Operation (Shock & Awe Part 1)

Shock and awe (technically known as rapid dominance) is a tactic based on the use of overwhelming girl power and spectacular displays of force to paralyse your enemy's perception of the battlefield and destroy their will to fight.

I’m all for it.

Anyone who knows me well knows I tolerate a lot but it is best not to push me. If you chose to fight me, I am relentless. If you wrong me, I will cut you off. I am usually too busy to waste my time on people who cause me unhappiness. This philosophy has now extended to body parts.

On surgery day 12 May, I got up at 5:20am to eat breakfast as I was nil by mouth from 6am. As sleep was something I‘d been struggling with I went back to bed at 5:45am and miraculously slept until 7am.

My hospital admission for my mastectomy and reduction was scheduled for noon in Remuera (practically in the shadow of the beautiful St Michael’s Church - where I got married).

I arrived early (again) at the hospital. One of the side effects of cancer on me is a drastic improvement in my time keeping. It is is embarrassing to admit that I am often running late. I usually never have enough time, now time drags. This is such an interesting phenomenon I intend to write separately on it.

After much waiting my husband and I were taken to a room with comfy chairs so I could go through the admission process. I had my blood pressure taken, the wee clip on the thumb to measure oxygen saturation and I was asked some questions. Now the question that sticks in my mind was: "What are your goals for this surgery?"

My answer was quick and decisive "To get the cancer out".

Prem, the nurse admitting me, wrote that down.

I then changed into two hospital gowns. One that tied at the front and the other that tied at the back. (At the end of this piece I will pose three questions that I am not sure I want to know the answers to. This is the subject of the first question). Back in my comfy chair, Prem put a pair of very attractive compression socks on me and I put on an equally attractive hair net. This cancer business has no room for prettiness.

Steve had another operation before mine and it was running over schedule, so we were shown to my very own hospital room in which we could sit and engage in some further waiting. I unpacked Bernie Sanders* and put him on my beside table. My husband spent some time getting the TV to work (because that is what boys do. I didn't care whether the TV worked or not because I knew I wouldn't be watching it). I cannot remember what my husband and I talked about while we were waiting but I do remember there was a lot of giggling. I also remember being concerned about how long the operation before mine was taking, hoping Steve had not tired himself out too much and that he would have time to eat a good lunch. After that I just fixated on how hungry I was.

The anaesthetist arrived and took me through what the general anaesthetic involved. I insisted upon reading the consent before I signed it. There was some banter. I could tell he was the type of guy I'd have willingly let lead me astray at parties when I was younger. He gave me some pills and I gladly took them. He put a nausea patch behind my ear. He then went into the ensuite bathroom to wash his hands before returning to warn me not to touch the nausea patch and then touch my eyes, because if I did, I would have blurred vision. I had blurred vision for as many days as that nausea patch stayed behind my ear.

And then finally the super hero of this story arrived. In his super hero scrubs. Ready to play his part in saving my life. This was the first time my husband had met Steve. Shortly afterwards Steve had me naked from the waist up, sitting on the side of the bed and was drawing on my breasts with permanent marker. I imagine this might be slightly confronting for a husband. I paid careful attention to the marking up because I didn't want Steve to remove the wrong breast. My other memory of our interaction before surgery - because I think whatever pills I had willingly ingested interfered with what I recall - was Steve's demonstration of what happens if you have two prosthetic breasts and you raise your hands over your head. It involved a lot of wiggling and boobs under your chin. I still laugh about it today as I recall it.

Then Steve was gone. That was the last I saw of him that day that I can remember.

Prem got me to change into some paper underpants. (This is the subject of the second question I am not sure I want to know the answer to). The paper underpants were more fulsome than the paper underpants you get when you go for a bikini wax and unfortunately my bum isn't really a one size fits all paper underpants sort of bum. They were as attractive as my socks and hairnet and less comfortable.

I said goodbye to my husband and then walked with Prem upstairs to the operating theatre. I hadn't eaten for nearly 8 hours by this stage and I fantasised about a nice sandwich on the way. I wasn't scared.

The operating theatre was bright and full of everyone except Steve. (This is the subject of the third question I am not sure I want to know the answer to). There were three nurses in brightly coloured scrubs, the anesthetist and his assistant. We made introductions. I was asked a series of questions about who I was and what I was having done. I was led to a nicely warmed operating table, I laid down on my back, a vein was found in my right arm and I don't remember anything else for about 7 hours.

I woke up in my hospital room with a very sore throat, a bandaged chest...and with no undies on!!

I didn't have any visitors that night because it was nearly 8:30pm before I returned to a state of impaired consciousness. I called my husband and daughter. I then called my parents. Apparently I slurred on the phone. I ate 2 or 3 ice blocks because my throat hurt. I then sent a lot (and I emphasise a lot) of stoned text messages. [I have just spent the last 15 minutes reading some of those messages and I only have the vaguest recollection of sending them. In some of the messages I was struggling to make myself understood.] I can only apologise if you were the recipient of one (or several) of my inebriated ramblings. I got this text back from Steve:

"REMINDER.

NO IMPORTANT DECISIONS for 24 Hrs after a general anaesthetic. Almost a legal requirement.

So no sending emails or texts to any colleagues tonight. (That's said in a firm stern voice :-) "

I ignored him of course but I didn't give any legal advice (that I remember) nor did I make any important decisions (if you ignore the fact I obviously made the decision to continue sending stoned text messages).

I think I stayed up to take the pain relief on offer at midnight and a sleeping pill. I slept comfortably until the next morning.

Prem was there when I woke up. Steve came to check on me and said I could go home that day.

Prem took out one of my drains and showed me how to look after and empty the two drains that were going home with me. Then the angel who is Julianne the breast nurse came in with a cup of coffee and a bag of goodies. I was really excited to go home and euphoric that the cancer had hopefully gone. Before I knew it my husband was there to pick me up.

Before I wrap up I said I would pose three questions I'm not sure I want to know the answers to. They are:

1. I had two gowns on and I was lying face up on the operating table. The top gown opened at the back. The bottom gown opened at the front. Why bother with a top gown? Are you rolled about unconscious for access to the bits being operated on?

2. What the hell happened to the paper underpants?

3. Why wasn't Steve in the operating room? Was he ever there? Where was he?

The operation was only Part 1. I am now recovering from surgery and gathering my strength and my team for Shock and Awe Part 2. I like to think I used overwhelming girl power and a spectacular displays of force on my breast cancer. I will be relentless in my continued fight.

* This could be the subject of an entirely separate and unrelated blog. Just know that for a period of time I found memes of Bernie Sanders absorbing. One of my law firm partners, Paul, 3D printed me my very own Bernie. Here he is sitting on my computer monitor at work.