The whole world probably knows by now, but Mom went in for surgery this Wednesday. She was scheduled to have a lymph node dissection, cervix and omentum removal, along with a robotic Spring cleaning.
Her surgery was supposed to start around 11:40. She was bumped to 4:30.
Note to random doctor who came in at 10 AM to tell us surgery was delayed: Avoid references using the words "BUCKET LIST" when speaking to someone about to undergo surgery to remove CANCER. I dunno. Might just be me.
Thankfully Mom had us (my sister, my dad, my Aunt Hootie-Zhudy and me) to keep her entertained. About three hours into waiting, Mom said, I'm surprised. I told Dad you'd probably take and post a bunch of horrible pictures of me online!
Oh wait, that reminds me... I did bring my camera...
Isn't she cute? Her braces make her look like a baby! And sometimes a toothless hillbilly, if you catch her at the wrong angle.
She hadn't eaten for 40 hours at this point. Gimme my puddin'!
We kept busy by looking at Demotivational Posters online and pretending to play card games until almost everyone fell asleep. Judy and I tooled around a little through the maze of levels and hallways, and I found an $8 pack of questionable sushi at a cafeteria which I immediately bought and guilted my sister into eating. Because Salmonella Roulette is fun when it's someone else's bowels.
Around 4:30 the Russian anesthesiologist carted Mom off to hugs and tears. Stephanie - a newfound-quasi-Karma believer - promised to send Mom's vagina "inner light brightness." We got the giggles a few times on the elevators just mentioning those three words.
Then began the waiting game.
As it got later and later, everything shut down. We were moved from our penthouse waiting room to a Waiting Closet with this sign on a smaller closet door inside said Waiting Closet:
Random but useful. I told Dad if there was a fire, I'd have better luck jumping out the window than trying to find the stairs in that place. And then the fire alarm went off at 10 PM as Dad and I got back from our smoke break (I was the chaperone).
Did you know that the University of Iowa Hospital is a university? Clever! And there's no smoking on campus? I told Dad the long walk through the cold mist should be his deterrent from smoking. Dad is a slave to logic: Quit whining... it's exercise. It makes up for the smoking.
Two pops, two bags of chips, three waiting rooms, one 5000 calorie rice krispie treat, three chapters of my book, way too many oncology patients, two cribbage games in which I embarrassed my sister and just over four hours later...
The surgeon walked in the room.
Since way back when the girls were in the NICU, I adopted the policy of "Don't worry until there's something to worry about." It keeps a person sane when you can't control the outcome in treacherous times.
I didn't realize how worried and how high my stress level was until that moment. He walked in, and I held my breath searching his face for good or bad news. Why was he back so soon? This was supposed to take up to eight hours and it's only 9 o'clock. SAY SOMETHING.
He pulled up a chair with a straight face, sat down and turned toward us. It was like that tiny waiting room had been sucked dry of all the oxygen. No one was moving.
Then suddenly he spoke and said, She did wonderfully.
Phwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww. The air came back. I felt like jumping up and high-fiving everyone.
Surgery took an hour less than the minimum she was scheduled for. He removed everything he had planned to, including an enlarged lymph node and a few nodules that he found. She lost very little blood (1/7 of a pop can) which was a huge relief. There was no need to cut the vertical incision from breast plate to belly button, which was a big fear.
At an hour post-surgery, Mom was awake and asking for us. She didn't want us to have to drive home late at night. My God, woman. Of course that would be the first thing on her mind. Since there was practically no one there, the nurse took us up to see her in post-op recovery.
When we walked up, she immediately asked, How do I look?
A little like Angelina Jolie at age 25. I think you should adopt this look permanently. Her lips, eyelids, tongue and skin were puffy from being head-down for 4 hours. Stephanie pointed out that at least it meant no wrinkles.
An hour later, she was sucking water out of her sponge-cicle and scoping out the number for room service. I heard, They said I could eat tonight, at least five times.
Thank you to everyone who wished her well. We'll know the pathology results sometime after next Wednesday. She's home resting now and back to being her backseat phone operator self. I called Dad tonight to check in and I could hear her hollering things to me from across the room and into the phone.
The girls are excited because we're going to see her tomorrow. All day, the girls have been asking Is Grandma okay now? Is she all better? They're also concerned that Grandpa won't wear his Green Bay Packer clothes when we visit, for whatever reason.
Weird children.
And let's take a moment to display some more random children's art. Here's Emma's monster.
And Kristin's chalk project including a picture of herself in a tent under a lightning storm next to Daddy's campfire (did I call the obsession with camping or what?)
As well as her drawing of a ghost next to the moon and stars flying into the forest. Strange child.
In more exciting news, I have to announce the addition of a new family member: Mike's Motobecane Vent Noir road bike with the fancy shmancy wheels.
She doesn't have a name yet, but for what we paid, she should probably get one. Along with life insurance. I know it's a girl bike because she's been a pain in my ass for months.
You wanna know what I'm spending my portion of the tax money on? Paint. For the livingroom and kitchen. And probably a new couch because I haven't had the balls to put my face on our couch for over three years now. Even through the couch cover.
So things are good. Good good good.
Unfortunately, with the adrenaline rush triggered by stress often comes the fall. I'm in a valley of energy-suck. As a bonus, I'm out of Pepsi Crack. The girls found their swimsuits tonight and were running through the house in them, and I didn't have the energy to care. They (initially) went to bed in them until Alison decided bathroom breaks took too much time.
The only thing keeping me going tonight is the curiosity of what tomorrow will bring in the way of art projects. Maybe Alison can draw me another picture of her famous but camera shy dog-pooping giraffe...
