where I'm calling from

I heard this autumn the "Guillotine" look is all the rage. Finally, I won't be one to two seasons behind the style curve.

I've had a long and strange journey. I suppose I will chronicle it like a diary, in fits and bursts. My neck gets tired when I sit upright for very long. My scar is tight and crusty and I am currently sporting a painfully swollen double chin. I think doctors call it edema. It jiggles when I walk down the stairs, swollen with lymphatic fluids. I am not yet steady on my feet.

My surgery was scheduled for last Monday morning. Jim and I drove to Swedish and checked in at 8.30 am. While flipping through an outdated issue of Ready Made magazine, I saw a suggestion by a reader to use wrist bands for coffee cup hot sleeves. The person with the suggestion just happened to be a Porter College Alum of mine, April. Sitting there in my sweats, no makeup, and with elevated blood pressure, I thought about how truly small the world is.

Jim sat with me through the pre-op session. I was very tense, and even though I had nothing to eat or drink for 14 hours, I kept having to go use the bathroom. I waited in the skinny little gown and slippy socks. Jim told me how sexy I looked. I felt nervous and horrible. Finally at 10 am, there was nothing more for Jim to do. I kissed him goodbye and suggested he go in to work. He did.

Not long after, I was taken upstairs to the final station prior to surgery. Here is where they start the IV. I asked if the anesthesiologist could use my ONE GOOD vein on my left arm, and bless him, he did. It was not too painful. Dr. Moore wanted to know if I had any further questions. I did not. In we went.

They actually wheeled me into the OR awake. Fully awake. The room is as white and scary and blanched as you imagine it to be. Disgusting, sharp instruments were laid out on the side table. As I started to feel a little nervous, the anesthesiologist gave me a dose of what he called "starting not to care medicine."

"How fast does this work?" I asked. Fast, was his answer. He was right. I don't remember anything after that.

Not until the recovery room. I woke to a nurse saying my name, over and over, telling me the surgery was done and I would go to my room. I heard the assistant surgeon talking about the pathology. And while the final path report is not in, I remember this very clearly: The large posterior nodes that were "hot" on the PET scan were FALSE POSITIVE. They were not cancerous. The surgeon removed them anyway. As for the nodes up front along the jugular, they were visibly diseased. Apparently, cancerous lymph nodes present with black spots in them. Out with them as well.

As soon as I started to regain consciousness I began ripping the oxygen cannula out of my nose. And tearing at my face. The morphine made my entire body itch all over. To stop the damage, the nurse gave me a shot of benadryl, straight into the IV. Benadryl has a calming sleepy property for most people. For me, it is a tranquilizer. I was taken to my private room.

"Amy, open your eyes." I kept hearing a nurse say this, over and over to me. "Open your eyes." I can't tell you how hard it was to struggle through the morphine/benadryl haze to resurface. When I finally did open my eyes, Jim was sitting next to my bed, holding my hand. I remember saying his name. I was so glad he was there. I don't know how long he stayed because I could not fight the drowsiness for long.

Later that night, I had to use the bathroom, but realized I was hooked to both an IV and two drain tubes in my incision. I would need help. I called in the nurse, a sweet girl named Katie, and she unhooked me, then helped me to sit upright. As soon as I did, I knew what would happen. I cried. I cried and cried and let everything out until I was shaking. It's happened to me before with anesthesia. My body just stops holding everything in. I stop trying to be tough and brave and the medicine gets to me. And then I let go.

That was the first night. I think it was about midnight.