Breast Cancer: Diary of a DIEP #3
DAY ONE OF RECOVERY: failing to get out of bed and why I suddenly didn’t want any visitors
Saturday 18 Nov. DAY 1 OF RECOVERY
I was SO relieved to have got through my first night post-surgery. It was done. Ticked off. I survived. No matter what the circumstances I find there is always something comforting about the onset of daylight. It’s often during the small hours, when it’s still, silent and we are aware that others around us are asleep, that our thoughts are darkest. That’s when my brain will loop and whir and catastrophise, usually peaking helpfully at around 3am.
I felt in safe hands in hospital but even so I met that first morning light with open arms pulling it towards me with an inner smile of relief.
Nurse Paulina had done her night shift and gone. Nurse Caroline had arrived. A new day beckoned. One of the many things I’ve learnt about hospitals is that activity begins early. That’s fine if you’re an early riser like me. Not so great if you are desperate to lie in peace and just ‘be’.
Morning had broken and with it came the clatter of trolleys being wheeled outside my door, nurses arriving for their shifts and the ongoing and persistent backdrop of the buzzer sounding as fellow patients who I knew were nearby but couldn’t see, were pressing for assistance.
Paulina had been doing the hourly planned checks on me throughout the night and now the weekend daytime team had taken over. My first ‘group’ visit was from a team of doctors and surgeons doing the morning rounds.
I recall propping myself up, (having finally mastered the controls on the bed to get me into the appropriate position), as three medics filed into the room and gathered at the foot of the bed, one of them a particularly handsome doctor with film-star looks who I gauged to be in his early 30s.
The trio introduced themselves. I asked the surgeon if he was one of the team who’d operated on me the previous day. No, he replied, he wasn’t. Meanwhile the very handsome film-star-looks doctor was the one entrusted to do a check on my left breast.
Even though I was still in a post-anaesthetic, sleep-deprived haze I remember with clarity the slightly awkward fumbling as film-star-looks doctor, his head a few inches from mine, found it difficult to undo the pesky little clasps of my M&S support system. Since my breast cancer diagnosis in early September I had become increasingly unfazed by teams of strangers looking at my boobs. That morning was no different apart from the fact this particular doctor wouldn’t have been out of place on a catwalk or a large billboard advertising something expensive and luxurious. I remember thinking, ‘Well this isn’t something that happens often. A young and gorgeous dark-haired man trying to open my bra as various strangers look on.’ A slightly surreal start to my Saturday morning but hey, it could have been worse.
This was my bra of choice from Marks & Spencer. And yes. It did upset me that even when buying a post-surgery bra for the traumatic event of a mastectomy a message pops on screen saying ‘POPULAR. 23 others have looked at this recently.’ Well, aren’t we the lucky 23. Not good M&S. Not good.
Anyway. Back to Saturday, breakfast arrived. I’m not sure what time the clatter of the tea/ coffee / breakfast trolley kicked off but it seemed pretty early which was fine by me as I hadn’t eaten anything since Thursday evening, (a much enjoyed takeaway curry for anyone interested. It was very tasty but also had ‘Last Supper’ vibes knowing my surgery was the following morning.)
There was quite a big choice of various hospital breakfast options. I chose porridge with honey, a banana and toast with jam. I know this because I have written it down in my diary notes. It was clearly important. My very empty stomach was briefly very happy. It was as good as the toast I’d enjoyed shortly after giving birth to my daughter in 2005 a few floors down in the same hospital.
Hunger + extreme relief + completion of major life-changing event = extra tasty toast.
At some point in the early morning I was given all the meds that I needed. Pills for this, pills for that. A lot of pills. It was shortly after that point that I suddenly felt very, very nauseous. I had been warned that feeling sick is quite normal after major surgery and a general anaesthetic (and also, I assume being very low on sleep doesn’t help).
With no nearby receptacle to throw up in and unable to mobilise out of bed, I had to quickly press my buzzer and an attentive nurse came in and thrust a cardboard bowler hat in my direction. I remember thinking, ’No! Don’t vomit now. All those pills are going to come up. Keep them down.’ It was a low part of the morning. The nurse told me she could give me an anti-nausea injection which I said ‘yes please’ to. The porridge and pills remained in my stomach. The nausea later subsided. All good.
