When Mrs. Koog got the breast cancer diagnosis, she decided her course of treatment would be double mastectomy with autologous reconstruction. Since they couldn't do the surgery in one procedure due to surgical suite availability for the duration of the ~20 hour surgery, it was done in 2 parts. Double mastectomy and implants for a while then the autologous reconstruction a few months later.
While Mrs. Koog looked amazing with her new bubbies, they were aggressive. Like Real Housewives aggressive. That look is really not Mrs. K's jam. Plus, she had many nightmares of puncturing those babies while she did one of her less glamorous chores like chainsawing trees or digging ditches. Suffice it to say, she wanted them out and her own tissue in.
The plastic surgeon she sees is amazing. And very handsome. And he looks like he is 14. Anyway, he could not stop admiring his handiwork at every appointment. It was almost creepy...almost. He was very honest about the surgery and the recovery and the level of difficulty for both. His honesty was definitely refreshing. Then he got more honest. "But you look soooo gooood. Are you sure?" Dude, she's married...and she was sure.
We got the call shortly before Christmas that Jan 31, 2024 was the day. We were immediately relieved that we had a date and we could start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or is that light a train?
Those who know me are well aware that I can be, how shall I say, a bit high strung. Some would say tightly wound. Some would say absolutely no chill. All would be right. As soon as I communicated the date to my good friend T, she said she was coming to stay with me and that was that. No argument. She basically said zip it and I did. See, I can take direction!
As January ticked by, anxiety ratcheted up..and up..and up. For Mrs. Koog, it was anxiety to get it over with. For me it was anxiety that when I say good-bye to her I won't see her again. I know, I know, don't think like that Koog, think positive. Most of the time I was able to do that, sometimes it got to me. As the days flew by, it was getting to me.
We were both remarkably calm at 4am when we left for Georgetown University Hospital. We chatted and even had a few laughs in the car. The staff at GUH is amazing. Every nurse, medical assistant and doctor we encountered were gentle and kind and reassuring. After explaining the procedure to at least 35 medical students who asked her "do you know what procedure you are having?" The plastic surgeon came in with the anesthesiologist. Once anesthesia is there, it's time to go.
I will admit, I was envious of the "calming agent" they injected into Mrs. Koog. They would not share, unfortunately. Now was the hard part, kissing her good-bye as they took her to the left into the OR and I went to the right to the waiting room. As soon as the doors closed, I lost it. I ugly cried in a unisex bathroom for a good 15 minutes. Once composed, I left and headed where all good spouses go, the cafeteria. As I mentioned, I was at Georgetown University Hospital. It is, as the name implies, at Georgetown University. The cafeteria I went to was not in the hospital, it was on campus. I got my food and coffee and set up my iPad to watch movies as I waited for T to arrive.
If you really want to feel old, go sit in a college campus cafeteria. The idea that I could be the parent of these students was shocking and also funny because I have the same level of maturity. It was quite a place for people watching, though. No less than 20 kids were in their full pajamas. Now, I can't say anything as I more often than not did the same thing at Syracuse but not with slippers or crocs (not invented yet), mine were finished with Timberland boots because of the snow. When I was a student, I did a lot with Student Affairs and made some lasting connections with leaders in that office. Homecoming 1997 I went back to SU and the Dean of Student Affairs didn't recognize me at first, which was shocking considering we spent 5 years together. "I didn't think you had hair, Koog. I've never seen you without a ball cap and not in flannel lounge pants." Apparently, there was real, genuine concern that I would be unemployed because of my inability to get up early enough to shower and get dressed.
Anyway, T arrived shortly after I sat down and she kept me calm all day. She sat with me for 9 of the 14 hours Mrs. K was in surgery. I'm sure there is a place in heaven for anyone that can manage my special type A, high strung, tightly wound ball of anxiety for that many hours. When she walked in she handed me a tote bag that contained a giant bottle of water (that she reminded me to drink), a blanket and 2 books. It was so kind and thoughtful.
I got a call from the OR around 9am saying that she was doing well, they were moving onto step 2 of the procedure and would call me every 2 hours with an update. Perfect. As I've said, I like a plan. Another friend from the 'Ville, K, came midday to take the reins. She is very calming to me as she is not type A, not high strung and not tightly wound. We had a nice chat about her college freshman, politics, food inequality and our trip to the UK. I'm pretty sure the vibration of my anxiety wore her out. Sorry, K!
