tracheal resection, day 9

There isn't really anything to report today, but I've been so diligent about blogging every day, that I felt like I needed to wrap things up somehow.

So, I'm leaving the hospital tomorrow.

My surgeon came by around 8:30am this morning, and accused me of being very lazy since I was still in bed. He then laughed and said that he thought he had tortured me long enough, and I would be discharged tomorrow morning after my 10am dose of IV antibiotics.

I thanked him.

I wanted to get up and hug him, but he was in a gorgeous suit, and I was in the same clothes I'd been in for like three days. I told him I was afraid I'd leave a grease stain down the front, and that I'd just hug him when I saw him again in two weeks.

He appreciated that. ;)

Once he left, we ordered breakfast, I took my first real shower since coming into the hospital, and my fabulous nurse let me disconnect from the hundreds of chords and monitors so that my mom and I could get lost for awhile.

We ended up back on the 11th floor, again.

Strange how that place became almost like a comfortable place of refuge, while we were here.

My mom and I talked about a lot of things--but we spent a lot of time discussing the gigantic shift in what this particular hospital has meant to us in the last eight months.

Here, my dad lost his life.

And here, my life was saved.

It's hard to explain what kind of head games you tend to play with yourself when you face such a powerful shift like that; but, it's a bit surreal.

Very few people know this, but my breathing had become so terrible in the last couple of months before surgery, that I thought I was actually going to die before I ever made it into the operating room.

My tracheal cartilage had collapsed in on itself, and my stenosis had returned, making it nearly impossible to clear my airway of any kind of mucous (sorry, it's kind of gross, but we all deal with it, right?). So imagine months of mucous building up, while living in a very dry climate--it compounded my problem. I would find myself choking on hard pieces of mucous that I could not clear from my airway. Many times, I was unable to breathe at all for minutes at a time, as it would completely block my ability to inhale.

I considered it a miracle when I made it to surgery day.

And so did my surgeon.

Yet, here I am. About 14 hours away from being discharged from what has been an incredibly difficult journey.

I made it.

I survived the scariest surgery I could imagine.

But I still have a long road ahead of me.

My sutures are still in my neck, and I have been ordered back for a bronchoscopy every two weeks so that Dr. Mitchell can perform any routine maintenance over the next few months.

I'm pretty restricted in my range of motion with my neck (thanks to the chin stitch), and have an order to begin physical therapy.

Vocal therapy is also a real possibility, as the lower portion of my voice box has been removed--and while I still sound pretty much the same, I am unable to project my voice very loudly, and need to keep myself hydrated constantly unless I want to be consistently hoarse.

I am off for the next five weeks of work, but I may return sooner if I am feeling up for it. I may just take the time for me, though, because that's never really happened before. Lol.

I feel anxious for the first time I get a head cold, or I feel a tightening in my throat. With a 95% success rate for resections, will I fall into that 5% of people who re-stenose?

That's my biggest fear.

What if this was all for nothing?

I pray that isn't the case. And I suppose I will always pray that it isn't the case. I can't spend my time worrying about it forever, but now it's at the forefront of my mind.

How could I truly be so lucky to have survived such a major surgery, and live to walk away without any major complications or issues!? Clearly the other shoe needs to drop...right?

The staff at the hospital has been wonderful.

We had to get a little loud at one point, but everything worked out. The nurses were insanely good. Like, some of my very favorite people. They were all so kind, and so careful with me. I can't thank them enough.

If you are reading this blog as someone who is facing the possibility of going through with this surgery--I would absolutely encourage you to do so. A year ago, on January 20, is when my tracheal cartilage collapsed and this surgery went from being "optional," to being "required."

I was terrified.

I ended up connecting with another woman in Denver who ultimately led me to Dr. Mitchell and shared her experience with me--she had had the procedure done three years earlier, and could not sing his praises enough.

So I paid him a visit.

He was my third opinion.

And I loved everything about him.

And for a year, she answered all of my questions while I continuously pushed the surgery further and further into the future. Excuse after excuse, I consistently found a reason not to go through with it.

But thank God I finally did.

Because here I am, hopefully standing on the period at the end of this very long, run-on sentence.

Hopefully, this is where my story with this condition ends--after 13 years.

But I'm happy to be the same bright light that my friend was for me--to encourage someone who has no idea what kind of journey they are about to embark on, and just need to know what to expect.

Will it be painful? Yes.

Will it be hard? Yes.

What should I pack for the hospital? A dry erase board, plenty of underwear, and a robe.

See? I can be helpful. ;)

Anyways, tomorrow is the big day and I can't wait! My babies think I am coming home on Saturday, so the plan is to surprise them and pick them up from school.

I can't wait to kiss and squeeze their faces off.