As the days ticked by towards my lumpectomy and lymph node clearance – I found it wasn’t the procedure that was bothering me … increasingly it was the general anaesthetic. I’ve had several general anaesthetics in my life – but not as a mother – and that thought became bigger and bigger in my mind.
What if I didn’t wake up?
Who would look out for my boys?
They’re both over the age of 18 (just) and so they’re legally adults – but as any parent of young people this age will know – they are far from adults. And in my case, there is only one parent, one financial support through uni and one homemaker/provider – and that’s me.
So, the short time I had in the run up to my operation got very practical in this department. Checking my will, solicitor appointments; could the boys keep the house, what’s the death benefit on my pensions, how would they get through uni? Who would have they’re back to sort out my life and their futures, should I not return.
This was so absorbing for me that I didn’t pack my bag until gone 10pm the night before my op, because I’d spent all that day covertly writing THE letter I would leave for them – in a safe place – just in case.
It’s funny how life is, with this new reality. Again, my normally organised, scheduled self a complete woolly mess where cancer is concerned. I turned up for my operation at 6.45am without my admission letter, found the breast unit locked, the hospital practically deserted, and I had no idea where to go. Who doesn’t look at their admission letter or bring it with them to their operation? Me! After phoning and leaving messages on answering machines I started walking down corridors and eventually found a cleaner – who very kindly advised there was a separate department for day surgery check in. Who knew?
As I waited outside the overcrowded waiting room in the hallway in front of reception (because I was late!) – a male nurse leaned over the desk and (not so quietly) whispered – don’t forget the four that need a pregnancy test. I couldn’t help chuckling as my years of needing one of those, as far as I was concerned, were well and truly over. But low and behold on check in I was one of the four… I passed my sample to the same male nurse, smiled and joked ‘good luck with that’; his reply again… ‘it’s because you are young’! The ONLY good thing about treatment for breast cancer so far is that I am constantly and publicly referred to as young!
I am not going to lie – my pre op appointment with the anaesthetist was not my finest 15 minutes. I wanted her to know I had to wake up, and why! These were my misplaced nerves I told myself - but she was kind, professional and understanding.
Shortly after I was presented with a feedback questionnaire to assess her management of my case. I ticked all the boxes giving the most positive feedback: It’s a good job I did, as the questionnaire was placed back in my notes – that went into the hands of the same anaesthetist as I walked into theatre. I couldn’t help wondering if the outcome would be different had I left a less favourable review!
Shortly though I didn’t care. Still saying I need to wake up, the drugs went in, and I watched as the lights on the ceiling slowly started to revolve like bicycle wheels. The next thing I knew was a nurse calling my name and asking if I was in pain. All I could think in the fog was – thank you God, for waking me up.
