A PORT IN A STORM

By TEAM ANISSA

November 10^th, 2014

Week 17

November 10, 2014

The week began on a positive note. Monday was Isabella’s 11th birthday. It really does seem like just yesterday we were welcoming her into this world. She’s at the time in her life when sleepovers are popular and she had asked if that was possible to do for her birthday. Being sensitive to Anissa’s current situation, she even offered to keep the invites to a minimum. When we looked at the calendar we realized that a sleepover on the weekend of her birthday or even the following weekend we knew it wouldn’t be such a good idea. The week would end with Anissa’s first chemo session and we had no idea how her body would react to that. Having a few 11 year olds around just didn’t seem like a good idea.

I’ll admit, we’ve been a little distracted with the whole stupid cancer thing and yes, it’s taken over our lives a bit. We know that’s just what cancer does. It consumes you. It consumes your thoughts, your days, your calendar. It changes your eating and sleeping habits. It becomes part of your every day and every so often you do manage to get a break or distraction from it – And those times you do get a break are the times we are seeking joy and leaning heavily into gratitude and happiness.

We’re still living one (or if we’re feeling courageous, two) days at a time. We did put together a nice group of people special to Isabella at a somewhat short notice and went to dinner to celebrate her. The next morning, Anissa was having her Port-a-cath put in. For some reason, I keep referring to that process as an installation… like it’s a new washer and dryer, a flat screen TV or even an art exhibit. Anyway…

Tuesday morning Anissa and I arrived at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Burbank. This was quite a different experience from the last two surgeries at UCLA. For one, we were, greeted (and I use that term quite loosely) by an older female volunteer in the pre-op waiting area. As I approached the check in desk, she didn’t say a word and just aggressively pointed to the sign in sheet with a scowl on her face. Warm welcome? Check. Both Anissa and I were immediately brought back to the time we individually spent in catholic high school – with unpleasant nuns that are totally ok with swatting you if they thought you needed it. Someone seriously needed to hug this woman and tell her it’s not her fault.

Secondly, Anissa was escorted to the pre-op area alone and when she asked if she would see me again before the surgery the kind woman in need of a hug sharply responded, “Maybe. Why?” Compassion? Check! Ten or so minutes later, the mean old lady was back again to summon me. “Fiore?” she said allowed adorned with a new scowl as it to say “SHE wants you in there.” Yeah, we’re not in Westwood anymore.

I met Anissa who was still dressed and not yet in the scrubs they asked her to change into. I helped her change and once settled on the gurney the parade of nurses, and everyone else involved today began. Understandably, the staff at St. Joseph’s did not know Anissa’s recent medical history, including recent surgeries. So, I placed a piece of medical tape on Anissa’s right arm with the words “No BP/No IV”. When the nurses entered they saw this and said, “Oh, I have a sticker we can use to let everyone now not to use this arm.” When she returned with the completed sticker, it had “right” filled in but it was placed on her right arm… Anissa was already nervous about this procedure so this didn’t help that nervousness. We got it sorted out.

Another nurse came in. This time to place an IV in Anissa’s right arm. She was either blind, had poor depth perception or perhaps this was her first day on the job – lots of pokes, holes and drops of blood later, Anissa was finally set up with an IV.

Ok - here comes the kicker. For about 20 minutes Anissa and I told each and every person entering the pre-op area that she had a double mastectomy 5 weeks ago and just 2 weeks ago had an axillary lymph node dissection. We explained that she had a double-mastectomy. The only way we could be any clearer about this and put it in the simplest of terms would be to quite bluntly use the phrasing – “she had her boobs cut off.”

Throughout this steady stream of nurses and medical staff, two nurses stood there asking questions left and right, logging and documenting her medical history into a computer. From allergies to past operations, current medications, past medications, first car model, color of said car, how many times has she been late to class while attending high school, favorite One Direction member, her height, her weight, last time of meal, drink, number of children, to the age of said children. Simultaneously, the blind needle wielder was poking at Anissa’s right arm. You with me so far?

As I sat there holding Anissa’s hand with the world’s worst possible acupuncturist wedged next to me, the nurse at the end of the bed logging all this information into the computer then blurts out, “Breast feeding?”…

At first, I wasn’t exactly sure what I heard. So I asked, “huh?” The nurse trying to get the needle into Anissa’s arm said “Breastfeeding”.. Anissa answered very matter-of-factly, “No”. I gave Anissa a look – Anissa looked back at me. I knew where Anissa’s mind went… as if to say – is she serious? I just said I had an 8-year-old. That would be gross.

I still didn’t believe I heard it right – so I asked again… “I’m sorry – I know you repeated it, but did she ask if she was breastfeeding?” I said. “Yes” the nurse said… by now she was already on to the next question or two. I just looked at her and motioned to Anissa’s chest area in a very Chandler Bing like fashion – “Um, how exactly would she do that?” It rather quickly hit Anissa – “Oh, right! I have no boobs!”. Of course, I could take it a step more and point out what else was missing that would be needed to facilitate breastfeeding, but I just left it there. We did manage to laugh about it – and more so it broke a lot of tension in the room.

This was a small procedure by comparison to what Anissa’s been through. I equated it to her already running a marathon, and a 10k – this was more like a 3k fun run, only without the fun…or the run.

On the way back into the recovery room Anissa was wheeled past the waiting room where I was sitting. The nurse transporting her to recovery opened the waiting room door and called my name. I joined them and headed to recovery.

Just like when Anissa had her axillary dissection she wanted out of the hospital as soon as she could be released. Her nausea was almost non existent, she had a few crackers and apple juice, got up to change then laid back down and waited for the nurse to put together her discharge packet. The nurse, Alice was rather young and very kind. She knew from the medical records and from our conversations Anissa’s diagnosis, her past surgeries and that Chemo was coming in three days from today.

As we went through the discharge process, signed papers and got ready to go, Alice asked us some questions about how long we’ve been married, how many kids, their names and ages. Right before I left to go and bring the car around, Alice took a moment to share her support and good wishes with Anissa for the road ahead and in the process she teared up. Alice, had the “this sucks and isn’t fair” look on her face. Yeah, we know and we feel the same way. But we’re going to be okay.

Anissa’s got three days until chemo – until then, we let her heal from today’s surgery and more importantly – we get her to the nail salon before Friday. It’s the small things.