I've debated posting on this topic and then realized that the surgery I had back in February has continued to be a big part of our days, since. Why would I leave it out?
The surgery I had to have was called a Tram Flap procedure, due to some past preventative and reconstructive surgeries done almost a decade ago. In short, after my mastectomy in 2011 I had reconstructive implants put in, only to find that that product has been recalled and it was recommended that I have them removed sooner than later. Because this was prophylactic, I had a couple of options in front of me. I could choose a two-hour surgery and do a quick swap, but that would require future surgeries and offered no guarantee that the new product used would be any safer. The other option was to have an 11-hour surgery that involved removing the toxic implants and then taking abdominal tissue for the reconstruction. The surgery would be substantially longer but came with an assurance that nothing synthetic would be in me anymore and I would never need to have another surgery again.
For months I wondered, read, and prayed about this.
In the end, I chose the latter, opting for the 11-hour surgery, and was booked in for Feb 11, 2020.
For months I had to refrain from exercising/working out, and had to try to gain as much weight as possible, which certainly did a number on my overall mental health. I won't lie, it was kinda nice to go through Christmas without worrying at all about what to eat, but by the time February rolled around, I was a mess. I had never done anything quite like this before and I could barely handle the fear. This picture was taken just a couple of days prior to my surgery and thanks to an extended amount of needed recovery time and the unwelcome arrival of COVID 19 - our kids have not gotten to play with their cousins since!
The fear I felt prior to my surgery on February 4 was unlike anything I have ever felt in my life.
The dread was profound and right up until the moment I went under, I questioned whether I was making the worst mistake ever. All I wanted was to be on the other side of that surgery, awake and safe. The actual surgery actually ended up only taking 9 hours, though it did take me a while longer to come out of sedation. I was given a private 5 day stay in an ICU room where they monitored me closely to make sure the surgeons "work" had taken. John was with me for the surgery but left the next day to return to work. The days in that hospital were some of the loneliest I've felt in a long time, though I must acknowledge a few visitors:
Every day a physical therapist came by to help me walk and practice certain basic gross motor skills. It was exhausting and I didn't like being pushed, yet his visits offered a bit of variety to the otherwise monotonous day, so I was willing to play along.
On day 2, my sister Jewel surprised me and drove up for a visit. She painted my nails, did laps around the nurses unit with me, and left a bag of clothes she'd repurposed into something I could put on with ease and comfortably wear.
My sister in law Rachel stopped by one evening as well and brought some sweet gifts, though it was the visit that meant the most.
I worked really hard to get up and walking as often as possible, suspecting that if I could be seen being active, the doctor would feel compelled to let me go home early. It worked like a charm! I went in on a Tuesday morning and got to go home one day early on Friday.
Oh, the relief I felt on that drive home.
I was so GLAD to be away from those gray walls, those smells, that food.
I was welcomed home by four delightfully sweet and attentive kids, a warm meal, and a recliner that John had borrowed from his Dad. John was so helpful and worked hard to make sure that kids were fed each day, school lunches got made, the house stayed clean and everyone got to where they needed to be each day. He would get up at 3:00 or 4;00 each morning to top up my pain meds, help me to the bathroom, or adjust a pillow for me. It was a level of care he has never had to give before and he gave it so willingly and without complaint. I will forever be grateful for this service from him.
I wish I could say that this was the end of my surgery story, but at four weeks post-op things changed, and not for the better. In total I had four incisions on my front torso, one of them being about a foot and a half long. For some reason a six-inch stretch of this incision reopened, and over the course of the next month, I would reopen two more times, each time requiring that I go to Calgary so that the wound could be debrided and restitched. In the end it was decided that they would leave the wound open, pack it with iodine strips and let it grow in from the bottom up. For weeks, I tried to manage this on my own, but as my overall health began to decline it became apparent that I needed more help. I was figuratively and coming unravelled. It seemed as though there were two issues at play, hindering my recovery, and tests were done to see if we could get to the route of the problem.
After meeting with many specialists, I was put on Plaquenil, a drug that is commonly used to treat Lupus. Ten years ago I was told that I had seronegative Rheumatoid Arthritis, something of which I had been told had gone into remission a couple of years back. The best my rheumatologist was able to suggest was that one of three things has happened:
1) My Rheumatoid Arthritis has returned contributing to post-surgery complication
2) Arthritis has actually turned into Lupus, which could explain the attack on my skin
or...what she really suspects...
3) I never really had Rheumatoid Arthritis, but rather Lupus all long.
I'm really not sure what explanation I prefer, but I do know that since starting the set course of treatment I have finally, finally begun to heal. I feel strength returning, and my overall sense of well being has improved so much.
A few times a week, a home care nurse helps me with this wound, and every day it is getting smaller and smaller.
I have been grateful for the nurses, my sisters, and others who have extended such kindness and encouragement. This has felt like a very lonely journey, but just when I think I can't bare the feeling, someone reaches out and reminds me that I'm truly never alone.
I've been grateful for my kids who have been so thoughtful and left all sorts of uplifting/humorous notes around the house. They have been the brightest part of my days over these past three months.
I've been grateful for this quarantine, though I may be the only person around who would ever say that. Going through this amidst the COVID pandemic has felt a little unnerving, but it hasn't been without a silver lining. For one, Moroni's Quest has had to be postponed, which is a blessing in disguise as I just couldn't have been healed in time. The closing of schools, cancellation of sports events etc has brought the kids home and slowed our schedules right down, which has again - been exactly what I've needed. We give a lot less thought to "time" and that has been an incredible gift!
This past week I joined my girls on a walk down by the creek. It felt so good to be walking again, looking for snakes, and feeling the sun on my face.
Most of all, I am grateful to my Savior. There have been moments where I have truly felt carried and sustained in a way that you only can when you feel like everything in your life is falling apart. He has the power to heal every wound, soothe every heart, and comfort every soul. My heart is full of gratitude for family, a home to be safely gathered in, and the healing and strengthening power that I know is at play in my life.
My life is good.
