June 11th is a date I will never forget. That was my surgery date for my “radical hysterectomy”. Billy and I had to prepare ourselves to stay in Auckland for a week. We booked a hotel which we couldn’t afford at that time, but it was directly across from the hospital and therefore convenient for Billy to come and go easily. I remember the drive to Auckland was pretty quiet. I asked Billy how he was feeling about things and he just seemed distant about it, like he had nothing to say at all about it. I remember that I told him that I was going to need him more then I had ever needed him before, and that when he saw me struggling and trying to dig deep for myself, that I needed him to step in and dig deeper for the both of us. I needed him to take his turn at holding us both up, that I didn’t know what to expect, but that I would most likely need him and rely on him in more ways then one. I thought this would give him purpose, and a logical way to see outside himself and his dark thoughts for a change. He just said,” of course my love”. It’s not like we had family here, or even very many friends really. So I knew we would be doing this thing alone. And I was ready for that. My folks offered to come back, and wanted to, but I just knew that I couldn’t cope if they had. I had enough on my plate with Billy and worried about his mental health and then there was my cancer to think about, which to be brutally honest, almost felt like it was an after thought most of the time.
The hotel was nice enough. When we arrived and booked in, we decided to go to a pub for a drink and one last greasy meal before my very early start and surgery the next day. I had been told prior that due to the expected length of the surgery, there would only be three performed that day, and it was based on a first come, first serve basis. As if it were some sort of a buffet or something! It was as though we knew what was coming, without actually knowing what was coming, and just trying to keep things as “ordinary” as we could. When we got back to the hotel, we had a glass of wine, and it was like Billy just wasn’t even there with me. He was shut off or perhaps even subdued, and seemed more interested in his bottle of red then he was about consoling me. Now I know my husband better then he knows himself, so I could let this worried behaviour for me go. I remember I made him come to bed and cuddle me. He wanted to stay up and shut off from it all, but I didn’t want or need that for either of us! So he came to bed, less than enthusiastic about it, and I just remember feeling like this was going to take more out of me then just having a physical surgery.
I don’t think I got much sleep that night, so the next morning I just wanted to get showered with the pre surgery shower clothes and get to the hospital to get that first appointment, so I could get this shit show on the road! Once we arrived at the hospital, I in fact was the first to arrive, so that meant I could get prepped for the first surgery appointment, which to me meant, that would be the first step in my road to recovery. I was given my own room where I could change and get ready, and that was my room for the whole hospital stay. As far as views in a big city go, it was actually pretty cool view. I could see the Sky Tower, and also the hospital helicopter pad from just outside my window. Before they came to get me, I remember a health student came to my room to ask me if I would sign over the rights to whatever they found during surgery, so it could be used for further research. I of course agreed but remember thinking, the timing wasn’t ideal, but would there ever have been an ideal time?! I was just trying to stay calm, and also stay calm for Billy’s sake. I didn’t want him to see any type of emotion on my face other then, “ we’ve got this”.
As they began to wheel me out of my room, I gave Billy orders to go back to the hotel and not forget to bring back my packed bag, so when I was out of surgery I could set things up how I’d like them for my stay. He seemed so calm… but I knew there was more to that look on his sweet face, and it made me start to cry. I told him I loved him, and we said we’d see each other soon. I vaguely remember his little smile and him saying, “ you’ll be alright”, and I in turn said, “ yes, and YOU”LL be alright”. And just like that, off I went. I was given both an iv in my arm and also an epidural for the pain medication. I was more worried about the idea of an epidural, never having had one before. Typical to me, I was asking a ton of questions, and getting to know the “team”, as they were hooking me up to every needle, tube, and connection. I also remember we were all laughing and carrying on, and that was before the gas!
When I eventually came to after my 4 hour surgery, I was so groggy but loved the feeling. I didn’t feel sick or sore at all ( I knew that would come in due time). I recall saying to the lovely nurse in my drugged up state,” this reminds me of the old days, waking up after a big night and not remembering a thing! “ She laughed and asked me if I wanted a drink, I then laughed and said, “ that’s what used to get me in trouble!”( you’ve got to have a sense of humor with things!) When I was eventually wheeled up to my room, Billy wasn’t there. He didn’t come until the evening. He had received the call after my surgery letting him know it went well and I was fine and in the recovery room. But for some reason, he didn’t come until later that evening. And when he did, he didn’t stay long. It was as though he just didn’t know what to do. He had never had to care for someone like this before, so it was very foreign, plus his state of mind wasn’t good. When he brought me my bag, I had a photo frame with pictures of my niece and nephew in it. So it was their beautiful smiling faces that I saw every day. They were there with me and they didn’t even know it. But it brought me such comfort. And that’s all that I needed.
After Billy had left the day of surgery, and the hospital was quiet, that’s when I started to feel sick. It was around 11 pm or so, and man was I sick! My nurse bell had been in an awkward position behind me, so I couldn’t reach it, and I didn’t have the strength to really call out loudly. So I just kept repeating…” nurse, nurse, excuse me nurse”, until finally someone heard me. She had said I threw up A LOT! I took her word for it because it was black and ALL over my chest. The first night itself, wasn’t so bad. The pain was getting stronger as things were wearing off, but I was managing. Except when it came time to trying to get up. For some reason, I had the worst pain on my right lower abdomen. It felt like I was being ripped wide open every time I tried to stand. But I managed to get into my chair by the window the next morning.