Sure enough, 2 hours later my phone rang and it was the OR again. Still doing well and moving onto step 3. Perfect! Before I could ask how many steps there were exactly, they said they'd call again in 2 hours for an update.
With me being expertly managed by K, T headed out as Cousin S came in and with treats! So now me, K and Cousin S talked and mused about funny things we were witnessing in the cafeteria. I think K could sense my growing dread as the clock ticked past 2 hours, then 4 hours, then 6 hours with no call. Honestly, I was keeping it calm on the outside but the inside was screaming.
We decided to move across the parking lot back to the surgical waiting room. It's brand new and very beautiful with the most uncomfortable furniture I've ever encountered. It was worse than the unsleepable bed in the posh London flat. The configuration was also strange as we were all sitting simultaneously next to and behind each other! My phone rang again and it was the OR. I was so afraid to answer since it had been nearly 7.5 hours since the last call. She did well and they are closing up, they told me probably 2 hours left. After that update and a tight hug, K left to get back to the 'Ville and Cousin S and I remained. About 3 hours later, still no update, Cousin S left as he needed to work in the morning. Since he works with me, I agreed he needed to work!
So now I'm here. I'm actually the last one here. The full waiting room was now empty. All the kids who got tubes, the guy with the knee surgery and the lady with the deviated septum had all left hours before. At 10:30pm, a nurse came out to tell me she was in the recovery area but she was in "breathing distress" and they were trying to get her O2 up. I was remarkably calm. I told her to do whatever they needed to do for as long as it needed to be done. However, I wasn't leaving until I saw her. No rush at all. I will wait days if necessary, but I'm not leaving without seeing her face.
The nurse was very sweet and told me she understood and she would see what she could do. I'm pretty sure she didn't want me camping out on the new furniture as well. About an hour later she was back. "I will take you in but only for a second. Give her a kiss and tell her you love her, but then you have to leave. Also, there are many doctors around her. I want you to know that so it doesn't scare you. She's in good hands." She was not kidding. There were no less than 8 doctors and nurses around her bed. So much beeping and tubes and oxygen. But she was there. And in that instant, I knew everything would be fine. I don't know where I got that burst of optimism because she looked like death! Pale and rolling eyes and all. I texted our family and friends the update and headed to my hotel.
The hotel was an Embassy Suites on 24th street. I got it specifically because it had on-site parking with a valet. The way DC is lately, I didn't want to get stabbed or shot walking a few blocks from the garage to the hotel! I drove into the circle in front of the hotel and waited for at least 5 minutes in front of the sign that said "Valet" for the valet. No one was around. Hmmm. So I went in to ask the front desk. I had already checked in digitally and let them know that and asked where the Valet was as it was late and I was very ready for bed. "We don't have a valet, we just have the sign." Um, ok. I asked them if they had self parking on-site and how to get into the garage as I noticed the door was down." The nice man said "oh, yes we have on-site parking." I waited for him to give me some instruction on how to get into the garage. I asked how to access it. "oh, it's full. But you can park at the Ritz-Carlton. It's only 2 blocks away." I was nice but I was not at all amused. It was nearly midnight and I'd been up since 3:30. I politely thanked him and moved the car to the Ritz-Carlton.
Upon entering the most confusing set of alleyways and ramps, I found the entrance to the garage and got a ticket. I've never been afraid of being murdered in a parking garage. Until now, at this moment. I could so clearly see my demise by some dude in a trench coat and a fedora. After driving into the bowels of this hell hole I found a spot, grabbed my stuff and RAN for the exit. Except, I have no idea where to find the exit. I followed the signs and it led me to a murdery looking cage area. NOPE. Walked another direction. A murdery looking door that was locked. NOPE again. Finally, I found a murdery looking stairwell. I decided to take my chances and ascend the steps very, very quickly. Actually, I may have broken land speed records running up those steps with my bag in tow. Winded but happy to be alive, I headed the 2 blocks to my hotel. Apparently, while I was escaping the labyrinth of murder garage it started to rain. Hard.
