Catheter Surgery Day

Tuesday October 20, 1992 Catheter Surgery Day

I don't sleep as usual when I'm apprehensive and must get up early. I'm up at 5:30. My last great shower. At 7 a.m. we're off. We make good time and arrive at 8:10. At 8:30 we can go upstairs but some confusion, Dr. Semrad forgot he was doing me today so doesn't show up until about 10 a.m. In a special examining room I'm given a small dose of something to relax me, then a couple of locals. I feel fine and talk with the doctor and nurse the whole time. They say to sponge bathe only tomorrow and come back at 10 a.m. We go to Denny's for breakfast about 1 p.m.

I don't feel like going to the meeting tonight re: decorations for New Years Eve dance.

I have one incision in my chest with stitches where the tube enters my vein, another in my breast where it comes out--no stitches, a coil of tube and catheter there.

Again, I can relate to Mom not being able to sleep the night before her procedure. Whether it's excitement or apprehension I always have a sleepless night before the event. I have learned to just automatically take a Xanax when I go to bed, and if that doesn't work, I take 2. I make sure the volume is on high on the alarm clock so that I don't sleep through it in the morning.

On September 1, 2008 I had back surgery scheduled in Sacramento which involved having nothing to eat or drink after midnight the night before, getting up early, driving 2 hours to the Sacramento Kaiser Hospital, and checking in at the waiting room area around 9 a.m. I was kept waiting until 1:30 with nothing to eat or drink and no one to keep me company as my husband had gone to work in Sacramento after dropping me off. So frustrating to be kept waiting so long! By the time my procedure was completed and I was released to go home and got something to eat it had been more than 24 hours since I had food or drink. I was happy I didn't have to spend the night in the hospital, but that 2 hour drive home was a painful one, and I felt every bump in the road.

Mom's procedure sounds pretty invasive, much more of an intrusion into her lifestyle than taking chemo medication or checking in once a week for an infusion of chemotherapy. But with the tumors growing and all her other options exhausted, this was her next step. I'll bet she hated not being able to shower.