sitting on the other side of the room from me…sitting in the wheelchair outside the hospital, watching mom pull up with the van…waking up and seeing the ceiling of the van and a glimpse of the cream paneling around Papa’s house…Mom standing to the side of me in the living room, Jeff in the recliner beside me as I wake up on the couch, and they were talking… I finally came to completely around eight, I suppose, and it’s all normal from there. It’s like a dream. I don’t remember when she even took the needle out of my hand. I don’t remember calling Mr. Scott, even though mom swears that I did. I was in so much pain that I didn’t want to move, and I was still so sick from the anesthesia that I could barely keep anything down. Only when mom gave me soupy mashed potatoes did my stomach finally settle.

It feels good to be home, and it’s great to know that Dr. Dulaney was able to save my ovary. Mom told me this morning what he told them, after the surgery was over. He had been able to go in, collapse the cyst, and remove it without damaging the ovary. I hurt all over, though… My whole stomach is swollen and tender, especially on my left side. I haven’t tried to touch the bandage yet; it hurts so bad, and I’m honestly afraid of what I’ll see under it.

It feels good to be home, though. It feels so good to be at home, after all this time, and see the beautiful, rustic simplicity that surrounds me…just a clearing in the woods with a cabin, full of oak-finish paneling, neutral plushy carpets, and antique furniture, next to the old double-wide trailer that I grew up in, and a big back yard bordered by bamboo on the north, a grove of pecans and walnuts on the west, and cedars on the south. And people that love me endlessly.

I’m sure I’ll go stir-crazy later, but it’s a nice change. It’s a very nice change.