Hey Everyone! It’s been a little while since I’ve written and I have quite a bit to share with you.
Let’s back up and begin with last Wednesday, January 30, 2013. Sal and I dropped Jameson and Chase off at school and headed to Dr. Saidman’s office for my Herceptin treatment. We then headed to the mall so I could purchase big zip-up sweatshirts and big, comfy sweatpants. FYI: if you’re going for a mastectomy, XL sweatshirts won’t cut it. Think XXXL sweatshirts. You need to account for swelling and the number of drains that you’ll have when you’re going home. Anyway, after the mall, we had lunch together and also had a tough conversation. Although Sal and I both have living wills, power of attorneys, etc., I needed to make sure that Sal knew exactly what I wanted in case anything should happen to me. I wanted to make sure that he would be ok, that my kids would be well taken care of, that I wouldn’t be kept on life support life a vegetable for longer than a week, and that my organs would be donated if viable. Conversations like this aren’t fun, but they need to happen – and they should probably happen fairly regularly in case your wishes change.
On Thursday morning, Sal and I volunteered during the kids gym day at school for Catholic Schools Week and hit the road for Philly. Once we arrived at our hotel, I sat in the car and cried for about an hour. I’m tough, but I’m human. I really thought that I was going to die on Friday. Well, the bad part of me did die on Friday! Anyway, we stayed at the Penn Tower Hotel – a complete D-U-M-P! We knew that before we decided to stay there, though. It’s literally attached to the University of Pennsylvania Hospital via a walkway, so it made it so much more convenient to get to the hospital. My Mom and sister stayed at the Inn at Penn which was only about 4 blocks away. Every room there is equipped with an iPad, so there was quite a difference between rooms! Believe it or not, my hotel room cost more. They must pay the rodents that live in the tub! On Thursday night, my Mom treated us to dinner at the Capital Grille. As our annoying waitress talked about 15 year aged balsamic and pronounced “mozzarella” and “ricotta” like she grew up in Sicily rather than in South Philly, all I could think about was my procedure in the morning.
On Friday, February 1, 2013, I arrived at the University of Pennsylvania’s admissions office at 6am. I was then lead to pre-op where I separated from Sal for a few minutes while I dressed in my hospital gown and socks. I was permitted to keep my glasses and bini cap on until it was time to go back. Believe it or not, by this point, I felt pretty calm. Dr. Cierniecki came by for a quick hello and I spoke to one of his residents, also. Dr. Serletti also came by to check all of the markings that his resident made on my body with a purple sharpie marker. The anesthesiologist started my IV and then gave me something to “relax”. I didn’t bother to ask what it was! At that point, the honey badger didn’t care! I asked her if she was sure that I would stay asleep during the entire procedure and she, of course, smiled and reassured me. I gave Sal a kiss and we parted ways. As the anesthesiologist was wheeling me back to the OR, I told her that I was amazed by sedation medications. I don’t remember learning too much about them in school. I asked her what I was receiving and she told me Propofol. I said, “like Michael Jackson!” She said, “Yes, but we’re in a hospital, so it’s ok!” The last thing I remember is taking big, deep breaths into a mask then waking up after the surgery. Michael Jackson was right – it was the best sleep EVER!
I woke up in the middle of a dream and thought that something was wrong. There was a lot going on around me. The breathing tube was out and I can remember asking if everything was ok, if I was finished, if there were any complications, if any of the cancer looked “alive” or if everything was necrosed, and I kept asking for Sal. To be honest, I felt like something was wrong. I wasn’t sure if was alive or dead. I distinctly remember, with a very hoarse voice, telling a man and a woman – not sure if they were residents, doctors, nurses, or students – to get the blood pressure cuff that they had just placed on my left arm OFF. I told them probably 3 times before they understood me. I said, “I just had all of the lymph nodes removed, you can’t put the cuff there.” Even under sedation, you still have to be your own advocate.
