Go Time.

By TEAM ANISSA

October 2^nd, 2014

WEEK 11 – SURGERY DAY part I

October 2, 2014

In Los Angeles, getting from the valley to the westside could probably be considered an olympic sport – and the time it takes you to get from one to the other is something you can and will most likely brag about. On Thursday, October 2nd – Anissa and I took home the gold medal. What often can take over an hour to complete took us 17 minutes flat via the 101 and 405 freeways… at 4:30am. This might seem like a great feat, but the reality is we weren’t looking to break any records nor were we in any rush to get to our destination, The Ronald Regan UCLA Medical Center. Today is Anissa’s surgery. To be more specific, today is the day Anissa is undergoing a bi-lateral mastectomy.

We pulled in front of the hospital and left the car with valet (only in LA can you actually valet your car at a hospital when not a doctor and then head to surgery). Armed with a hospital bag filled with all those things you think you will need, we took what seemed like a mile long walk down a long and open air hallway to the admissions office. I thought it would take a while to go through all the bureaucratic red tape and paperwork once we got there, but instead we were in and out of admissions in no time and sent to sit in the surgical waiting room, known as “Maddie’s Room”. Maddie’s Room was almost filled to capacity but Anissa and I spotted two remaining seats, side by side, where we could get a front row view of those either headed off to surgery that morning or those that would be waiting there, like me while Anissa is in surgery.

I sat there having no clue what might be the right thing to say to Anissa. I considered briefly the “it’s gonna be okay” approach, but I knew better. Anissa and I both know we have no control over anything that takes place in that operating room and neither of us are in a position to make a promise like that. Instead, I opted for, “All you need to do is just lay there and look pretty, let them do the work.” We continued to sit there, occasionally checking our phones, not saying much to each other, holding hands and leaning into each other. Anissa rested her head on my shoulder.

We took a picture (below) while we were waiting. We took a few actually and this was the one we agreed was the best. Even though were ten months into October, I’m pretty sure this is the first photo taken of us when the sun wasn’t even up yet. I posted it on Facebook with the caption “Here we go (at this ungodly hour).” Posting this was a conscience decision – until now, Anissa’s diagnosis and surgery wasn’t really known to many people outside our immediate circle.

I noticed that Anissa’s face in that photo seemed relaxed. For someone about to have surgery, this seemed odd. Anissa is not one to give up or settle. She is a fighter in every sense of the word. In that photo, I saw something I don’t see too often from Anissa – an air of calm surrender. She knew it was all out of her hands and it was clear she accepted that.

Shortly after posting the photo, I received a notification that Anissa had shared my photo on Facebook. Hmm?…Anissa wasn’t on Facebook, she was sitting right there next to me and no where near her account. Anissa’s mom who came into town to watch the kids for us had just opened Anissa’s laptop back at the house. I realized she was logged on as Anissa back at home and was looking at her wall. DEFCON 5 alarms rang out (in my head). We logged into her account, ended all active sessions and in the process might have just saved the world from imminent disaster, or at the very least Anissa’s friends from a steady stream of posts from a inadvertantly hi-jacked account.

I checked my phone again and saw a new e-mail from Anissa. This was legit – sent seconds ago while she was sitting right next to me. There are some things between the two of us I simply will not share in this journal – and the content of that e-mail is one of those things. What I can tell you, however, is that it was the most beautiful words I have ever received from Anissa outside of “I do”.

5:40am, they called out Anissa’s name. We grabbed our bags and headed towards the entrance of Maddie’s room where we were met by a woman from admissions with a pleasant smile. She gave us very simple instructions on how to get to the second floor and what to do once we go there. From exiting left, to waiting by the double doors for a nurse to come and greet us. She had to repeat it a few times as both Anissa and I were still a little in shock this was actually about to happen.

On the 2nd floor, just beyond the double doors, a nurse greeted us with a smile. I know she introduced herself, but I couldn’t tell you her name if I had to. She asked Anissa to step on the scale which was set to metric. We were then shown to “Room 10”. It wasn’t really a room. More like a bed behind a curtain which separates you from an aisle leading through another set of double doors. We were now in the pre-operative area. On the other side of that second set of double doors were the operating rooms.

For the next 2 hours it was a steady stream of nurses, anesthesiologists, phlebotomists, surgeons, and residents. All were asking similar questions – medical history, allergies to medicine, recent surgeries, time of last meal, vitals, etc. In addition to all the visitors, Anissa was paid a visit by someone in Dr. Chang’s research group. Anissa agreed to take part in a study and allow the findings of her type of cancer to be shared with others with the hope that maybe something they glean from Anissa’s pathology can help someone in the future.

Both surgeons paid a visit to Anissa prior to surgery. Both discussed their plan for surgery, what their part and plan would be and how long it should take each of them. Since this was a double mastectomy, the words “yes” just above both breasts were written on Anissa with a blue surgical marker. I guess there’s a doctor out there somewhere who once zigged when he should have zagged. Anissa was relieved a bit to be able to see and speak with her doctors and to have a few last minute questions answered.

There was one moment throughout all of this, when I remember looking at her and wondering how she is able to keep it all together when I know she’s got to be one-thousand times more terrified that I am. In hindsight, I chalk it up to that “calm surrender” I mentioned earlier.

In all the commotion surrounding us, I had one pressing question for the operating room nurse: “who picks the soundtrack when there are two surgeons in the room?” “The more senior surgeon”, she responded. She did offer to play whatever Anissa wanted since Anissa was the guest of honor. Anissa suggested Taylor Swift’s “Shake it off”in honor of Isabella who, as of today, likes that song a lot!

Moments before heading off to surgery, the anesthesiologist (who Anissa and I agreed reminded us of a cute anime character) pulled from her lab coat pocket a vile of what we referred to that morning as “happy juice” or the equivalent of about 3 tequila shots at once. Within two minutes, Anissa was under the influence of the “truth serum”… I didn’t take advantage, but looking back there are a few questions I should have asked!