In the Hospital

Hi Everyone,
So I was ambushed by a bad infection and raging temperature last Friday. It started when Sadie kicked my boob (she does this a lot) and it hurt. Usually it just feels weird, but this time it hurt. I didn't think much of it. We were interviewing a possible nanny candidate (way to pricey) at the time so I was distracted. Then Greg and I left to get out of the house and escape the whole issue of daycare and nannies. We took Sadie to the Civic Center to look at the ducks (more like geese, tons of them, and their poo). After that we went to a weird restaurant in Terra Linda, Chalet Basque something or other--hadn't changed since 1968--not a good sign. Thankfully before ordering I felt bad enough that we had to leave. We thought I had the flu which freaked me out because that meant Sadie probably had it too. Once home we discovered my right boob (not the one with the woeful nipple story or the tumor history) was huge, red and hot, and I had a fever. So we start the calls to the doctors and of course it's all confusing. Whether to go in to the hospital or not. Of course I didn't want to. But then of course I didn't want to not go and risk this being something serious. So everyone agrees we put me on oral antibiotics and that should be enough. Thankfully neighbor Linda and her husband David finally got our messages (we were urgently calling and asking for help thinking I had to go to the hospital). They were on the way home from a dinner at Ensalatas in San Anselmo using a gift certificate we gave them, thanking them for all their help--so the irony was not lost on me that they once again were in need. When they walked in, Greg said, "Where do you want to go to next for dinner". Linda stayed with me since the baby was sleeping and I was in no position to be left alone with her. Greg and David went out for the medicine. And then things got worse. I started throwing up. I started hallucinating. I decided I brought this on as a way to avoid deciding on daycare. I decided I brought on all my illnesses from the very first ear infection, to lupus, to bladder cancer, to breast cancer all to get my mom's attention. Because you can choose your illnesses, you know, for reasons like that. The next morning, Greg gave me my second dose of antibiotics and I was throwing up again, feverish and all together a mess. I did my best to avoid the hospital, but with Greg calling the doctors every hour to give them updates, and each update being worse, it was inevitable. Since G was at work, and Linda had to stay with the baby, David had to bring me. This guy is so great. He had a business trip to the UK the next morning, but still drove me at 5 PM and stayed with me till I was all set and left around 8. We are so blessed to have these neighbors.



So, at the hospital. The hospital. Oh my God the hospital. The H is okay when you are really sick. Recovering from major surgery. Dying. But when you are pretty much well and just experiencing a little set back on your journey to 100%, it's maddening. You feel like a caged animal. Everything seems so unnecessary. Really? Really I need my temperature, blood pressure, oxygenation levels and heart and lungs listened to every four hours. Really? Because if you don't check just one time and let me get some sleep then what? What will happen? And the IV. Lord. They had to call in an anesthesiologist to get one going because my veins are all whack from chemo. I have so many little prick bruises. I was a human pincushion. They finally got one going in my foot. Nightmare. And the worst part was that I went on a weekend. See Mount Zion in SF isn't a normal hospital. A hub of activity at all hours. It's services are specific to cancer and the floor I was on is only for surgery recoveries and stuff like that. Since no surgeons work on weekends, the place was a ghost town. It was like I was left in a summer resort hotel for the winter. Oh yes. It was like The Shining.



At least I didn't run into these girls



Or worse, this guy,



Though there was a San Quentin prisoner on the floor getting treated for something. I was wheeled past him at one point and it was scary. He had guards all around him. He was waiting for some procedure down in radiology. He looked like evil. It was all so surreal. The cops, the man in the orange jumpsuit. Me and my big red boob.

So the first day is actually OK because I really am pretty sick. My fever keeps spiking, but Tylenol gets it down. I catch up on all the trashy mags and my sister Nina comes and visits. Here she is fooling around with the lung exerciser. Leave it to Nina to want to try anything that has the word exercise in it.



So the lung exerciser is required because if you lie down all day long, taking only shallow small breaths, your lungs can fill with fluid and then you get pneumonia. So basically, the hospital is bad for you. Hmmm. What's also bad in the hospital is the food. I have never seen such weird choices and tasted such crappy food. I feel snobbish writing this, but honestly, they served my dinner with Shasta cola. Shasta?! Way to keep the population healthy and on the way to recovering. Sugar and dyes. Yum.

And I was equally cheered when Greg came with Chinese Chicken Salad and indulgent desserts from Comforts. See, I don't look too bummed here with a fat eclair in my mouth.