Once Sal was finally allowed back to see me, I asked him to take a picture of me. I’ll spare you the picture. I didn’t realize how swollen surgery makes you. I look worse than Monica in a fat suit! My Mom came back next and stayed for a few minutes and left so my sister could come back, too. Sal’s Dad headed back to Pittston. He wanted to allow my Mom and sister to see me first. Only 2 people were permitted in the post-op area. Unfortunately, my room in the Rhoades Pavillion wasn’t ready until about 2am.
The Rhoades Pavillion was awesome! If being in the hospital is like a party, Rhoades is where it’s at! They’re really cool about allowing visitors to stay as long as they’d like, try to keep the patient super comfortable, and are the kindest people on the planet. I have to commend the nurses in the Rhoades Pavillion. They were fantastic. Actually, fantastic doesn’t even begin to describe these very special people. They were angels. I was treated by both men and women, most of whom were probably 5-10 years younger than me and I’m pretty young! These “kids” were just wonderful and caring and exceptional at what they do. I’m telling you – there is a special place in heaven for nurses.
I spent the next 2 days high. Really. I don’t remember too much between the anesthesia leaving my system and the pain medication entering my system. I was on a PCA (patient controlled analgesia) of morphine. They had it set up so I was able to get a shot of morphine every 10 minutes. I can count the number of times on one hand that I pressed the “buzzer” during my entire hospital stay. I hate the way I feel on medication like this. Once I was switched to oral meds, I was allowed 2 Percocet 5/325mg. I took 1 pill a total of 3 times. This gave me dreams that made me feel like I was at Woodstock.
If I can offer anyone advice about having major surgery it would be this: get out of bed and start walking around as soon as they’ll let you. It SUCKS! I’m not going to lie. Getting out of bed after this procedure was tougher than after any of my C-sections because your abdomen is cut from hip to hip and you’re unable to push or pull with your arms. Basically, I felt like that guy from Stephen King’s Misery. But, I felt so much better once I was up and going. I included the picture below so you can see the kind of walker that you need to use for at least the first day. It helps to keep you a little hunched over until you’re ready to walk completely upright. I was tearing up the halls with this thing!
The worst thing about having a mastectomy is the drains. Ask Sal, my sister, or my Mom. I’m obsessed with them! Now that I know I’m driving my sister crazy by talking about them, I can’t help myself! I’m getting 2 out of 5 drains out tomorrow. I can’t wait! They are such a pain in the ass! My cousin, Dr. Lou Blaum, will be taking the out for me so I don’t need to travel down to Philly for a 10 minute procedure. I still wish that Lou was able to do the mastectomy for me, but there is no one in my area qualified to do the reconstruction like Dr. Serletti at Penn.
During my hospital stay, I was visited by my cousin, Katie, and my college friends, Brooke, Lee, and Kate. Thanks so much for visiting, everyone. Sorry that I wasn’t much company. The sandwiches and girl scout cookies were big hits!!
I was discharged on Tuesday, February 5, 3013 – the feast day of St. Agatha, the patron saint of breast cancer. I’m never able to fall asleep in the car, but I slept from the time we left Penn until the time we pulled onto Pinewood Drive. I was so excited to see my kids and so thankful that my Aunt Tina and Uncle Pat stayed at my house with the kids for the duration of my hospital stay. It was a comfort knowing that my kids were well cared for while we were away. It feels so good to be home. Sal helped shower me as soon as we got home – you’re not really permitted to shower while you’re in the hospital and I couldn’t wait to wash everything off of me. Sal gave me another gift once I got home. He knows me so well!!
I want to thank Sal for being the best husband ever. He allowed me to cry before the procedure, told me I looked pretty even when I looked really bad, helped me get through some tough, humiliating experiences, never left my side and has never complained since this journey began. I’m partial, but if there could be a role model for husbands, it would be Sal – and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I want to thank my sister for staying at the hospital with Sal and I until Tuesday. Because Ann is an OT, she was such a helping hand. Ann also rearranged her work schedule and flew back from California on a red-eye last week. She is so selfless and caring and never asks for anything in return. She’s a wonderful aunt to my 3 kids and I love her dearly. I want to thank my Mom for being an excellent mother. I have the strength that I do because I had my Mom as my teacher. Faced with a terrible loss after my Dad died, my Mother taught my sister and I how to be graceful and courageous. I want to thank my father-in-law, Sammy, for being there for us on Friday. Sammy is the rock of the Sciandra family and his presence is a comfort. Sam is too humble to ever receive any kind of special recognition but this is my blog so I’m giving it to him! I also want to thank each one of you that thought of me or said a special prayer for me on Friday. Sal, Ann, my Mom, and Sammy had my prayer book, rosary beads, medals, and relics while I was in surgery. I know that more Masses were being said for me than for a dead person! Please know that all of your prayers definitely helped. I also want to thank those of you who wore pink on February 1 in support of “Barb’s Army”. Please e-mail me your pictures so I can post them on this blog (barb6438@yahoo.com).