Arriving back at my hotel after midnight, the nice man at the front desk that "helped" me with parking said, "oh it's raining? I guess that walk seems farther in the rain." If I was not exhausted, those would have been his last words. Anyway, I found my way to the elevator, then my room and finally to the bed. The nurses said I could call every two hours to check on Mrs. Koog, so I set my alarm for every two hours and tried to sleep. It was elusive that night but the rest was surely needed.
I must have fallen asleep after my nurses call and woke up to my actual alarm. Feeling not quite refreshed and most definitely not clean it was shower time. If you are a reader of my musing, I have a thing about water pressure while traveling. The best so far has been South Korea and Wales. This shower's water pressure was excellent, although it was difficult to get a temperature between icy sleet and a scalding boil. Oh well, at least I was clean for my return to the hospital.
As I was getting dressed and ready to head out my phone rings. It was Mrs. Koog! She sounded groggy but really good. Buoyed (and relieved) by the sound of her voice, I decided to eat breakfast at the hotel since I had skipped dinner last night and it was free.
When I arrived back at GUH, I was informed I was too early for visiting hours. Not to be deterred from seeing my lady, I may have made up a little white lie. "I was called this morning to bring her CPAP machine right away." I said this as my voice authentically cracked with a tinge of sadness and the most innocent eyes I could conjure. The lady with the neck tattoo and gold tooth took pity on me and let me go. Thank you, ma'am! And I ran up the stairs fast enough to put distance between me and security yet slow enough not to draw attention.
It was the longest walk to Bles 5, the floor she was on until she would be discharged. I finally arrived to find a locked door. This place was like a fortress! Using my innocent eyes and voice again, I was buzzed in with her CPAP in tow and made my way to her room. Seeing her was amazing but also scary. Many tubes and whatnot coming in and out of her body. She was alert, sitting up and eating. And her hair looked like Vidal Sasson had made a personal visit to style her for a party!
After giving her a gentle hug and kiss, I looked around this room. Now the word "room" is a generous term for this particular piece of square footage. It was more like a closet. Maybe like Harry Potter's cupboard under the stairs. In just a few minutes we would see just how tiny this place really was. But first, the nurse came in to check wounds and talk me through how I would tend to them once she came home tomorrow.
When the nurse removed the sheet and gown, I forced myself not to react to what I witnessed. I was scared. She looked like someone had cut her torso into quarters. One incision was from hip to hip. There were 4 drains and tubes coming out of her body. The feeling of rage was back again. Why is this happening to her?
Since she could not see what I was looking at I said, "wow, that looks great!" She seemed to believe me and I was relieved. The nurse was impressed with the drain stripping skills I honed during the mastectomy. She taught me how to check for a pulse at the transplanted areas and what to look for to spot and stop necrosis. Again, I studied political science not science-science so I needed her to explain exactly what we were trying to prevent. While I'm sure she thought I was a dumb-dumb, she was patient and kind in her explanations.
She left and the cleaning crew arrived to clean, dust and take out the trash. As they were cleaning they literally needed to remove items from the room to move around since it was so small. A chair, trash bin, tray table and small side table all had a choreographed move around and out of the room to make enough space to clean. I expected to see hobbits or Dobi popping up from the corners of this little room-hole. Also, there was no window. Just a picture of the outside with curtains around it to look like a window. Oy, when can she leave?!
Just as I asked that question in my mind, the student doctor was making rounds. He was a brave kid as he suggested maybe she would go home that day? What. the. actual. F. is he saying? I let him finish and then I correctected his thinking about her departure date. As I was the person taking her home, I would not be doing that today. Just a few short hours after a 17 hour surgery. When the real doctors came, they agreed with me. The real doctors did say if she could get up and walk around the floor perhaps late tomorrow she could come home. That was more like it. The lives they saved that day were their own!
So, armed with the list of things needed to be accomplished before discharge we started to tick things off the list. We walked around the halls, she used the facilities and she ate. Then we both napped and did that routine again and again until by the end of the night she was able to take a few laps around the floor.
At the end of the night, I kissed her good-bye without the same level of emotion as yesterday and headed back to the murder garage and then my hotel. Ordered room service (it was ok) and fell asleep watching "Silent Witness" on my iPad. I slept pretty well that night knowing in a few hours, we were headed home.
