I will never forget crying and shaking as I walked into Johns Hopkins hospital on June 12. I knew what I was walking into, and I knew the next time I walked out I wouldn't have a stomach. I remember admiring the hospital lobby, it had large pillars and granite flooring. It was beautiful. Such a beautiful lobby for a place where so much trauma happens.
I checked in, shaking uncontrollably, the woman behind the counter knew something was wrong but she didn't know what it was until I told her my name. Once my chart popped up I could see in her face that she understood, she knew why I was scared. She put my hospital bracelet on me. I didn't realize at the time that I would be wearing that bracelet for the entire 7 days I was in the hospital. That I would be woken up in the middle of the night so the nurse could give me medication and scan my bracelet. So the nurse with a bad attitude could stick me as hard as she could to draw my blood at 2AM and scan my bracelet.
It didn't take long for them to call me back for pre-op procedures. I started crying instantly, and although it was against the rules, the nurse allowed for me to have my husband sit with me while I signed the consent forms. I'm not sure how many people know what its like to sign away an organ. I honestly don't remember what any of the forms were for I just remember signing my name over and over and over giving them consent to take my stomach out of my body. My signature was more of a scribble than a signature, I could barely hold the pen still enough to write.
My family came back to say good luck and goodbye before my operation. I was blessed to have so many people with me that day. My mom, dad, stepfather, brother, cousin, and husband were all with me standing next to the hospital bed. I remember my dad the most, I had never in my 25 years of life seen my dad cry. And there he was in front of me with tears falling from his face, we met eyes and the tears started to fall harder. My husband had a brave face, but I could see that he was worried. My cousin was crying softly, she's a nurse so she knew has dangerous and intense this surgery was. My stepfather and brother didn't cry they just looked at me with soft eyes. The moment I remember the most, and that I will NEVER forget, is holding my moms hand and looking into her eyes. I said "Mom I am so scared" and she told me "I know but you will be ok and you will make it through this." My mom and me cried as she held my hand. The nurse said it was time for me to go back. I said goodbye to all of my loved ones crying uncontrollably and they rolled me back to the operating room.
Easy to guess what happened next, they gave me drugs to calm me down. My surgeon held my hand and promised that I was not going to die today, he said he was not going to let that happen. In fact we didn't talk about the surgery much at all, we mostly talked about his recent trip to France and my recent trip to the Bahamas. It was like we were friends, only one friend was about to cut open the other and change their life. Before I knew what happened I was knocked out, the anesthesia kicked in.
I woke up in the ICU, I could feel the pain instantly. It was sharp, but not as bad as I thought it would be. My family was around my hospital bed and I remember saying "I did it, I fucking did it" and they all said words of encouragement. I honestly don't remember what they said the morphine drip was pretty strong. I was in the ICU for one night. My husband and myself accidentally fell asleep for a few hours, I woke up in agonizing pain. I pressed the button for the nurses and they rushed in to pump me with medication. They like to use a 1-10 scale to rate your pain. I felt like mine was a 12. After they pumped me with medication I blamed my husband for not staying awake. I was so selfish. He hadn't slept, he was tired, and I expected him to stay awake to make sure I got my pain meds. I was so mean I made him cry, and to this day I will never forgive myself for doing that to him.
I got moved to a room where I stayed for 7 days. 7 days of scheduled hell. Medication was given on time every few hours, nurse shift change was at 7am and 7pm. I was living on a schedule. The worst part of the hospital was something that wasn't timed though, it was when I was taken to the XRAY unit, they wanted to make sure that my surgeon sewed me up properly and I didn't have internal leaks. Let me start by saying that I was not able to drink water before this test was done, and it was done on my third day in the hospital. THREE DAYS I went without water, then they give me some charcoal sludge and expect me to drink two cups of it. It tasted like nothing I can describe. It tasted like death. I thought I was going to throw it up but luckily I was able to keep enough down for them to do the test. It took them almost 3 hours. 3 hours of me getting up and down from a table only days after I had my stomach removed. I wanted to cry, I wanted to beg them to skip the test. I didn't care if I had a leak I just wanted them to stop making me drink the sludge and to stop making me get up and down from the XRAY table. I prayed, for the first time in a long time I found myself praying to God to make it stop. Please just make it stop.
The rest of the hospital stay was scheduled days and eating sherbert that tasted like plastic. The day finally came where I could go home. I was excited, but scared. I knew at home I wouldn't have nurses to help me at my beckoning call. I wouldn't have the same medications, specifically the pain medications. I got home and healing was exactly like I thought it would be, it was painful.
When my follow up appointment with my surgeon finally came I asked him the one question I had been wondering for weeks "did you find cancer in my stomach?". Since this was a preventative procedure I expected him to say no, but to my surprise his answer wasn't no. They found stage 1 gastric cancer in three areas. I thanked him for saving my life.
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