Surgery Update

So I had surgery.  They put me to sleep and cut open my throat and sucked massive amounts of tissue out of my neck.  Now I have bloody steri-strips across my throat.  How's that for an update?  Sorry, had to get it out of my system.  I occasionally have to fulfill my urges to be crude and graphic.

Anyway, I had the surgery.  It went well, didn't take as long as the surgeon expected, I recovered quickly.  I say recovered but I'm not fully recovered yet.  I still can't turn my head fully from side to side.  That hurts, kind of a lot actually.  I'm not hurting enough to need pain relief any more, though.  I haven't had oxycodone since Sunday afternoon and haven't taken even acetaminophen since yesterday morning.  Pretty sweet, I say.

I was extremely nervous the morning of the surgery.  It didn't help that Paul and I sat in the waiting room and talked about possible outcomes.  Outcomes like, "What if I don't wake up?"  "What if I throw a clot and have a stroke and go into a persistent vegetative state?"  "What if I go into a coma, come out of it and can talk but can't wipe my own butt?"  That's fun stuff to talk about, huh?  Okay, not so fun, but necessary in that situation.  And besides, it did help a tiny bit.  At least at the end of it I was sure that I wouldn't be left lying in a bed with only a feeding tube keeping me alive.  Anyway, we hashed out all the possible scenarios we could and I signed my life (temporarily) into Paul's hands.  And then we both sat and read our respective books (me: Providence by Daniel Quinn, him: Lamb by Christopher Moore) while we waited for the nurse to call me back.

The nurse who prepped me for surgery was cool, if a tad overkill with her whole you're-going-to-be-fine-this-is-so-not-a-big-deal routine. She was a little too hang-ten surfer chick for me.  There was a lot of "dude" and "man" and stuff like that.  But she took very good care of me and I probably would like her very much in another setting.

I met almost everyone who was going to be in on my surgery.  I met the anesthesiologist who was scheduled to put me under but then the schedule changed and I met a new anesthesiologist.  I met a surgical resident who would be coming in to assist my surgeon.  I met the medical student who was coming in to observe.  I met the head scrub nurse and she informed me that there would be a few other nurses in there also.  And then before I knew it I had to kiss Paul good-bye.  The scrub nurse wheeled me down the hall on one of those beds with an IV pole attached to me and a chart lying across my thigh and an elastic paper cap on my head.  I was one of those people -- the sick people.  It was very surreal.

And then I was in a cold operating room and they told me to scoot over onto the operating table.  I almost refused.  For 2 seconds I was paralyzed and I almost said "No, I'm not doing that.  You're going to have to move me because I'm not doing it." But instead I looked at the dozen faces around me, at the massive lights, at the sterile fields surrounding me and at my bed and my table and I said, "Wow, there are a lot of people in here. There's a lot of stuff in here," and I moved to the table. Just about the time I was about to hyperventilate and have a major freak out, the anesthesiologist said, "I'm giving you some meds to make you sleepy." And then I woke up.

Recovery was full of odd sensations.  I could feel something in the vicinity of my throat but it didn't hurt and I was afraid to touch anything for fear of making it hurt.  My eyes were really dry and I couldn't see.  Someone gave me a saline bullet to moisten them.  I wanted to stay awake and look around but I kept falling asleep, despite my best efforts. Apparently things went very well, though because they moved me to post-op after less than an hour and I went home less than an hour after that.

I've spent the week since then slowly increasing my activity and decreasing my meds and feeling pretty good, if a little tired.  I will go back to see the surgeon on Thursday and he should have a final pathology report for me by then.  I'm crossing my fingers that it's all good and this whole thing is behind me now.

During this time I've been reminded, repeatedly, how wonderful my family and friends are.  Jenn and Caleb took over my kids for 48 hours so I didn't have to cope with homework and showers and meals and transportation.  Paul stayed with me, brought me food, pills, water and ice packs.  He reminded me how much medicine to take and when.  He called my family and friends after my surgery and let everyone know that everything turned out well.  People at work have offered me any help I might need, sent me cards and flowers, called to inquire about me, one of them cooked and froze enough food for at least 5 nights of dinners.  My grandparents sent monetary support.  These are all good, good people.  Thank you, all of you.  I really wish there were some way to re-pay you.

Surgery

Well I have a follicular neoplasm in my throat.  That means my thyroid contains atypical cells and no one is sure if they're malignant or not and they can't tell unless they take them out.  So I'm going to have the left side of my thyroid removed.  It's all scheduled, pre-authorized with the insurance company and I'm pre-registered with the hospital.  All I have to do now is fill out the living will and advance directive.  I'm not looking forward to that.

I know exactly what I want to be done with my body if the big "What If ..." happens but I don't like thinking about it.  Paul and I talked about it a lot when he had surgery last year.  I've talked about it with Jenn and Caleb and Lance, too.  I've talked about it a little with Mom and Dad.  I'm confident that everyone who matters will make sure that my wishes are honored if and when that time comes.  But putting it into writing is just different.  It's so final.  I guess that makes sense -- they're final wishes.  I know I can change it if I change my mind, but as of September 15 at 1:30 pm it's Final until I wake up.  I think that's the thing that has me on edge -- that this could be Final.  It's not likely to be, but it could be.

Wow, I'm morbid this morning.

I'll be glad to have this over with.  It's not like my thyroid has been a huge source of worry and pre-occupation for me but it will be nice not to have to think about it at all any more.  No more biopsies, no more ultrasounds, no more anything.  Just get it cut out and be done with it.

The surgeon is of the opinion that I can probably avoid thyroid replacement hormones.  I like that.  I don't want to mess with them, with mood swings or hair loss or temperature intolerance or weight gain.  The surgeon and the endo both think that since my left side is not normal at all the right side is compensating for it and can probably continue to do so.  Neither of them think we need to do anything with the right side -- it's perfectly thyroid-ish and not at all nodule-ish.  Yay for that, huh?

So there it is.  After 31 years of no surgeries, almost no scars and being hospitalized only for childbirths, I'm going to have A Thing.  A Surgery. A Story.