Paroditectomy

Forty-eight hours after surgery, 2/17/10

On Monday, February 15, 2010, I was scheduled for a 2 1/2-hour parotidectomy for what appeared to be a 7 mm pleomorphic adenoma, the most common form of benign salivary gland tumor.  My sister took me to the hospital, was there while I waited, was there while I recovered, took me home, and stayed with me until my husband came home.  I know it sounds odd, but she made it a good day.

I am very fortunate to have ended up, not with a full parotidectomy, but with the “excision of a parotid mass.”  I’m not sure of the details, but apparently the “mass” was 8 mm and in just the right form in just the right location to be removed primarily by itself, with only some parotid gland tissue included.  This resulted in a 1-hour surgery, less involvement with the facial nerve and less risk of facial paralysis, and a shorter-than-expected scar.  The pathology report will come back next week, but the mass is expected to be benign.

My sister took pictures of me in the hospital right after surgery and I took several self-portraits.

The right side of my face was bandaged from Monday night until Wednesday morning, February 17, 2010.  Then, my 76-year-old father drove his 51-year-old daughter to her follow-up doctor’s appointment.  I was feeling weak and vulnerable and found it very touching.  I definitely needed the help.  (Thank you, Dad.)

The removed bandage showed the drain still in place to relieve the area of saliva and blood.  Dr. Aaron Prussin kindly and gamely took the photo I requested.  My father said the drain was a small piece of plastic, half the length of a toothpick.  I only felt motion, no pain, when the drain was removed. 

With regard to photographs, these are graphic of the parotid surgery incision with and without the drain so  please don't click if you'd rather not see.  These show the parotid surgery incision with the drain opening covered by a bandage. 

The incision has absorbing stitches beneath the skin, some glue on the outside, and some visible sutures, all covered by a piece of adhesive plastic.  I can get it wet and shower.  Dr. Prussin said, “You can even swim if you want to.”  Then he said, “Oh, but you swim.  No swimming.”  I’m to protect the stitches by not pulling or stretching them and by not sweating.  The stitches come out Tuesday, February 23 and I can exercise again in a week and a half, beginning Saturday, February 27.

Personal progress report

I awoke from the surgery crying with what the nurses termed “grimacing” and then I felt an upswelling of joy because I had lived and I could tell my face was working.  The next morning, I had trouble focusing my eyes at first, but was able to work at the computer for a few hours, again with that joy.  After that, a surprise downhill slide began into I don’t know what.  I feel like I’ve lost myself somewhere.

The good news is that I have a shorter scar than was expected.

The challenging news is, yes, that will still be a scar and a cut had to happen to make a scar and that cut is sore.  The stitches, although few, still look creepy.  And while I understand the value of having gratitude for my face working and that the feeling in numb areas on the right side of my face can return over time, yes, I’m sad that my ear is numb and there’s a wide stripe of numb skin running along the side of my face and down my jaw, and tingling around the edges.

After the bandage came off, Dr. Prussin touched my ear and asked, "Can you feel this?" "No," I said. I was sorry.  I didn't notice until I was home and looking and feeling that more of me couldn't be felt.

The dent in front of my ear is not my favorite.  And I’m allergic to ointment so the parts of my face that I can still feel on the right side that broke out are itchy.  The parts I can’t feel that are broken out, well, aren’t.

I’m tired of the sore throat from the breathing tube, baffled by the sore muscles - like they’ve been over-exercised - in my upper chest, the front and back of my neck, and, of all places, the calves of my legs.  I'm tired of the stiff jaw that only lets a fork in and just enough food to dribble down my chin.  I was completely demoralized by the mashed banana.  The stupor of pain medication leaves me standing in front of an open drawer.  And standing.

I can feel the chronic back pain, only managed by extreme exercise, on its insidious way.

I know that in a few hours, tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon, sometime soon, I’ll start to feel something change and then I’ll get myself back.  I can then walk without sweating and keep the back pain in its cage until I can tame it again with my Weight Club whip.

This is how far I’ve gotten.

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(This is the parotidectomy "portal" post I use to link to all the posts and photos of my experience with anticipating a parotidectomy then ultimately having parotid surgery rather than a full parotidectomy.)