The next event to unfold in the morning was the very loud and disgruntled voice of a patient who was making his displeasure very vocally known at the nurse’s station outside my room. By that point I was feeling less sick, I had eaten my first meal, I was more than ready for some sleep having had about what felt like a total of 25 minutes during the night.
Mr Angry, standing just feet from my door, was berating the nursing staff for having originally sent him home ‘too early’. I couldn't hear what the nurses were saying as unlike Mr Angry their voices weren’t raised but his remonstrations went on for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. At one point and feeling weak and very sleep deprived I was gearing up to shout, ‘Please! Enough! Some of us are trying to rest here!’ but a) I didn’t have the energy and b) as a fellow patient, part of me empathised with him. Even though I didn’t know his circumstances he was clearly very agitated and his recurring refrain was, ‘I kept telling you it was too soon to send me home. Now I’m back here again!’ I felt for his plight but at that moment in time I would have been grateful if he’d expressed his plight in a slightly quieter voice.
I resorted to putting my headphones in to block out his complaining. The rest of the day was spent attempting to drift in and out of some much- needed sleep while staff continued to do hourly checks on my breast and various people, including cleaners and orderlies, came in and out.
I remember at one point the squeaky door opening and someone who was on water topping-up duty coming into the room. She brought in a jug and placed it on the window sill in the farthest corner of the room. At this point I still hadn’t been able to move from my bed and was attached to various tubes. ‘Sorry but please could you bring that nearer where I can reach it?’ I asked with typical British restraint starting my request with an apology.
She looked my way, picked up the jug and then put it on the table to my right-hand-side where it was still firmly out of my reach before drifting out of the room silently like a ghost. Helpful.
The advice had been to stay very hydrated post-surgery and I had purchased a large water bottle especially for my hospital stay, (which at that point needed topping up). My 15-year-old son smirked disparagingly when he first saw it and said ‘Why have you bought a water bottle that all the Tik-Tokers have?’ That was news to me. I am not on Tik Tok. I had chosen it because I found the pink and mauve colour-combo pleasing and it looked like it would do the job. It turned out to be the worst design because I soon discovered I could only drink from it when my head was tipped at a certain angle, an angle that wasn’t compatible with someone who has just had surgery across their chest and a new 16 inch hip-to-hip incision across their stomach. Someone who can’t lean forward or tip or do much.
Nurse Caroline was friendly and chatty and during our hourly checks we talked about our children, our daughters and the fact that mine was just embarking on her first term at university. I liked Caroline. As the hours passed the plan had been for my mum and dad, (both in their late 70s), to come and visit that Saturday afternoon but it quickly dawned on me this wasn’t going to be a good idea. The complete lack of sleep from night one, combined with the after-effects of eight hours of surgery, meant all I really wanted to do was rest. The thought of talking or even sitting up trying to engage with anyone, including my relatively easy-going parents, was not appealing. My partner Jonny was going to be visiting later that day, (visiting hours on Somerset Ward were 2pm-7pm), and right then, he was the only visitor I wanted or could cope with.
I messaged my mum and dad on the ‘Tess updates’ family WhatsApp group so everyone, including my brother and sister, could see what was going on and suggested Sunday, the following day would probably be ok.
It was the right decision.
According to the DIEP FLAP RECOVERY TIMETABLE I had been given, this is what was supposed to be happening on that first day.
DAY I OF RECOVERY:
*CONTINUE HOURLY BREAST MONITORING
*CAN EAT AND DRINK AS TOLERATED
*SIT OUT IN CHAIR AND GENTLY MOBILISE
*CATHETER OUT IF MOBILISING
*DRAINS TO STAY IN
As you can see, the main physical goal was to get out of bed for the first time since surgery and sit in a chair in the room. However, I began to feel increasingly shaky and weak. I’m sure my teeth started chattering at some point too but I might be imagining that. I had previously managed to sit up in bed to eat my breakfast, albeit with the pillows and a backrest propping me up. When nurse Caroline came in to help me get out of bed and sit in the chair my shakiness seemed to be peaking. The thought of moving just a metre across the room to where the chair was positioned by the window seemed overwhelming but I was prepared to give it a go if I had to.