Home. That's where her real healing will begin. Actually once she is there, that's when all of our healing will begin.
While Mrs. Koog looked amazing with her new bubbies, they were aggressive. Like Real Housewives aggressive. That look is really not Mrs. K's jam. Plus, she had many nightmares of puncturing those babies while she did one of her less glamorous chores like chainsawing trees or digging ditches. Suffice it to say, she wanted them out and her own tissue in.
The plastic surgeon she sees is amazing. And very handsome. And he looks like he is 14. Anyway, he could not stop admiring his handiwork at every appointment. It was almost creepy...almost. He was very honest about the surgery and the recovery and the level of difficulty for both. His honesty was definitely refreshing. Then he got more honest. "But you look soooo gooood. Are you sure?" Dude, she's married...and she was sure.
We got the call shortly before Christmas that Jan 31, 2024 was the day. We were immediately relieved that we had a date and we could start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or is that light a train?
Those who know me are well aware that I can be, how shall I say, a bit high strung. Some would say tightly wound. Some would say absolutely no chill. All would be right. As soon as I communicated the date to my good friend T, she said she was coming to stay with me and that was that. No argument. She basically said zip it and I did. See, I can take direction!
As January ticked by, anxiety ratcheted up..and up..and up. For Mrs. Koog, it was anxiety to get it over with. For me it was anxiety that when I say good-bye to her I won't see her again. I know, I know, don't think like that Koog, think positive. Most of the time I was able to do that, sometimes it got to me. As the days flew by, it was getting to me.
We were both remarkably calm at 4am when we left for Georgetown University Hospital. We chatted and even had a few laughs in the car. The staff at GUH is amazing. Every nurse, medical assistant and doctor we encountered were gentle and kind and reassuring. After explaining the procedure to at least 35 medical students who asked her "do you know what procedure you are having?" The plastic surgeon came in with the anesthesiologist. Once anesthesia is there, it's time to go.
I will admit, I was envious of the "calming agent" they injected into Mrs. Koog. They would not share, unfortunately. Now was the hard part, kissing her good-bye as they took her to the left into the OR and I went to the right to the waiting room. As soon as the doors closed, I lost it. I ugly cried in a unisex bathroom for a good 15 minutes. Once composed, I left and headed where all good spouses go, the cafeteria. As I mentioned, I was at Georgetown University Hospital. It is, as the name implies, at Georgetown University. The cafeteria I went to was not in the hospital, it was on campus. I got my food and coffee and set up my iPad to watch movies as I waited for T to arrive.
If you really want to feel old, go sit in a college campus cafeteria. The idea that I could be the parent of these students was shocking and also funny because I have the same level of maturity. It was quite a place for people watching, though. No less than 20 kids were in their full pajamas. Now, I can't say anything as I more often than not did the same thing at Syracuse but not with slippers or crocs (not invented yet), mine were finished with Timberland boots because of the snow. When I was a student, I did a lot with Student Affairs and made some lasting connections with leaders in that office. Homecoming 1997 I went back to SU and the Dean of Student Affairs didn't recognize me at first, which was shocking considering we spent 5 years together. "I didn't think you had hair, Koog. I've never seen you without a ball cap and not in flannel lounge pants." Apparently, there was real, genuine concern that I would be unemployed because of my inability to get up early enough to shower and get dressed.
Anyway, T arrived shortly after I sat down and she kept me calm all day. She sat with me for 9 of the 14 hours Mrs. K was in surgery. I'm sure there is a place in heaven for anyone that can manage my special type A, high strung, tightly wound ball of anxiety for that many hours. When she walked in she handed me a tote bag that contained a giant bottle of water (that she reminded me to drink), a blanket and 2 books. It was so kind and thoughtful.
I got a call from the OR around 9am saying that she was doing well, they were moving onto step 2 of the procedure and would call me every 2 hours with an update. Perfect. As I've said, I like a plan. Another friend from the 'Ville, K, came midday to take the reins. She is very calming to me as she is not type A, not high strung and not tightly wound. We had a nice chat about her college freshman, politics, food inequality and our trip to the UK. I'm pretty sure the vibration of my anxiety wore her out. Sorry, K!
