8. Hector the Horrible's eviction is nigh

I wake up, blind and fumble my way through a shower, getting dressed, not quite hungry but I am thirsty but not allowed to drink since 6am. I had woken up in the middle of the night and had a drink before hand so it wasn't too bad. Remember, take earrings out, take off ring, take off bracelet, take off watch. Can't wear contacts so didn't have to remember not to put them in. Don't forget to bring a bag for my clothes when I'm in the operating theatre. The hospital had a note on their admission email reminder they are trying to cut down on plastic waste. That is good to know as the medical world creates a MOUNTAIN of waste.

Rachel was driving me and mum to St George Public hospital for 7.30am start at the day surgery. That was a harrowing journey. Not that Rachel was driving crazy, just not being able to see much, depth perception all whacked out and heavy morning traffic made it something to remember, or maybe forget. We arrived early, dropped off at the Kensington St entrance and made our way up to the day clinic waiting area.

There is a sign on the door that says only patients are allowed but at the reception desk I said I was visually impaired and mum was my support person so they allowed her in too. It took a while to get admitted, maybe half an hour waiting. Lots of people were in the waiting room. There are still signs on the couches saying to keep 1.5m apart. I only know that as mum told me that's what the white squares on the green blobs were.

Called up, go into a back room by a nurse and asked all the questions I had answered on the admission forms. No, nothing has changed since I'd filled it out. You have allergies the lady asks. Yes, to chilli. I get a red wrist band with my details on it. She puts some stickers on my bags with my details on it. Height was measured, weight was weighed and I was given 2 panadol with a sip of water. That little bit was almost like torture. YES, some water but NO it's just a smidge. The panadol helps with the pre op procedures. And what were they you ask? Well, I really SHOULD invest in ultrasound gel....

I head down to the ultrasound clinic. No paper gown this time, a real fabric one. Still doesn't fit properly but at least I can get it on. "Please leave it open at the front" the nurse calls. Like there is a choice? I'd worn my good undies today as I figured they probably would be on show at some point. Not quite yet though, I could still wear my shorts. Just the top half stripped off. My boob has faded some. Still looks like root rot and leaf rust fungus but at least it's not the black alien slug it was the week before. I have taken my black and yellow backpack I bought when I was in Sweden in 2019 as my clothes bag. Even though it had a sticker on it with my details I figured it was an easy description if it decided to go walkabout.

I lie down on the bed and the nurse says "oh my, that is some bruising you have there, was that from the biopsy?" I nod. She then starts to slather my boob in gel and started looking at Hector and the hematoma. I think I'll call it Drusilla. Drusilla the Dreadful. The nurse says "See here, this is the lump and this is the hematoma". I gently reminder her I can't see and she quickly apologises and says "oh that's right, you are vision impaired". I see vague coloured people shapes move in and out of the room. How many people are here with my boobs on full display? It doesn't bother me, I think it is sort of funny in my blind state having random blurry blobs float past like some weird jelly fish and we are all in an aquarium.

In walks the Dr who will be putting the hook wire into Hector. He is a blue blob. The nurse tells him I have low vision and he then said "I will tell you in detail what I am going to do and tell you before I touch you so you don't jump. That might be a slight issue with needles involved". I agree, wouldn't want a random needle where it shouldn't be. First off he numbed the area with a local anaesthetic. He grumbled about Drusilla, mentioning that more than one blood vessel must've been ruptured for the size of Drusilla and the extensive bruising. In goes the hook wire needle and then done. He tells me that it is poking out about 20cms just above my nipple to the right of my boob. Great, good to know. What's next I wonder?

Another nurse comes in, she's told about the low vision and quickly adjusts to help me sit up. She hmmmms and then says "I'll just get another gown, we'll put that over the front of you while you go have a mammogram". Riiiiiiight, squishing the boob with a piece of metal wire imbedded in Hector. I glance down as the nurse is helping me put my arms through the new gown, wondering why my boob is glowing fluorescent pink. Oh yeah, the Dr did say he was putting on some antibacterial wipe before the procedure. I think my boob has been almost all the colours now. Is there pink fungus?

The nurse walks with me down the hall and into the mammogram room. She is a lot taller than the other lady who did my mammogram a couple of weeks ago so doesn't have to heave so high. Thankfully only my right boob is going to get squished. The nurse says "Because of the hook wire I won't put the paddle down quite as hard as usual". That is a little bit of a relief. I'm guessing the panadol and the local anaesthetic were still working because it wasn't that painful. The nurse guides me back to the first room and gets me to lie back down on the bed, easing off the top gown off, making sure the wire isn't caught. She tells me that a Dr from the nuclear medicine department will be here soon. Mum has been waiting outside and been updated by the nurses about what is happening.

Next Dr comes in. He is a blue blob but must have a colourful head covering on. Three more injections. Hector needs to have some dye injected into him which the Dr's will follow as it travels to the sentinel node. The report says "Two peritumoral and one intradermal injections". The first two into Hector weren't really painful but the third one was like a long hard and sharp pinch. His job is done and he says "Good luck with the operation today." The nurse comes back and says she is going to put a dressing on the boob - cone of shame? Nope, she curled up the wire and put a squishy pad type dressing on top. Then the 2nd gown on and I was covered up again. Off to the nuclear medicine and radiology department.

