Oh, I wasn't using that stupid gland anyway

I was a little ambitious when I packed for the hospital, I admit. I brought two books, my journal, headphones, a change of clothes and slippers. The closest thing I got to any semblance of normalcy was struggling into my sweatpants on Saturday. I forced myself to brush my teeth so I would feel a little more human - as well as for the benefit of the medical professionals that needed to be in close proximity to my face - but that was really all I could manage.

As it turned out, I didn't actually go into surgery until about 3PM on Friday, about an hour behind schedule. I was starving and sort of cranky but relatively calm, even when they straight up walked me into the OR. That part was a little strange - there were 3 nurses, fully scrubbed in, and the anesthesiologist. The radio was playing. Everyone seemed to be very relaxed and friendly, which made me feel better and less likely to have my usual panic attack. I guess the only sign of my restrained anxiety was that I just kept babbling like an idiot. Dr. V was marking me while I was getting an IV, and that's the last thing I remember - no counting backwards from 10 and being told to imagine a happy place with palm trees.

I did not say anything cute when I woke up. I'm not sure I said anything intelligible. They asked if I was in pain. I kept saying that I was, mostly because I felt so delirious and my feet hurt for some reason. The morphine that was subsequently pumped into my IV made me sick. I threw up in a little plastic bin as soon as I was wheeled into my room, which in retrospect was probably the best thing for me. I felt a good deal better after that.

Friday night was hard. I didn't get up to the room until almost 9PM. I felt queasy and had the worst sore throat in recent memory. From the breathing tube I'd had during the 4-hour surgery, they told me, as opposed to the 4-inch incision in my neck and the discharge tube that was currently sticking out of it. If you say so, folks. It was probably the longest night of my life - I couldn't really get comfortable enough to sleep. And everytime I got myself into an OK position, the light would snap on, and a nurse or attendant or one of Dr. V's residents needed to mess with me. That went on until after midnight. Add to that the fact that I was sleeping on some kind of possessed air mattress that kept self-adjusting. I also hadn't had any solid food in almost 36 hours, and the endless supply of drugs, making my stomach very unhappy.

On the plus side, however, I could talk fairly normally (which was a relief), although it did start to hurt after a while. Dr. V told Mom that he had gotten everything with no complications, but he found some lymph nodes that looked suspect and removed them. I will get the pathology results on Thursday when I go for my follow-up appointment. I will need to do a dye test and then a scan to determine if any of the cancer cell are anywhere else in my body - if not, I won't need to do the radioactive iodine treament, which is a relief. Once all that is determined, I can start on the hormone replacement - that's really the light at the end of the tunnel. I won't feel anything close to normal until I start taking the hormones.

By the time I was discharged on Sunday morning, I felt better than I expected. I was able to eat pretty much whatever I wanted, and I could keep the sore throat at bay with Tylenol. As soon as they let me eat solid food on Saturday (after my breakfast of chicken broth and hot chocolate, I was allowed a regular lunch and promptly sent Mom to get me a hot dog), I felt immensely better. Even the removal of the drain from my neck wasn't bad as I expected.

"You should have seen the look on your face," my mother laughed at me. "You were like Really? It's over? That's it?"

I had indeed excepted the removal of 5 inches of plastic tube from my incision to be at least twinge a little. Not so. I didn't feel a thing.

At the moment, I guess I feel pretty good physically. In some ways, I feel both better and worse than I anticipated. The pain has really been minimal - other than the persistent but diminishing sore throat, I have almost no pain at all. The incision is sore but more of a nuisance than anything else. I can shower adn dress myself and am generally pretty mobile. The down side is that I am utterly exhausted. Even doing little things takes all the energy I have. Mom and I went to the grocery store, and I needed a two-hour nap when we got back. I will go a few hours where I feel pretty normal, and then it's as though someone opened a valve, leaking all the strength out of me.

The other strange thing has been the fact that Dr. V needed to reimplant the parathyroid glands - 3 out of 4 of them made ir out alive - and they are currently, to quote the dorky-cute resident who came in on Saturday, "stunned." It will probably take a few months for them to start working again. Until then I am on massive doses of calcium and vitamin D. If my calcium level gets too low, I get this weird tingling in my hands and face. If it gets really low, I have a seizure and die. So that's a little scary.

That's the physical recap. Emotionally I feel kind of blah. I hate being so drained and constantly needing to sleep. And I do mean constantly. More than that, I hate being removed from my regular life. It's unfair that everyone else can go about their business, and I can't right now. I can barely bring myself to shower and pull on sweats. I don't like missing work or just feeling like I'm trapped in the apartment, waiting to get better.

Everyone has been calling or emailing to check in, and that's been nice. Tracy and G came to visit in the hospital on Saturday with their respective partners. Tom called this morning on his way to work - talking to him made me feel better, which I hadn't when I woke up. So far everyone has been surprised that I can talk and that I sound pretty normal. I wish I felt more normal.

I'm mostly just impatient with the process. I want my life back.