Chapter Eleven

Music to Our Ears

July 21, 2010

She was a recent breast cancer survivor, maybe forty-two years old, with spunky short brown hair and a positive attitude that took more of the fear out of surgery than all the other speeches, pamphlets, and pep-talks from all the doctors and professionals combined.  Mona was the best part of Mary’s morning.  As luck, or fate, or just being blessed would have it, she was the phlebotomist assigned to draw Mary’s blood for the lab work.  Without hesitation and as soon as she found out Mary was in for a lumpectomy, she offered to show Mary her new breast after her mastectomy reconstruction.  I was absolutely amazed as I listened to the conversation from behind the curtain.  Mary had tons of questions and Mona had the answers.  The same entourage of doctors took care of Mona, with the exception of Dr. Rich.  It was actually a good thing that Dr. Tittensor was behind schedule because the time was well spent.  Besides Mona’s gesture of sisterhood, there were also many calls from our loved ones who wanted to let Mary and I know she was in their prayers.

The first procedure of the morning was the contrast injected into Mary’s breast.  She sat nervously jigging her leg as we waited for the procedure.  As she removed her clothes from the waist up, and received no funny business from me, she asked, “no striptease?”  But the day and the circumstances just didn’t seem to warrant my joviality.

The die or contrast was brought into the room in a radioactive container and everything the doctor touched was handled like radioactive material, but the comments were, ‘don’t worry it’s very low radiation.’

By the time we were acclimated to the small pre-surgery room, with the IV placed and talks from all the doctors’ involved, Mary was relaxed, at least as relaxed as she had been all morning.  I wondered if maybe they’d put something in her IV and did tease her about it.  Then they wheeled her away with a last kiss from me.

Dr. Tittensor came to the waiting room to tell me that surgery went well.  She removed eight nodes and found that all were negative.  This is the best part of the afternoon.  The cancer was successfully removed and the plan to place a portacath has been abandoned because the Chemo treatments will not be as vigorous as previously thought.  I was informed that Dr. Bishop was on his way to start the plastic surgery and that he would come to find me and report when he was finished.

Waiting is not something I do very well.  Sitting here writing is something that helps.  I remember the day Jake was born.  While we were in the hospital and Mary was in labor—waiting—I pulled out a pen and paper to write my thoughts and make a little journal.  I had already gotten myself in trouble on the way to the hospital for running over too many bumps.  So when the paper and pen came out Mary asked what I was doing.  I tried to explain.  It’s best if dads just say yes when their wives are in labor.  I didn’t argue when I was told to put the pen and paper away.

It has been less than two hours and Dr. Bishop just came to report.  Everything went very well.  He replaced a portion of Mary’s chest muscle with decalcified donor bone so it would heal faster.  Because there were so few nodes removed Mary will not need a drain.  An adjustable saline expander was placed on the area voided during surgery so plastic surgery after radiation will not be so painful.  Dr. Bishop told me that Mary is in the recovery room and someone should come and find me in about an hour when they take her to her room.  It will probably be longer because Mary is sensitive to meds and will probably take longer to wake up.  Time for me to get some lunch.

Yesterday Mary arrived at work and every nurse was dressed in pink.  It took Mary a few minutes to realize that her friend Wendy had made phone calls to the entire shift and coordinated such an effort to show their love and support.  By some fluke Mary was dressed in pink too.  Mary came home with a pink balloon signed by all her many friends and insisted that we bring it to the hospital to put in her room.  While I waited, I sent text messages to friends and loved ones letting them know the great news.  Thanks from the Merrell family to all of Mary’s good friends for your love and support.

An hour turned to one and a half and I was the only person still sitting in the waiting room.  I doubted that Mary was taking so long to awake from surgery so I called the number on the wall which read “if you have questions about surgery call.”

 Sure enough, they had forgotten me.  Mary had been wheeled to her room forty-five minutes earlier, room number 166.  I was a little put out that they cared so little about me, a husband worried about his partner. I made my way to her room and crept in as I saw her sleeping.  But without opening her eyes more than a slit she greeted me.  She was pail, almost grey, as Dr. Tittensor told me she would be from the radioactive die they had injected to find the lymph nodes.  She struggled to keep her eyes open as she told me she was doing fine and feeling no pain.  I asked her if anyone had given her the news.  They hadn‘t.  I explained that the nodes were clear and that the procedure went very well.  Mary had been worried the nodes would be involved.  The good news was music to our ears.

As Mary began to wakeup she told me her bladder was very full.  A folly bag hung from the bedside partially filled with blue fluid, darker than the color of a deep blue sky but the tube didn’t seem to be flowing.  With a little help from the nurse they got things moving again.  Finally the bathroom toilet was the fate of the blue radioactive material.

Flowers and cards decorated her room as friends and children came to visit.  Part of me wanted to send them all home, but Mary seemed rejuvenated from their visits.

Kayshia was the designated night watchperson.  She spent most of the night watching videos on my little laptop and the other part of the night listening to the hacking of the patient across the hall.  It was four am before she found sleep as a solace to the dreadful noises a hospital can bring.  Mary on the other hand put in her ear plugs and slept the majority of the night away.

The following morning Mary was anxious to get the folly out, the IV removed, and get on her way back home.  The tech came in to change her bedding and she wasn’t having any part of it.  She was ready and excited to get the show on the road.

            We were both excited on that beautiful summer morning.  All the planning was behind us and nothing but a bright future was in front of us.  We were scheduled to be married in the Salt Lake temple about nine am August 22, 1981.  Mary drove to SLC with her parents and I drove her Fiesta to Little America Hotel and hid it in their parking garage to avoid the inevitable Just Married decorations.  My best man, Robin Roberts, picked me up in my car and we continued to the temple.