The nurse walks with me this time, to show us where to go. There is construction going on and even she is a bit unsure of where to go but we make it. There is a bit of confusion at the reception desk until another guy says that operation patient information folders are in a different box. I'm checked in and a few minutes later get taken into a room. I'm told to sit down on a tiny, skinny stool and hug a big panel. Is it lonely? Everyone needs a hug right. Slightly uncomfortable as the numbing injections are starting to wear off. After about five minutes I lie down on a bed and the machine goes very slowly around me - like I'm a sausage and being roasted by two big paddles. It takes about half an hour. In comes another Dr, a white blob this time. He takes a marker and draws on my skin under my arm. To do this be grasps my right boob in his hand, squeezes (OUCH!) and heaves it towards my belly button and draws a line like he's making a mark for it to be amputated. Thirty seconds and he's done. Off he trots and the nurse helps me sit up and go back out to sit with mum to wait for the scan films to be printed.

Now it's back to the day surgery waiting room and it's almost 11.30am. Stop for a wee on the way. Wearing two gowns, one on the front and one on the back reminds me of brides trying to hoist up the skirts of their wedding dress in order to use the toilet. Head on back to the waiting room and this time a staff member at the door said mum couldn't come as I was going through soon.

Waiting...

Waiting...

Waiting...

Waiting.............THIRSTY, SO VERY VERY THIRSTY. Eyes are aching from not being able to see, boob is aching from all the needles, squishing and the wire. I get up to check at the reception how long until I was going to go through to the operating theatre. She checks and says there are a couple of people ahead of me and it should be around an hour. Mum is let in to sit with them. She hadn't wanted to leave until she knew I was through. Someone is called, then someone else, then someone else. Am I the last one on the list??? I chat with mum a bit. We discuss different operations and I said "You know, if they call you and say the whole boob has to come off because they found more of Hector then tell them they had better take the left one too". I'd end up being so lopsided with just the left boob. Visions of being able to run freely without strapping down the boobs enters my head. Being able to lie on my stomach properly. Being 10kgs lighter. Being able to buy clothing that actually would fit. Being able to buy tops with buttons down the front that wouldn't gap and showcase my bra and tummy to the world.

Eventually I am called to go through and it is about 3.30pm by this point. I'm whisked through a door and into an open room. I'm taken to a bed and told to sit down. Hard to see where the bed is when the floor is white, the bed is white, the chair is white but I tell the nurse I have low vision and she guides me to the bed. Time to take off my shorts and showcase my good undies. The nurse helps put on the very very very very very tight compression knee high socks. She says that's given her a workout for the day. She puts another red medical band on my right ankle. She tells me to lie down and someone will be around soon to take me to theatre.

About five or ten minutes later an orderly arrives, his name is Tom. He is a very tall blue blob. He says "Welcome to the extended tour of the lovely St George Hospital. Please keep your arms and legs inside the bedrails and off we go". Not quite yet though, he asked my name and date of birth and then saw that I had low vision. "I guess the tour will be all a-blur for you then, right, now we are off". He wasn't joking it took quite a while to get to the theatre, down corridors, in a lift, out of the lift, down more corridors and into another room. I'm met by another nurse and she checked I was the right person and I get put into a little room with sliding doors at either end. I knew they were there, I could hear them opening and closing.

She helped me out of the gown that was on my back and kept the one on my front. She was rustling around the room, opening and closing doors, drawers and who knows what else. She was little, a white blob with a dark strip where her eyes were. She went away for a few minutes and came back again. She got a bit chatty, what was my job etc etc small talk again. She said I would be going in soon. I asked what time it was, she said 3.48pm.

All of a sudden the doors at my feet whooshed open and there was a flurry of activity. "Hi, my name is Mike, I'm the anaesthetist for today. I'm just going to put a cannula in your left arm near your elbow". Bloody oath he did! Wow, that wasn't much warning. "Hi, I'm Dan and I'm assisting Mike today". "Hi, I'm Elan and I'm assisting today". "Hi I'm Rob and I'm Dr Inder's Fellow and I'll be performing your surgery today. Do you know what you are having done? Can you tell me in your own words?" Sure you are evicting Hector. "A lumpectomy and a possible axillary clearance if my sentinel lymph node is not clear".I said instead. "Very good. If you wake up with a drain in your side it means your lymph nodes were not clear of cancer cells and had to be taken out". Let's hope there is no drain then. Rob draws something on my right shoulder. It felt like he drew a big arrow but maybe it said "THIS ONE".

The doors behind me whisk open and I'm pushed into the operating theatre. Dr Inder says hello. I recognise her voice but she is just a white blob on my right. I'm asked to move across to the right side of the bed, Mike says "Feel for the side of the table with your right hand. The table is very skinny so when you move across don't tip off the other side, feel for it first". He was right, the table was very skinny. I get across and someone grabs my right ankle and starts reading off the details on the tag. Mike is at my left arm, putting something into my cannula. Dan is behind my head putting a mask over my nose. "Breath in and out, even deep breaths for me" he says. "You've got some good lungs there" says Mike. I think, of course I do, I play the flute and I sing. That's my last thought as I drift off.