Didn’t Dr. K say something about “close margins”? Yeah. Too close.
I had been feeling crappy for about a week or so and just ignored it. All the while my left chest is looking more and more like a mistreated orange.
On Sunday I went to the ER for a low grade fever that was steadily climbing and my chest had gotten warm to the touch and quite sore. After 3 hours of waiting (thanks a heap for the mask. My tumbling white count and I will be over here among the plague rats. Dicks) I was taken back. My temp was 102 and my blood pressure and heart rate were erratic. After being there and being tested a million times, I was given antibiotics and told to come back if things didn’t get better. WTF?!?
A week later, I went back to the ER and I was admitted immediately and re-excision surgery was scheduled for the next morning.
The night of surgery, again, not feeling much pain. But I was fairly hostile at being sliced and diced for the 4th time in 7 months.
They found a bit of a spot that crossed the margin along with 2 benign tumors; 1.8cm and 2.3cm. I wasn’t even scared this time. I was outraged. This is bullshit. This traitorous body needs to get its shit together and stop screwing with me. I know, illogical, but I’m pissed.
Over the next 7 days, I got 2 dense doses, a shit load of ondasatron, and more narcotics than you can shake a stick at. Truly, I wonder if they were using the drugs as a way to mellow me out? I was being a raging bitch, but after a dose of dilaudid, I was as docile as a kitten.
By the next morning, I was back to my charming self. I truly do put the “ass” in “class”.
By that afternoon, I was in a chair and enjoying the afternoon sun.
Oof. My bitty hairs had seen better days. I could have waxed a small car with the oiliness on my head! Plus, the hot flashes! Ugh, I think I had maintenance in there every hour adjusting the thermostat. Yeah, they hated me too.
The next few days were a blur of chemo, various antibiotics and meds, and those glorious drugs! Holy bejeezus, I don’t even remember taking this!
Even neutropenic, I was still happy to blow that popsicle stand. This was the last picture before the doctor took the dressing off on that last day. I finally got a good look at my re-excised chest. He had to remove all the muscle down to my chest wall. The new incision is 14″ long. My chest is concave and I can feel my heartbeat thru my chest. All that’s covering it is skin and ribs. My good mood shifted and I fell apart. All that positivity, fight, and sass was gone with one lift of a bandage. The surgeries, chemo, tests, procedures, and everything else too numerous to mention came crashing down and I broke into a million pieces. I just don’t have it in me anymore.