This is the story of my call to action–it began at the end of July the day before my 43rd birthday.
My battle cry, “New boobies for my birthday!”
Waking in the PACU* following a double mastectomy with reconstruction, I am feeling groggy. To be expected, I suppose considering I woke up from a 6 hour surgery. A six hour surgery–no more breasts, nipples, or cancer. Woooohoooo! And I woke up!
Time is kind of fluid following surgery, so what felt like hours later was likely two minutes. Or 22. I’m feeling pain. I ask my nurse if I can have pain meds. “We are waiting for your room.”
Several fluid moments later, I’m feeling more pain accompanied by anxiety. Pain meds? “We are waiting for your room.”
More fluid moments and we repeat the same exchange. Seems like we repeated it a zillion-fold, remember that fluid time concept?
Again with the exchange, we know our lines well.
I change mine, “I need music.”
She changes hers, “What do you want?” She’s got her iPhone out, streaming app open. “Beethoven!”
“I can’t find any Beethoven, I’ve got reggae?!” Perfect, I’ll take it!
Reggae it is!
She places the phone in the bed next to me and thanks to my open minded and responsive nurse, we are now having a party in the PACU. AND the numbers in my vital signs have dropped significantly.
Nurses are singing along with my reggae soundtrack, and anyone passing through becomes a backup singer. My escort wheels me in my bed to my room, and although I’ve had to relinquish the iPhone, he keeps the soundtrack going by exuberantly singing to me all through the hospital halls. He passes word to my family, “pull up the reggae, music is helping her!”