My Double Mastectomy Part II: An Infection
5.05.2023
Just when I thought that my left breast was the trouble maker with cancer, my right breast decided to get in on the fun and tried to kill me with an infection! Ten weeks, five surgeries (4 with general anesthesia), 28 days with a wound vacuum, and 36 total days of antibiotics later, there’s a light at the end of this healing tunnel. I can FINALLY say I have two healthy “breasts” again. It’s such a relief.
But let’s back this train up and talk about the original mastectomy and what recovery felt like before I forget the experience - aka block the painful parts from my memory.
The day after surgery I felt like my chest had been hit by a Mack truck. Deep in my chest I felt a constant dull burning ache. And yet, I felt numb too. I suddenly had no feeling in the skin across my breasts. I could feel pressure but no pain; only a deep burning sensation along my sternum and some very tender places around the outer edges of my new implants. Also, soreness. Oh, how soreness - particularly under my arms - has become a constant companion these last months.
After my double mastectomy surgery, I was wrapped in gauze and thick tape underneath a pink adjustable Velcro bra. On my wrist I wore proof of a strong nerve block. Between this nerve block and a round the clock regimen of Tylenol and ibuprofen, I could walk and stand and help myself to food in the kitchen. A few days later, I could even lean over the bathtub to wash my own hair. Recovery was less brutal than I expected! Pain that hovered between 4 and 5 on a scale of 1-10 was just the name of the game, right? I could totally do this.
My mom came to visit and helped that whole first week. She cooked meals and cleaned the house and read endless stories to Ezra. Bron was also my caregiver. He brought me water and medicine in bed those first couple nights. He helped me gingerly dress. But most importantly, he helped strip and measure my JP drains twice daily.
That first set of drains was the most painful. Not only did they begin to itch and pull at the insertion site, but one drain must have sat right on a nerve. Every once in a while I would move in the wrong direction, wince, and stomp my feet as razor sharp pain escalated and subsided. Ugh. I never want to feel that again!
Friday March 3:
On the Friday after surgery, March 3rd, Bron drove with me over to my surgeon’s office in Meridian to get the JP drains removed by a nurse as per standard procedure. Nurse Corrie carefully removed my drains before opening my bra to check on the girls. I hadn’t checked on them since Wednesday.
“Are you sure your pain is a four?” she questioned. Spreading outward from my right nipple was a bright red infection that was warm to the touch.
“No fevers?”
“None.”
No one was in the office that day; the surgeon was on a plane headed out of town. So the nurse hurriedly took a picture and contacted the surgeon. Doctor P replied with instructions to start a heavy dose of Bactrim. Then Nurse Corrie outlined the red area with a sharpie. I was instructed to watch and make sure that the infection did not spread beyond the sharpie line and call immediately if I developed a fever.
Nurse Corrie then handed me some protein shakes with instructions to eat plenty of protein and yogurt or items with probiotics. Then Bron and I headed to the over crowded main entrance of the hospital to pick up the antibiotics and we drove home.
Monday March 6
Early Monday morning I received a follow up call from Doctor P’s nurse to see how I was doing. My pain was well controlled and the infection had not spread further. I insisted I felt good and intended to go on a walk outside that day. The nurse requested I send a picture of my infected breast to the office email.
I sent a picture over and hopped in the shower. Nurse Danielle called back almost immediately. Of course, I missed her call. So the nurse called Bron’s phone and told him the news. As I dried off and readied for the day, I returned Danielle’s call.
The nurse explained that the nurse practitioner and on call surgeon had looked over my pictures. They wanted me to present at the hospital right away to begin IV antibiotics.
“How long will I be there?” I asked.
“One night. Maybe two.”
Oh.
I was shocked. That was not the way I had envisioned my day going! Bron called me in a panic, already in his truck on his way home from Burley to take me to the St. Luke’s hospital in Meridian.
I quickly packed an overnight bag and explained the situation to Merri Sue, my mother in law. She had come over Sunday evening to help with my post surgery recovery though I had seriously considered telling her I was fine and didn’t need any more help. I am so glad she came to visit! It was such a comfort knowing I was leaving my boys in capable loving hands.
When Bron and I arrived at the hospital, I approached the front desk as directed.
“I’m here to be admitted,” I explained.
The receptionist looked for my name but couldn’t find anything for that day. “It says you have a procedure tomorrow,” she sighed.
“A procedure?” I questioned. “I’m not supposed to have surgery. I’m here for IV antibiotics.”
With no further information, the receptionist sent us to the surgery floor - the same place I’d just had my double mastectomy 10 days or so prior. I began wringing my hands in nervousness. Bron quickly became agitated. He started yelling at the staff for answers. I was a bit embarrassed but recognized his anger simply as love for me.
A few minutes later, someone led us back onto the elevator and up to the fourth floor. There at the desk were my admittance papers. They had not expected us yet! We had beat the communication about my need for antibiotics to the hospital.
A kind nurse led me to a clean room where I kicked off my shoes and was given a hospital gown to wear.
It wasn’t long before the room was full of staff: nurses, the surgeon’s nurse practitioner Nicole, and the on call plastic surgeon Dr. S.