Sure enough, 2 hours later my phone rang and it was the OR again. Still doing well and moving onto step 3. Perfect! Before I could ask how many steps there were exactly, they said they'd call again in 2 hours for an update.
With me being expertly managed by K, T headed out as Cousin S came in and with treats! So now me, K and Cousin S talked and mused about funny things we were witnessing in the cafeteria. I think K could sense my growing dread as the clock ticked past 2 hours, then 4 hours, then 6 hours with no call. Honestly, I was keeping it calm on the outside but the inside was screaming.
We decided to move across the parking lot back to the surgical waiting room. It's brand new and very beautiful with the most uncomfortable furniture I've ever encountered. It was worse than the unsleepable bed in the posh London flat. The configuration was also strange as we were all sitting simultaneously next to and behind each other! My phone rang again and it was the OR. I was so afraid to answer since it had been nearly 7.5 hours since the last call. She did well and they are closing up, they told me probably 2 hours left. After that update and a tight hug, K left to get back to the 'Ville and Cousin S and I remained. About 3 hours later, still no update, Cousin S left as he needed to work in the morning. Since he works with me, I agreed he needed to work!
So now I'm here. I'm actually the last one here. The full waiting room was now empty. All the kids who got tubes, the guy with the knee surgery and the lady with the deviated septum had all left hours before. At 10:30pm, a nurse came out to tell me she was in the recovery area but she was in "breathing distress" and they were trying to get her O2 up. I was remarkably calm. I told her to do whatever they needed to do for as long as it needed to be done. However, I wasn't leaving until I saw her. No rush at all. I will wait days if necessary, but I'm not leaving without seeing her face.
The nurse was very sweet and told me she understood and she would see what she could do. I'm pretty sure she didn't want me camping out on the new furniture as well. About an hour later she was back. "I will take you in but only for a second. Give her a kiss and tell her you love her, but then you have to leave. Also, there are many doctors around her. I want you to know that so it doesn't scare you. She's in good hands." She was not kidding. There were no less than 8 doctors and nurses around her bed. So much beeping and tubes and oxygen. But she was there. And in that instant, I knew everything would be fine. I don't know where I got that burst of optimism because she looked like death! Pale and rolling eyes and all. I texted our family and friends the update and headed to my hotel.
The hotel was an Embassy Suites on 24th street. I got it specifically because it had on-site parking with a valet. The way DC is lately, I didn't want to get stabbed or shot walking a few blocks from the garage to the hotel! I drove into the circle in front of the hotel and waited for at least 5 minutes in front of the sign that said "Valet" for the valet. No one was around. Hmmm. So I went in to ask the front desk. I had already checked in digitally and let them know that and asked where the Valet was as it was late and I was very ready for bed. "We don't have a valet, we just have the sign." Um, ok. I asked them if they had self parking on-site and how to get into the garage as I noticed the door was down." The nice man said "oh, yes we have on-site parking." I waited for him to give me some instruction on how to get into the garage. I asked how to access it. "oh, it's full. But you can park at the Ritz-Carlton. It's only 2 blocks away." I was nice but I was not at all amused. It was nearly midnight and I'd been up since 3:30. I politely thanked him and moved the car to the Ritz-Carlton.
Upon entering the most confusing set of alleyways and ramps, I found the entrance to the garage and got a ticket. I've never been afraid of being murdered in a parking garage. Until now, at this moment. I could so clearly see my demise by some dude in a trench coat and a fedora. After driving into the bowels of this hell hole I found a spot, grabbed my stuff and RAN for the exit. Except, I have no idea where to find the exit. I followed the signs and it led me to a murdery looking cage area. NOPE. Walked another direction. A murdery looking door that was locked. NOPE again. Finally, I found a murdery looking stairwell. I decided to take my chances and ascend the steps very, very quickly. Actually, I may have broken land speed records running up those steps with my bag in tow. Winded but happy to be alive, I headed the 2 blocks to my hotel. Apparently, while I was escaping the labyrinth of murder garage it started to rain. Hard.
