Another Day In Surgery

Day 63, awaiting the call for Anna's double lung transplant.

Here I am again, in the surgical waiting room, not for Anna, but for me! My knee is still healing but now I must deal with this. My dermatology appointment weeks ago revealed a basal cell carcinoma on my face on the right side of my cheek near my nose. I have had this appointment for a while. Of course I told the surgeon about Anna and the possibility of a transplant call prior to or in the middle of this surgery. She reassured me that if the call should come in the middle of this procedure they could put on a band aid, and send me on my way. If all was not yet complete it could be completed another day, no problem.

The procedure started with the stinging poke of the anthesetic being shot into my cheek. Not too bad. It felt some like being at the dentist. There is a very familiar sense of numbness. After the injection the nurse prepared my face with applying a cleansing wash. I was instructed not to touch my face as to contaminate its cleanliness. You know what happens when you are told that, all you want to do is touch your face. I resisted. Then a tickle began to arise. It was like my cheek and nose were visited by a glass of ginger ale with its refreshing bubbles popping on my face. Oh boy! Do I say something like, "could you please wipe my nose again nurse?" No, I decided to Be With It. My mind moved closer to the sensation. Tiny bubbles effervescent on my skin urging me to touch. I did not touch but rather investigated those bubbles. How interesting they felt. As I moved closer it was less irritating, again proving to me that when you resist you have issues, when you bring the trouble closer, the suffering tends to subside. I made it through the bubble tingling.

Dr. Miller covered my face with a green surgical towel with a round hole in the center for my nose and mouth. It covered my eyes so that the bright light of the medical lamp did not blind me. All was ready. I was told I would feel a pressure and if I should feel pain to let her know. The pressure I did feel. The scalpel was doing its work. Then, the cell phone! The cell phone rang in my pocket. "Sorry, I have to answer this one. It might be important." Dr. Miller moved the towel from my left side so that I could place the call on my ear. "Hello? Sara? I am in my surgery now. Thought you might have been Anna so I had to answer. Can't talk. Bye." Whew, thought that really could have been Anna. The whole family knew where I was including Sara. At least I thought so. Turns out she forgot. There always has to be some kind of silly drama.

I am sitting here waiting for lab results about what was removed from my face. After the little growth is removed a thin layer of cells is sculpted out to be tested for other cancer cells. If more are found then I am asked to return to the surgical room for another round of cutting. I am to wait here again until the next results are returned from the lab. This is called a Moas surgery. They say this can last all day going back and forth between the surgical table and the waiting room. We will see if it really takes that long. I am here with my lunch, P B and J, the computer, my new nifty ipod and a book.



A little digression on P B and J. I am very aware that this concoction is vital to the survival of the human race. At least this is what I was taught by my mother and father. When in doubt, peanut butter. A million peanut butter on toast sandwiches must have been prepared in my parent's home. Food was good, fresh and plentiful in my family of origin but so was the peanut butter. Crumbs of toast and smears of sticky peanut butter on the knife in the sink was always a part of the decor. It sticks to your ribs as Dad would say. It is comfort food for me. If I need a quick lunch to take P B and J goes with me. I am looking at the clock, only 9:50 AM. I still have two hours before I can partake in my delicious lunch with all its familiar tastes and associated memories. I will count down the minutes and not let myself indulge too early. This day must pass in an orderly manner after all, I am a surgical patient today. (yeah, right, compare this wimpy surgery to what Anna is about to do......) As I said to Dr. Miller while she finished the first part of the surgery, "there is no wimping out to anything when you have a daughter about to have her lungs removed and replaced." She replied, "It does give perspective." Yes it does.