Monday, Aug. 25th,
The morning began, for me, like any other. Lazily rising after being woken by screams and foot pounding; breakfast, dressing kids, sending them off to daycare and school. Beth making orders to the grunts(children) and 'spazing' about what time it was. Then we left for the hospital.
Holding hands in the front seat of the truck, Beth and I thought our thoughts, and I had my first wave of anxiety. I've never been one to get nervous about anything until the moment was upon me. Final exams were no big deal until I was sitting in my classroom seat and the paper was laid in front of me. I began to envision needles and scalpels, blood and suction, bandages and pain. Once again I wished I could be the one going onto the surgical table.
We checked in and were met by Barb, our pre-op nurse. A wonderful lady who made us completely comfortable and calm. Gowns were donned, blood was drawn, more questions were asked. She did great getting the IV in and so did Beth.
Side note: For a day that lasted longer than most workdays, this one passed with surreal quickness. My time keeping was blurred and the novel I planned on reading did not get many pages turned.
Soon we were told of Dr. Vaughan's efficiency and that we were going to nuclear medicine for the dye and radioisotope injection. (blue pee and blue boob. really cool.) Fifteen minutes passed and the radiologist said we (Jean and I) could see Beth once more before while she is wheeled down to surgery. We said our "I love you's" and Beth went through a set of doors that might as well have taken her to the next habitable planet in our galaxy, while I stood in an empty hallway feeling helpless. This was abated by a neat system of texts I received throughout the procedure letting me know the progress of things.
the E.W. is Beth, obviously.
Suddenly I heard Dr. Vaughan's voice announcing Surgery was over and all went well. Three lymph nodes were removed. They "looked" clear. Of course nothing is for certain until microscopes are involved. We thanked her and waited to be called to see Beth in recovery.
When a phone rang in the waiting room was answered and I heard "Wilburn" spoken, I knew Beth was out of post-op holding and we would soon see her. Timing was perfect, because we shadowed Beth into her recovery room. Which was more of an alcove that she could be backed into and displayed to the rest of the patients doing the exact same thing.
She was stiff and lethargic laying on the gurney. I proceeded to hand feed her pretzels and jello, hold cups of straw equipped lemon-lime soda and make fun of her. The Oxycodone took effect switfly, as she was soon shooting rips back at me about my apparel and apathy of people judgement. She looked pale, until I was corrected by the nurse telling me she would be blue-hued for a few hours from the dye.
Side note: Beth would not let me capture a picture of her blue boob, but I wish words could do justice of the smurf color of her flesh where the dye had been injected. Yup, Smurf blue! Also her pee was "Cool Blue" Gatorade colored. (I wish I could pee blue Gatorade. I'd always have electrolytes.)
I was soon on my way home with a sore Beth in the passenger seat, telling me to take it easy on the stops and starts. After a pass through Shop n' Save to get some drugs and alcohol(for me), she was nestled in a deep chair, eating grilled cheese and watching MasterChef. I hope she rapidly feels better, because Chemotherapy starts next Tuesday.
Step one complete. Let's hope for good news from the pathology report.
P.S. Yes, I know how to spell nuclear. It was a joke.
The morning began, for me, like any other. Lazily rising after being woken by screams and foot pounding; breakfast, dressing kids, sending them off to daycare and school. Beth making orders to the grunts(children) and 'spazing' about what time it was. Then we left for the hospital.
Holding hands in the front seat of the truck, Beth and I thought our thoughts, and I had my first wave of anxiety. I've never been one to get nervous about anything until the moment was upon me. Final exams were no big deal until I was sitting in my classroom seat and the paper was laid in front of me. I began to envision needles and scalpels, blood and suction, bandages and pain. Once again I wished I could be the one going onto the surgical table.
This could not be.
We checked in and were met by Barb, our pre-op nurse. A wonderful lady who made us completely comfortable and calm. Gowns were donned, blood was drawn, more questions were asked. She did great getting the IV in and so did Beth.
Side note: For a day that lasted longer than most workdays, this one passed with surreal quickness. My time keeping was blurred and the novel I planned on reading did not get many pages turned.
Soon we were told of Dr. Vaughan's efficiency and that we were going to nuclear medicine for the dye and radioisotope injection. (blue pee and blue boob. really cool.) Fifteen minutes passed and the radiologist said we (Jean and I) could see Beth once more before while she is wheeled down to surgery. We said our "I love you's" and Beth went through a set of doors that might as well have taken her to the next habitable planet in our galaxy, while I stood in an empty hallway feeling helpless. This was abated by a neat system of texts I received throughout the procedure letting me know the progress of things.
the E.W. is Beth, obviously.When a phone rang in the waiting room was answered and I heard "Wilburn" spoken, I knew Beth was out of post-op holding and we would soon see her. Timing was perfect, because we shadowed Beth into her recovery room. Which was more of an alcove that she could be backed into and displayed to the rest of the patients doing the exact same thing.
She was stiff and lethargic laying on the gurney. I proceeded to hand feed her pretzels and jello, hold cups of straw equipped lemon-lime soda and make fun of her. The Oxycodone took effect switfly, as she was soon shooting rips back at me about my apparel and apathy of people judgement. She looked pale, until I was corrected by the nurse telling me she would be blue-hued for a few hours from the dye.
Side note: Beth would not let me capture a picture of her blue boob, but I wish words could do justice of the smurf color of her flesh where the dye had been injected. Yup, Smurf blue! Also her pee was "Cool Blue" Gatorade colored. (I wish I could pee blue Gatorade. I'd always have electrolytes.)
I was soon on my way home with a sore Beth in the passenger seat, telling me to take it easy on the stops and starts. After a pass through Shop n' Save to get some drugs and alcohol(for me), she was nestled in a deep chair, eating grilled cheese and watching MasterChef. I hope she rapidly feels better, because Chemotherapy starts next Tuesday.
Step one complete. Let's hope for good news from the pathology report.
P.S. Yes, I know how to spell nuclear. It was a joke.
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