And I got a wonderful surprise visit from my FIRST cousin Whitney who found me down in the gift shop reading magazines in my robe, a little high on Vicodin...hence me down in the gift shop, reading magazines in my robe. I got in a bit of trouble from the nurses for that one. She actually went to my room first, and not seeing me there, knew exactly where I would be. Wherever there are magazines, you will find me.
And, now I am just showing what a complainer I am. But, I also got a visit from my good friend Khalila. Khalila had a son right around the same time I had Sadie, but she lives in the East Bay and everything has been wacky with the cancer and we still haven't gotten together. But she managed to come visit me at the hospital bringing me much needed books (my mind was turning mushing on a diet of trashy celebrity magazines), some fruit and something else. A pedicure!



And here's the results! So nice.



It was probably the best two hours Khalila and I had spent since we dressed up like Madonna in seventh grade and wandered through the streets of San Anselmo trying to get attention with our bare midriffs and neon lace. Seriously. I think what made it so great is that we just visited. We just sat and talked. No distractions. It's been a long time since I just sat with a friend. We are always trying to double do it. Lunch or a movie. Or shopping. Or hiking. It was really nice to just sit and talk with nothing else to do but sit and talk.

The biggest problem with being in the hospital was managing my life back at home. Making sure someone had Sadie so G could work. G doesn't have a 'real' desk job. He manages art galleries, but is only in them doing sales a few days a week. The other days, just because he isn't in them, doesn't mean he doesn't have to work. Making phone calls to clients, answering questions from the people managing the galleries that day, working with the owner of the galleries on various projects, yada yada. None of these things are possible with a grumpy baby in your arms. Thankfully my friend Sarah Bott totally came through and my sister Hannah and of course Linda and even Nina did double duty with Amara and Sadie for a few hours. After all the amazing help I have received since my diagnosis, it's hard now to once again be asking for help. And yet, when I do ask, and I don't get an immediate, 'Yes, I can do it' response, I get upset and emotional because it means having to realize helping me means someone isn't doing something else they maybe wanted to do. I guess I am just sick of asking other people to put their lives on hold for me and yet, my God, I need their help. What can I do? I definitely learned a lesson about letting go of control and letting people (G) ask for his own help instead of managing it all myself. I felt like the translator and I was doing a lousy job from my command station. Which is here.



So on the third day, they decide to open me up to let the fluid out. I am happy about this. Something is happening. The antibiotics aren't working (though they are pumping six bags a day through my IV). I get the procedure down in radiology because they use an Xray to work through an incision they make in my skin. It still freaks me out, all the preparation that goes in to this little event. There are six people surrounding me. Big lights. Lots of sterile pads covering me with just my big red boob showing. A big Xray machine over me. I can see my lungs breathing. My ribs. The expander. I educate the doctors that the bulls eye right in the middle of my boob is the port for the saline (how can they not know this?). They respond by donning big masks that look like welder helmets and cutting me open with an exacto knife. The whole time there is the main doctor telling the resident how to perform, because UCSF is a teaching hospital. Normally, this doesn't bother me because I understand we all have to learn somewhere. But, about half way through, I just wanted to scream to the main doctor, 'Can't you just do it already?!!

So on this day, I really start missing Sadie. So bad. Like aching. I was starting to treat the hospital nurses badly (and I felt bad doing it). So Greg brought her in.



I didn't recognize her. She got so big in just three days. And she was different. She was doing different things. Grabbing at things in a new way. Doing a new thing with her mouth. And Greg--she was so attached to Greg. Following him around the room with her eyes, craning to see him when she heard his voice. They totally bonded. It was sweet to watch, but it also mad me sad.



I needed to be home and soon. The doctors keep coming in, pressing my boob, checking the color, using a sharpie to draw lines around the redness to see if it has gone down. They think the infection started because during my last expander appointment, the area wasn't sterile, and bacteria got in through the needle. Or, the tube that was in my right breast after the mastectomy got pulled too early and fluid was left with no place to go and has since been festering. Or, it's just one of those things. So, nothing is working. I am getting cranky. I have a drain tube back in me now. I never thought I would see them again. I am so bummed. And then, suddenly, it's better. The infection is clearing. The swelling is going down. The redness too. All of a sudden, they say I can go home. It's like a miracle. Greg comes immediately (thank God again for Linda). I can't believe how long it's been since I have been outside (it's been four days. It feels like a year).
I come home to a sweet sleeping baby and Project Runway. I am achy from lying around and from all the stress. I am tired. I smell. I hate the drain tube they left me with as a sort of going away present, a favor from a party I did not want to attend. I sleep. A lot. And today. Today I took care of my baby. Today we went on a walk in the beautiful sunny warm fresh air with Frida and picked blackberries and visited with neighbors and read stories and giggled and sang the Itsy Bitsy Spider. And sometimes, just when she was cranky, and getting heavy and I felt nauseous from the antibiotics, and my boob hurt and the drain was poking my belly, there was a small part of me that wished I was in the hospital, getting my toes done by Khalila and eating an eclair.

Love,
Rosalie