Arriving back at my hotel after midnight, the nice man at the front desk that "helped" me with parking said, "oh it's raining? I guess that walk seems farther in the rain." If I was not exhausted, those would have been his last words. Anyway, I found my way to the elevator, then my room and finally to the bed. The nurses said I could call every two hours to check on Mrs. Koog, so I set my alarm for every two hours and tried to sleep. It was elusive that night but the rest was surely needed.
I must have fallen asleep after my nurses call and woke up to my actual alarm. Feeling not quite refreshed and most definitely not clean it was shower time. If you are a reader of my musing, I have a thing about water pressure while traveling. The best so far has been South Korea and Wales. This shower's water pressure was excellent, although it was difficult to get a temperature between icy sleet and a scalding boil. Oh well, at least I was clean for my return to the hospital.
As I was getting dressed and ready to head out my phone rings. It was Mrs. Koog! She sounded groggy but really good. Buoyed (and relieved) by the sound of her voice, I decided to eat breakfast at the hotel since I had skipped dinner last night and it was free.
When I arrived back at GUH, I was informed I was too early for visiting hours. Not to be deterred from seeing my lady, I may have made up a little white lie. "I was called this morning to bring her CPAP machine right away." I said this as my voice authentically cracked with a tinge of sadness and the most innocent eyes I could conjure. The lady with the neck tattoo and gold tooth took pity on me and let me go. Thank you, ma'am! And I ran up the stairs fast enough to put distance between me and security yet slow enough not to draw attention.
It was the longest walk to Bles 5, the floor she was on until she would be discharged. I finally arrived to find a locked door. This place was like a fortress! Using my innocent eyes and voice again, I was buzzed in with her CPAP in tow and made my way to her room. Seeing her was amazing but also scary. Many tubes and whatnot coming in and out of her body. She was alert, sitting up and eating. And her hair looked like Vidal Sasson had made a personal visit to style her for a party!
After giving her a gentle hug and kiss, I looked around this room. Now the word "room" is a generous term for this particular piece of square footage. It was more like a closet. Maybe like Harry Potter's cupboard under the stairs. In just a few minutes we would see just how tiny this place really was. But first, the nurse came in to check wounds and talk me through how I would tend to them once she came home tomorrow.
When the nurse removed the sheet and gown, I forced myself not to react to what I witnessed. I was scared. She looked like someone had cut her torso into quarters. One incision was from hip to hip. There were 4 drains and tubes coming out of her body. The feeling of rage was back again. Why is this happening to her?
Since she could not see what I was looking at I said, "wow, that looks great!" She seemed to believe me and I was relieved. The nurse was impressed with the drain stripping skills I honed during the mastectomy. She taught me how to check for a pulse at the transplanted areas and what to look for to spot and stop necrosis. Again, I studied political science not science-science so I needed her to explain exactly what we were trying to prevent. While I'm sure she thought I was a dumb-dumb, she was patient and kind in her explanations.
She left and the cleaning crew arrived to clean, dust and take out the trash. As they were cleaning they literally needed to remove items from the room to move around since it was so small. A chair, trash bin, tray table and small side table all had a choreographed move around and out of the room to make enough space to clean. I expected to see hobbits or Dobi popping up from the corners of this little room-hole. Also, there was no window. Just a picture of the outside with curtains around it to look like a window. Oy, when can she leave?!
Just as I asked that question in my mind, the student doctor was making rounds. He was a brave kid as he suggested maybe she would go home that day? What. the. actual. F. is he saying? I let him finish and then I correctected his thinking about her departure date. As I was the person taking her home, I would not be doing that today. Just a few short hours after a 17 hour surgery. When the real doctors came, they agreed with me. The real doctors did say if she could get up and walk around the floor perhaps late tomorrow she could come home. That was more like it. The lives they saved that day were their own!
So, armed with the list of things needed to be accomplished before discharge we started to tick things off the list. We walked around the halls, she used the facilities and she ate. Then we both napped and did that routine again and again until by the end of the night she was able to take a few laps around the floor.
At the end of the night, I kissed her good-bye without the same level of emotion as yesterday and headed back to the murder garage and then my hotel. Ordered room service (it was ok) and fell asleep watching "Silent Witness" on my iPad. I slept pretty well that night knowing in a few hours, we were headed home.
Home. That's where her real healing will begin. Actually once she is there, that's when all of our healing will begin.
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