I had surgery on the Monday and the hope is to have you discharged on the Friday, providing you’re up and walking and all is well. The second day of recovery had come around and I was in so much pain, that I was majorly struggling to get up and get moving. Now I’m as stubborn as an old mule, so I wanted to get up and get moving, for my own sake, but this pain in my abdomen just wouldn’t allow it. So the pain team, reassessed my pain medication and tried something new which they put in via my epidural ( please excuse my lack of proper medical terminology !). Well that really screwed things up! In fact, this change in medication, completely numbed the entire right side of my body! I was so freaked out! I couldn’t hold my own weight whatsoever, and it was time for a shower. I’ll never forget the series of events that would follow for the rest of my life.
Three lovely nurses came into my room to get me up and ready for my shower. They were a bit older, but all so sweet. They wheeled that assless wheelchair thing over to the side of my bed, where I proceeded to tell them that something was wrong with my pain medication and I couldn’t feel the right side of my body, but that we could work together to get me in the shower. Well, they were just not in sync with one another, they dropped my naked busted up post surgery ass right on the floor, NEXT to the assless wheel chair thing. I whelped in pain! They tried to scramble and get me back up and sat on the edge of my bed. To which I then said, “ ok ladies, we can do this, but lets try something different shall we?!”. I asked that they turn the chair so I could try and use my upper body to scooch into the chair with their help. We did it! Mission accomplished! A little while later in the day, a nurse was doing her rounds with me, and I could smell my husband before I saw him. I had given my nurse a heads up about my husbands mental state, so I asked that she please give me some time with him. He walked over to the chair, took his jacket off, and then took his hat off. He looked and smelled like absolute shit! So very calmly I said, “ are you ok babe?”. He didn’t even speak, he just started to cry. I asked him to come to me, so he drug the chair across the room to the left side of my bed, I opened my arms to him, and he fell into my chest and quietly said,” I’m no good to you, I’m no good to myself, I don’t know why I’m even HERE”. Let me tell you all who are reading this now, this was the very moment I had a feeling would come, but wished it wouldn’t. The moment when I knew for a fact, that I had to rely on myself to dig deeper for us both. That I truly was on my own with this. He didn’t have anything to give to me. And I don’t mean that in a hurtful way, he wanted to, but he just couldn’t. It’s almost hard to fully explain. He had decided that all of THIS was just too hard, and that a bottle of whiskey was going to be the answer. But I just wasn’t going to accept that.
So now here I was lying in a hospital bed, across the world from all of the people who meant the most to me and who love me dearly. Struggling with the loss of feeling down one side of my body, having my insides taken out because I had cancer, and now trying to figure out how best to navigate things with my husband who was so deep into his depression, that for the rest of the week, I would only be worried about him in a hotel room alone, doing god knows what. And just hoping that I wasn’t going to be sitting in that bed trying to rest and recover, truly alone, to find that he chose to take his life, because it was all too hard and I wasn’t able to be there to help. So, with him in my arms, I decided to get a bit tough love with him. I showed him my scar, to wake him up a little. I calmly said, “ I’m fine, we’re going to be fine. Now look at me, you HAVE to get your shit together, I need you. No more booze. I want you here in the mornings visiting me, and I will tell you when you can go. I also want you back to keep me company during the days. “ So moving forward, he gave me my showers ( lets just say it may have been easier to have the nurses do it, but I needed to give him a job to focus on), he helped get me up when my medication screw up was fixed, and things got a bit better.
When Friday rolled around, which was discharge day, the head of anesthesiology came to my room. He very frankly said, “well Mrs Parsons you’ve had a hell of a time haven’t you! “ I laughed and thought, “if you only knew the whole story Doc”. He proceeded to apologize for the major screw up in my medication( as did my surgeon by the way, she was so pissed off she made the team apologize to my face during morning rounds and said this is what happens when they don’t consult with her first lol ) He had also said that he didn’t want to discharge me yet because of it. That I should stay to have the care, and to help me get more mobile. I declined and said I was ready to go home, to my own bed and shower. But truthfully, I just knew that Billy wouldn’t handle much more. I needed him to get back into a routine at home. So that’s what we did. We pillowed up my stomach, had a couple stops along the way to get me out of the car to help with potential clotting and home to my couch.
The first week home was tough. Billy was working and then having to come home and take care of the household stuff that I would normally do. This only lasted a couple weeks because he was on overload with it all. So I went against doctors orders and did mostly everything I wasn’t supposed to be doing. Cooking, tidying, driving…I even did wood! I was struggling to sleep in bed, so I just set up shop on the couch. It was lower and I could get on and off it better. Plus our main source of heat was the wood fire in the living room, which I could then keep going during my sleepless nights. We were trucking along with this recovery business. I was giving myself shots in the stomach every day for clot prevention( which by the way began to hurt like hell and I dreaded giving them to myself towards the end of the month), had myself on a regular pain medication schedule to try and keep the pain at bay, and started going to a steps class put on for us recovering. I hated it, but it gave me something to do, and it felt good to get the heart rate pumping. I also got Billy into men’s yoga ( which he fought me on every time he went but then learned to really love it), I also hired a young guy to come and give him private guitar lessons, so he would have things just for himself and things to focus on other then his depression and caring for me. We just had to get on with things the best way we could. Life had to keep moving along. I had a couple girlfriends that came to visit every now and then, a lovely dear couple that we have grown so close to, gave us a helping hand and some beautiful flowers, and kiwi mum and dad were there to help if/when we needed as well. Overall, things could have been worse, and life was beginning to move a bit. We thought, surely this is it now, Billy was dealing with depression, I had shingles and cancer. How much more physically and emotionally were we supposed to handle? Well I can tell you this, it most certainly hasn’t stopped there…