Bron was barely keeping his anger from boiling over as he grilled the team for answers. He was rightfully upset about the lack of communication, especially when it was explained that I would need to have surgery to remove my right implant.
“Calm down,” the surgeon told Bron. I almost scoffed. He just told Bron to calm down? Does this guy have any kids? He just blew his bedside manner bluff. Fortunately, Bron kept it together and didn’t come unglued.
I took a deep breath to steady my emotions. The last thing I wanted was another surgery. Surgery is scary and painful!
The surgeon reassured us that the infection was simply statistical; it happens from time to time, though being young and healthy I was the last person they thought they’d see for it. Nicole calmly explained that removing the infected implant is standard procedure. Because there’s no blood flow to the implant, the infection will never resolve itself - with or without antibiotics - until the implant is removed.
I sighed and sadly accepted their plan. Then an IV was started in my right arm for an antibiotic regimen of cefapime and vancomycin.
^^The pictures and flowers Conrad made me that sat on my bedside table.^^
Tuesday March 7
It was hard to sleep that night at all. Between my nerves and the nursing staff checking in often, five o’clock came fast. My kind nurse helped me sponge bathe with some cloths before I was wheeled down to the surgical floor. I met the plastic surgeon on call again. We were really doing this! Ugh. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole, but I knew I had to be brave and do it if I wanted to be healthy again.
Surgery is the weirdest thing. Each time I remember being wheeled to the operating room and climbing onto the surgical table. There’s a pink Velcro bra already in place for me and bright lights ready to be turned on. The staff asks if I’d like a pillow under my knees as they begin strapping my limbs to the table. Then an oxygen mask is put over my nose and mouth. I breathe just a handful of times - in and out slowly - before I close my eyes and succumb to blackness. No consciousness whatsoever.
Then suddenly, I can hear! I struggle to open my eyes. My legs and arms feel very heavy. I can’t really move them. All at once I recall where I am and why I’m there. How long have I been under? What happened? Someone please tell me some good news.
On this day, I didn’t want to feel or look at my flat lopsided chest; it would just upset me. I didn’t want to know. Then the pain hit, but the nurse on duty was already on top of it. My mind and body were in a fog. At least I wasn’t nauseous or dizzy, I silently rejoiced! Third surgery of my lifetime was a charm. The anesthesiologist got his medicinal concoction on point! I hoped it was written down for next time.
I watched the clock as I opened and closed my eyes. I took a few sips of water. Ate a pudding cup. Moved my legs to a more comfortable position. An hour or more passed until I was fully awake. Someone came to wheel me and the entire bed up to my room on the fourth floor.
Bron was there in the room waiting for me. It was good to see him and I felt my anxious emotions subside.
When I settled into my hospital bed and everyone had left us alone, Bron sat down next to me. I took a peek at my chest. My right breast resembled a shriveled raisin, the skin tucked into itself against my chest with a row of stitches down the front.
I couldn’t help the hot tears that came then. My body was so ugly; it was deformed and bruised and battered. What would happen next? How long would I be this way? Bron held me for a few minutes as I cried. The situation just stunk. It was without a doubt the right thing to have a double mastectomy. I had cancer! But I wasn’t expecting complications. Finally, I wiped my tears away and changed the subject. I was going to be okay, I determined. This was just a hiccup.
Bron and I spent the rest of the day together at the hospital. I ordered hospital food, including smoothies and fruit plates to eat on repeat. We watched a movie on the laptop. I kicked off my socks and covers for a few hours; it felt so hot! In reality, though I never ran a fever, I’m pretty sure that’s when my infection finally took a turn for the better. Bron and I strolled around the fourth floor together with my IV drip in tow to stretch our legs, though I felt a little light headed. I was happy to have the company. So many patients on the floor looked lonely.
Wednesday March 8
By Wednesday morning, the IV drip had been moved from my right arm to my left. However, every time I bent my elbow it would kink the line to the antibiotics and set off an alarm. I had already unplugged the obnoxious O2 meter from my finger. I couldn’t possibly sleep with it. The machine beeped every time my heart rate dipped below 50 beats per minute… just as I would drift into a dream. I knew that low heart rate was normal for me; I was definitely NOT dying. Discarding the machine was worth the risk of being chastised.
Bron arrived mid morning feeling refreshed. He had spent the night at a hotel and felt like a new person. We hopped right back into our routine of watching a movie, eating hospital food, and walking the halls. I took a nap and talked on the phone, waiting for my last few doses of antibiotics to be administered and for my surgeon Doctor P to pop in as he was back from vacation.
Doctor P waltzed through the door in the early afternoon with some humor and some good news.
“It looks like a raisin,” I commented about my right breast.
“More like a cinnamon roll,” he quickly responded, which made me laugh.
The good news was that I would not have to live lopsided for very long. Instead of waiting three months to replace the implant, Doctor P felt confident he could do it in three weeks as long as the infection looked like it had cleared up.
So after three days and two nights in the hospital, I finally busted out of there and went home with hope and a plan for a full recovery.
To be continued…
^^My bathroom countertop was cluttered with medicine and bandages and iodine.^^