I’ll end tonight with the following story from Chicken Soup for the Breast Cancer Survivor’s Soul:
Where there is great love, there are always miracles. -Willa Cather
A few days after hearing the devastating news that the shadow on the mammogram was indeed cancer, I received a call I’ll never forget from an aunt who was a breast-cancer survivor. The only part of the conversation I remember was one simple line: “You’ll never feel so loved.”
At the time I had no clue what that could mean, but I thanked her for calling and began the journey that every cancer patient goes through.
I began to understand the power of these five little words a few days after my aunt’s call, when I telephoned my daughter about the diagnosis and the upcoming surgery. Her first words were simple and direct: “I’m on my way!” Not, “What can I do?” Or, “I’ll try to come,” or even “Do you want me to come?” but simply, “I’m on my way!” With the support and encouragement from her husband, my daughter was with me until I no longer needed her help. I felt so loved.
Later that same day, with only twenty minutes’ notice, a friend volunteered to meet my husband and me at the doctor’s office to be the extra ears and note taker. Quietly, in the background, she was the one who held it together when my husband left the room (sick), and I began crying. She asked all the right questions and later went over the facts one by one, helping us comprehend all that was happening. What a gift! I knew she cared about us, and I felt so loved.
In spite of all the frightening, horrific things that were taking place, I began to understand how the love of God and others would carry me through, and I knew I would be able to conquer this thing called cancer. The love was manifested in so many ways: cards, calls, prayers, meals and sometimes just one little sentence would carry me through a difficult day.
I remember my husband holding me in his arms, reading from a book given to me from a coworker of his, also a breast-cancer survivor, who was sure we would both enjoy reading it. I was too tired, so he read aloud every night, and we laughed and cried together. I not only felt his love, but also was touched by the fact that someone I had never met cared enough to think of me.
I had retired the year before my diagnosis, and one day a former coworker of mine stopped by with a basket full of thoughtful gifts from friends at the office: a warm hat to cover my thinning hair, inspirational books to lift my spirits, aromatherapy candles and bubble bath to soothe my body, and much more. They cared enough to remember me, and I felt so loved!
In times of need, everyone knows that family will be there for you, but I was overwhelmed by the way my immediate and extended family came through. Parents, sisters and in-laws joined together to provide support and encouragement in so many wonderful ways. They were with me every step of the way. In fact, my sister was there when I had my last chemotherapy session, and a niece planned a big surprise party to celebrate the end of my treatments!
A daughter-in-law, without being asked, came and cleaned our whole house; our sons provided hugs, teasing and comforting words; neighbors and friends brought meals. The prayers, flowers, calls and cards of countless others were all given in the name of love. These are the things I still remember today because they carried me through a difficult time, and I am filled with gratitude.
As I look back, I have experienced what my aunt meant when she said, “You’ll never feel so loved.” In great part because of this love I am a cancer survivor. Yes, the treatments and advice of wonderful doctors and the prayers of many helped save my life, but I also believe that if the soul is being fed, the body will heal.
If you are going through a journey like mine, look for all the love that is being sent your way, for you will be comforted and treasured. Believe me, you’ll never feel so loved!
-Sharon Bomgaars
I want to thank all of you, once again, for your constant love and support. I’ve received so many cards, calls, texts, e-mails, flowers, meals and gifts and I appreciate everything more than you could ever imagine. I’ve never felt so loved.
LIVESTRONG and God Bless!
