Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Drain removal: not for the faint of heart

Those of you who have had surgery involving drainage tubes will know exactly what I'm talking about when I say the removal of said tubes is an out-of-this-world experience.

After going on my first post-surgical driving excursion and waiting an hour and 15 minutes to see Dr. O, who isn't even my doctor but I was so bloody eager to get the drains out that I didn't care, the waiting room cleared out, the receptionists left the building and I steeled myself to make an argument. You see, you have to wait until the, erm, fluid coming out of your body and into the drains is less than 30 cc in a 24 hour period. No brainer for my right side, but the left, with the axillary node removed, was taking a little longer, and although Sunday equaled 30 cc, technically, it was still over that magic number for a 24 hour period.

I was prepared to get only one removed, but before I could launch into my explanation, Dr. O said that even if both were well under the number, that was no guarantee that I wouldn't get a seroma, which is basically a narsty pocket of fluid that can't drain. He declared that my chest looked like it was healing beautifully and got out his suture scissors to get to work.

And mother fuck. Those drains being pulled out of my body, so casually, was like nothing I've ever felt before. It was like a couple of pythons had eaten their way into my body and wrapped themselves around my internal organs and most sensitive nerves and were then yanked out hard and fast by their tails, making the blasted snakes writhe and painfully wriggle as they came out. Brutal.org. One of those eyes clenched shut moments, please let it be over, please let it be over, please let it be over.

And the problem with me is that my abnormally (but normal for me) low blood pressure mixed with a stupid tendency to overdo it at the worst of times means I would pay for this moment of otherworldly pain later in the evening.

I drove home feeling fairly gleeful that I didn't have the grenades of blood hanging from my body, but realized as I tried to turn my car around a sharp corner that driving was perhaps a bad idea. I made it home though, just in time to prep dinner.

After the girls went to bed (believe you me, I was counting the seconds), I hopped into the shower for the first time in two weeks and had a long hot blast. Heaven. I peeled my latest bandages off so Pete could change them and even got up the nerve to replace one of the steri-strips on my sutures that was looking a bit dodgy. All a bit of a numbingly painful ordeal, if that's possible.

Pete got to work on his complex bandaging process and I started to feel a bit off. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes and watched my face turn grey. The blood kept rushing to my head, though, and I forgot everything my favourite chemo nurse had told me about elevating my legs when I felt faint. I had some water and tried to stand but Pete had to catch me (under my arms, no less) before I fell.

"Oh, not my arms!" I called out and knew I was going down on my knees but couldn't stop myself. And scene.

When I came to, which Pete said was less than a minute later, I was staring into my dog's black scruffy face directly in front of me and wondered where the hell I was. Pete helped me up and we continued the mummification of my chestal. Poor guy. He looked spooked but was completely calm about the whole thing.

After a big bowl of Cheerios and almond milk, I was feeling better and crashed into bed before Frances' first wakeup at 11:30 pm.

I feel fine today, but think I got a nice little reminder yesterday not to overdo it. Today, Frances is home with me so she can nurse her cough. She's being a peach so far, but I asked my mom and dad to come over to take us out for lunch so I can get a bit of a break. See? I can ask for help when I need it.

Tomorrow (hopefully): pathology.

4 comments:

  1. Sorry to hear about the fainting spell, C. Sounds like it was way too much for today. Rest up. Sending good vibes for tomorrow's report.

    J-Bird

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  2. Yes, back to the Wonder Woman theme, it might be a good idea for you to go around those buildings instead of trying to jump over them. At least for a few more weeks. :-) I'm so, so happy that you are over the worst. But try to hold yourself back. Ease into everything where possible, there will be time for it all....

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  3. Aww Carissa I too am sending you the good times vibes. Your description of the drain removal makes Bill Cosby's long ago rendition of a woman in labour pale by comparison.

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  4. Oh my you've been through so much and continue to do so. The drain removal sounds horrendous and I was just "reading" about it. So sorry. And then to faint and oh, ow, ow, ow, under the arms. But once again, you've come through with flying colors; and one more report and you can toast this cancer shit good-bye. Loving your posts, your strength, your attitude........do you realize what an inspiration you are to all of us? xo

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