Breast cancer part 4

I was anticipating just a quick end chapter for this experience, but I am afraid it will be a long one.

My daughter took me to the hospital a week ago last Thursday for a drain of the accumulated fluid from the huge hematoma after the surgery.  My radiological consultant was a very pretty woman - black brocade dress, spike heals - just how you expect your hospital staff to dress. I had been asked to come in early to see the physio beforehand, and she was very straightforward, and was pleased to see that I had been doing my exercises and could move my arm easily over my head.  She told us that it was important that no blood be taken from that arm, or procedure such as blood pressure, forever from now on. It seemed like a bigger deal than we had expected, but it all has to do with the lymph nodes having been taken, so you don’t want the rest of them to be overburdened.

Anyway back to my radiologist - she had just done the preliminary scan when the fire alarm went off.  So I had to get redressed and all the occupants of the building (about 150) had to go outside in the cold (but not raining) for a good half hour.  I certainly didn’t envy her her posh dress during that time. But eventually the fire department came, said it was a mistake - some patient had hit the alarm thinking it was the button to press for the door to open.

My consultant was not at all confident about the procedure.  I don’t know if my situation was so very unusual or if she was just new to the job.  Anyway, with the swelling coming from several different places, she was unsure where to put her stick that looked like a meat thermometer in order to get the best result. So we had a second consultant in - in her casuals and sensible shoes, who told her what to do, but in the end had to stay and help.

They did 3 injections of local anaesthetic which hurt quite a lot. Later on, we were told they should have gone through the scar tissue which has no nerves and it wouldn’t hurt at all, but they didn’t seem to know that.  The gunk they were trying to get rid of was blood that was in the process of breaking down, so there were clots and strands of tissue. So the doctor that handled the sucking machine was able to chop up the bits before she sucked them out. The other doctor, pushed the fluid from other parts of the area towards the suction machine. They took out 460 ml of stuff in the end, and it took 2 hours.  And we thought that was that.

I felt ill over the next 2 days, and my daughter phoned the GP on call over the weekend to see if I should have antibiotics, but he didn’t think it necessary. The areas that had been drained on Thursday were by this time, very swollen and hot.  So on Monday we got an emergency  appointment with the GP and also one to see the dressings nurse at the hospital. The GP wasn’t sure what to do, but did prescribe an antibiotic, but we didn’t even pick it up, but hurried to the hospital. The nurse took one look at me, and called in the doctor. They all decided I was very ill and needed to get readmitted asap.  

As soon as I heard those words, my body suddenly went into rigors - which is a defence mechanism to help with infections. It was like being in a bathrub of ice cubes with a lid on, so you had no control, and shivered continually and it lasted for over half an hour. Also during this time my pulse went from the usual 70 to 150. 

  I was pushed in a rickety wheelchair across the ¼ mile or so, and admitted and put on very high strength antibiotics.  A doctor came and did some more draining, this time with just a single needle put into a piece of scar tissue. He drew off very quickly 600 ml of fluid with loads of pus in it.  So there was a bad infection, and the word sepsis was whispered  off and on from the various staff.   

I had another session of rigors about 8 p.m and that lasted about 20 minutes, but it was followed by a very high temperature.  It had been raised somewhat all day but now it spiked, and I sweat until my pjs and bed clothes were ringing with water. But then I felt a lot better. The crisis had come and gone, and chances were that I would live. I only made up that last sentence. Nobody said it.  But they were certainly worried about me.

For the next 3 days I was scheduled for surgery to open up the area and do a complete washout, but the surgeon didn’t want to do it unless my pulse returned to normal. He said with a general anasthetic, my arterial fibrillation was not something that would help, and he did not want to do surgery until my pulse was back to normal. It was still hovering around 105. So I was told to take my wheelchair back across the road to the clinic and have the radiologists drain me again - but they refused to do it. So my friendly doctor did it instead and only got 125 ml this time, but still somewhat pus-like. 

Finally on Thursday late afternoon,  the surgeon decided I was well enough to not need surgery, and said I could go home the next day.  My breast consultant, who had had nothing to do with the whole shebang as she had been on holiday, came to tell me that she was happy for me to go home, and guess what.  She had just been contacted by the big cancer hospital, and was asked to tell me that my lesion in the brain was cancer after all, and they would be contacting me soon regarding the treatment they had in mind - a massive directed radiation  procedure called cyberknife surgery.  So maybe there will be another chapter before too long.