When I got to the hospital the receptionist handed me a "last directive" form, which you fill out and list someone to make medical decisions if you are unable to do so on your own. I was not expecting that. It took me awhile to decide who I wanted to have make medical decisions for me, but because I am sure my Dad and Garrett would request that I get breast implants, or a hook for a hand. I ended up not submitting the form. I just figured that me in a coma, could still make better decisions than anyone else could for me. (That sounds like something Dwight Schrute would say).
I was then taken to a hospital bed, and told to completely disrobe and put on one of the humiliating hospital gowns where your rumpus is out in the open. I had a hat and booties to match.
Anyway, the surgery was about 45 minutes in duration, and after a mixture of Verced and anesthesia, I cannot remember much of it. I now know that I am a light weight when it comes to waking up from the anesthesia, and for some reason I sang "you can't keep a good dog down", from the Disney movie All Dogs Go To Heaven for about ten straight minutes until they called Kristen in the recovery room and order was restored.
Third round of Chemo coming up on Friday.
Here are some photos from today's excitement.
Pre surgery smile (I am pretty sure the chemo caused the zit) Carlie, too soon and rude overall.
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This is the catheter. It runs from the neck area down to my chest. You can see the entire tube, and the reservoir area sticks out about an inch from being swollen. It looks like a third nip. Also, I did not put on fake tan before surgery, nor do I have a hill billy of a tan line. Its cleaning solution, and for some reason it goes from my neck down to my belly button... |
Oops, they forget to take the three stickies off my back.
Wes, that is no fun. I had a PICC line (entrance site in right bicep up through main vein hanging over heart, very similar) for several months. Kinda sucks having to keep sterile, and getting it placed was not fun. I am sorry man. I've had to fill out that medical decisions thing several times, I always pick my husband and write a note that my mom is next in line. :) You're a trooper!
ReplyDeleteI would like to make an amendment to this post. . . as soon as I walked up to Wes post surgery, the nurse rushed up to me and said "he doesn't drink alcohol does he" nope. "Yeah I didn't think so. . . he's going a little crazy in there." As soon as I walked in he yelled "KMac!!!" which was my nickname in high school. He then continuously sang "you can't keep a good dog down" and asked to use his cell phone. I told him we should wait a little until he calmed down, which is when he then made a "phone call" with his hand and talked to his dad. It was a full conversation letting him know he was alive. He then "hung up" and slowly turned his head to me, with droopy eyes, and slurred "that's all I wanted. . just to tell my dad I'm alive. . that's all." Then he broke out into yet another verse of the dog song, and quickly stopped to mimic the sound of the beeping that was coming from his monitor because he forgot to breathe. . . yes it was a long drive home from there. . .
ReplyDeleteI love the amendment. Hi-larious!!! True story, you can't keep a good dog down. Go get 'em McGruff.
ReplyDeleteso funny! glad it went well :)
ReplyDeleteWes has got to be one of the truly funniest guys and best sports I know. Thanks for the amendment Kristen.
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