I managed to sit up in the bed and shuffle along, my support-stocking covered legs dangling over the side for the first time whilst also doing my best to avoid getting tangled up in the delightfully named ‘drain’ coming from my breast. I sat like that for a minute or two thinking about moving further. I told Caroline how shaky I was feeling and she continued to observe me.
It was also at that point that memories of my wonderful Someone Like Me volunteer from Breast Cancer Now were percolating through my mind. When I had asked her what her first day post-surgery was like, she told me she had blacked out and fainted when trying to get out of bed to sit in the chair. I guess that was in the back of my mind too. I was listening to my body and my body really didn’t want to move. Gauging my general state and with the shaking continuing, nurse Caroline decided we weren’t going to attempt the sitting-in-chair move and that I should get more rest.
The remainder of Saturday was rest, rest, more rest. Jonny arrived at visiting time and it was lovely to have him there. I was able to chat, even laugh a bit. He brought me some nice things to eat. (Worth noting, there is a handily placed M&S downstairs in St Thomas’s hospital so no shortage of fruit, grapes, mango slices, millionaires shortbread, flapjacks, cheese and pickle sandwiches, scotch eggs…whatever your heart desires).
As the evening approached and visiting times were coming to an end, Jonny set up the bedside TV system that you had to pay for and which consisted of a screen on a stand that could be manoeuvered into various positions near your face.
Knowing I was going to be in hospital for at least two or three more nights I opted for one of the more expensive packages that included access to a wide array of channels and films. This turned out to be optimistic.
Saturday night beckoned. What to watch? For the first time in many years I had been watching Strictly Come Dancing. The start of the series in September had coincided with the time I got my breast cancer diagnosis and I found myself clinging onto all comforting things -whether they be TV related, routine related, food related or even clothes related. (More of things I found comforting in future posts). Suffice to say I had been following the ballroom moves and grooves of the cohort which included Angela Rippon, Krishnan Guru-Murthy, Annabel Croft and Bobby Brazier with unusual enthusiasm.
I ate my evening meal. Jonny said goodbye with plans to come back the next day. And then I attempted to watch Claudia, Tess and the sequin-clad celebrities in action quickly discovering that there was an issue with the sound on my TV device at that any time music played it immediately dissolved into very loud crackles. Given that Strictly is a dance show revolving around a steady flow of musical numbers belted out by Dave Arch and his infamous band, this wasn’t ideal.
I persisted listlessly and was too tired to bother switching to anything with less music or call any staff members who had more important things to do, (like keeping patients alive, rather than help one whose enjoyment of Bobby Brazier’s jive was being hindered).
And that was pretty much the last thing I remembered from day one. Before long I had fallen asleep. When I woke up Strictly was long over and something else annoying and crackly was playing. I had some more water, pushed the screen away from my head in a slightly annoyed manner and settled down for night two of sleep.
Progress was being made: Day one was done. I had eaten food. I had sat up without back support. I had watched some very crackly TV. Yes I had failed to keep to the recovery timetable of ‘Get out of bed /sit in chair’ and yes, I’d decided that visitors were going to be too much but tomorrow would be a new day. All was calm and I was looking forward to a night with less nocturnal activity, (the hourly checks had been reduced), no Bair Hugger and one less tube going into me, (the tubes providing oxygen via my nose had been taken out). Things were going in the right direction. I closed my eyes and unlike night one, sleep came fast.
TIPS
A few things I was very happy to have with me on NIGHT 2 :
My very soft and cuddly dressing-gown which I draped over my bedsheets (now that the cumbersome Bair Hugger/ lilo from night one was not required). It provided a comforting and warm stand-in for a bed-cover.
My own pillow that I’d brought from home. Firm and full and smelt of home not hospital.
The lavender spray This Works Deep Sleep Pillow spray that my kind friend Louise bought for me which I made liberal use of not only on the pillow but also in the room.
My headphones so I could listen to music and drift off back to sleep when I woke up in the middle of the night.
The extra long charging cable so that my phone could remain within easy reach while it charged.
Next time: Day 2 of recovery. Getting out of bed for the first time, being hosed down by a nurse, (my first ‘shower’ since the surgery), and what it felt like to walk for the first time post- DIEP.
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