By Gates (Pam) Johnson
Surgery is in the rear-view mirror. It happened on May 28th, starting at 8:30 in the morning. Of course, I was asleep by then.
The trip to the hospital was fine (one thousand thank yous, Sarah). Check in and wait wasn’t bad. Then back to the “staging area”: gown up, install the first of three IV lines, and off to the races.
Sometime the next morning, I awoke to about three hands down my throat, removing a breathing tube. Not fun to gag and retch with that many hands and apparati (apparatuses?) down my windpipe.
After the removal, it was decided I could breathe on my own, so that seemed like a good time to open my eyes. The time between removal and eye opening could have been seconds or an hour. I will never know. What I do know is when I opened my eyes, there was a man standing next to my bed talking to me.
I listened for a minute, then said “Who are you?” Turns out it was my nephew Paul, who lived with me a lot of the time when he was a kid and who now lives with his wife here on my property. And I didn’t recognize him! Paul stayed with me through many nurse and doctor visits and for that I am eternally grateful.
I must have been a sight. There are a few pictures of me while in the ICU for the first four days. Just for a drill, here is the numerical countdown: three IV lines, three drains, one feeding tube down my nose (in for a week), one breathing tube (quickly removed), one catheter replaced with PureWick, four ICU days and four additional days in the hospital, and one incision from my left ear, under my chin, to halfway up to the right side of my chin.
I knew that there was going to be a bone graft and was told they could take it from my scapula or my leg. I chose scapula. Perhaps not my smartest decision. So, there is a big incision on my left shoulder and the drain for that was in my armpit. Turns out, almost three weeks post-surgery, that shoulder incision is the most painful. Still can’t use my arm without pain.
I had the most incredible nursing team while in the ICU. One young nurse would come in, sit and chat for a long time. We talked about food a lot, and he told me how to make homemade tortillas. I remember his name was Victor.
The night nurse was a young woman who told me about growing up on the Flathead Reservation in Montana. She gave me her contact information and wants to come over to check out Vashon. Haven’t called her yet, but I will.
Once in the regular hospital room, I had another stellar nurse. He was tall and handsome and had the most beautiful baritone voice. I said, “You must be a wonderful singer.” His reply was he couldn’t sing a note. Turns out his passion is art. I asked what his preferred medium is and he said tattooing. Of course. I then had to show him my tattoo. He said the artist did a good job, nice, even lines.
We talked a bit and I told him that, when this health trip was done, I wanted to get another tattoo, an Easter Island Moai. Asked if he could do it and he said yes. I might try to find him and see if we can set something up.
Had quite a few visitors. It was so nice to see familiar faces. My son is pretty hospital-phobic. Before surgery, I bet him $800 that he wouldn’t come see me. Well, he did! And he doesn’t plan on collecting on the bet. He even picked me up when I was discharged.
My daughter came up, brought me Pho broth and vacuumed and stuff. Niece and nephew were here to help out with everything from watering the garden, to groceries, to laundry. One good friend painted me a picture of a UFO beaming up a cow, just like my tattoo. The nurses hoped I would forget to take it home as it really brightened up my room. I did remember to take it home.
Friends brought me food and an orchid and cards and good wishes. Lots of texts and phone calls from New York to Oregon to here. It truly does take a village.
Been home a week and a half now. A little drainage hole set-back, but it’s all good. Transitioning from a liquid diet to soft foods. My niece and nephew told me that, when they visited me in the ICU, I was mostly interested in where they were going for dinner. One of the high points of a recent doctor’s visit was when I was told I could eat mashed potatoes!
I will have to wait a few months before I can have that big rib-eye steak. But I am eating a little, drinking an amount of water, and sleeping a lot. Guess that’s what it takes to heal. I feel alert and good enough to drive but am not ready for anyone except a few to see me.
My jaw is huge and could take three months for the swelling to subside. The doc said if the swelling doesn’t go down, I might get myself a free face-lift. I hope it returns to normal, as another surgery does not seem fun right now.
Oh, the cancer wasn’t quite as widespread as they thought it might be. The bone graft was pretty big. The stitches are starting to dissolve. I have to see my oncologist to find out the next steps. Last time we talked, he thought immunotherapy every six weeks for the next year and hopefully no radiation or chemo.
My sense of humor was not removed and discarded. For the time being I will refer to myself as:
The Giant Freckled Chipmunk.
