The Whipple procedure (at least the name is fun)

The oncology surgeon said the Whipple procedure was the best option for removing my pancreatic cancer. I’m a bit old school, so every time I hear that name I smile thinking of the Charmin commercials with Mr. Whipple.

And with a name like “Whipple” it seems like something fun like sprinkles or maybe a jaunty dance should be involved. However, the procedure involves removing bits and pieces of the digestive system and rerouting them so one can still, ya know, digest food, so it is a bit more serious. Sprinkles seem a little less appropriate.

I had my Whipple procedure a couple of weeks ago and this is the story of how it went. Up front warning, some gross and personal stuff happened and I am going to share it for the benefit of anyone else facing this. Keep in mind, everyone experiences this differently.

Preparing to prepare

The night before the surgery, I had to wash with this special soap. This was a pain in the butt because I still had the biliary drain at the time. But I did the best I could. I also made sure to wash my hair because I had no idea when that could be done again after surgery (wasn’t properly washed again until I got home).

This had to be repeated the next morning, too, without the hair wash. I was also given a bottle of clear Ensure to drink before getting to the hospital. It had stuff in it that was supposed to help with recovery. It didn’t taste bad, which was nice.

We had to be at the hospital by 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday, April 27. I am not even remotely a morning person, so this was a little tough for me. The nice thing about it was I was too tired to give too much of a crap about the fact that I was about to have major surgery.

Preparing for surgery

Like I said, I am not a morning person so some of this is a wee bit hazy. I know I was taken back to the staging area to put on the sexy gown and slipper socks. Also got an IV in my wrist and all vitals taken. I was shown how to use an incentive spirometer (a.k.a. my breathing game) and set my goal for after surgery.

My husband was allowed to come to the room and sit with me while the parade of medical staff stopped by to introduce themselves. I barely remember most of them, but it was nice seeing who all would be in the room while I was asleep on a table with my innards exposed.

I do remember the anesthesiologist. He was awesome. He kindly and clearly explained what was going to happen to make sure I did not feel anything during the procedure. Not gonna lie, some of it sounded scary. Fortunately, all of it was followed by “but we will do that after you are asleep.” For example:

• An IV would be placed in my neck
• I would receive several pain blocker shots in my abdomen
• A catheter would be inserted into my bladder
• The staff would perform a jaunty dance (not really, but I like to think they did)

The surgeon also stopped by, who is currently one of my heroes for being able to successfully perform this complex surgery. Not long after he left, the nurse gave me a few pills to take. One set of pills she handed to me and said, “These are the ‘I don’t care’ pills.” I said goodbye to my husband and she escorted him back to the waiting room. As I sat there wondering when she would return, the pills kicked in and I didn’t care.

Waking up… kinda

The next thing I know, I’m lying in a bed in a very crowded room looking up at a fuzzy image that I knew was my husband by his voice. My initial thought was relief that I didn’t die during surgery. Then I was trying to figure out why there were so many people in the room. My husband assures me it was only me, him, and a nurse in the ICU room. I will share my theory on the crowd in just a bit.

My hubby was asking me if I wanted him to stay or get my mom and come back or leave or what the quadratic equation was backward. I was too loopy to think or make a decision. He asked if I wanted to just go back to sleep. I knew that answer — yes. The rest of the night was a haze.

ICU

In the morning, my husband and mom came to visit. I remember my throat was sore and I really wanted some water. Turns out one of the things done after I was asleep was a tube was placed through my nose down into my stomach to drain its contents. I tried to not look down at the tube because I could see the dark stuff oozing through it. Because everything was being removed from my stomach, I could only have water on a sponge to wet my mouth. It sucked, but was better than nothing.

Thankfully, I was still groggy and don’t remember ICU very clearly. I do know on the second day they removed the catheter (was really glad I didn’t piss myself when they did) and pulled the tube out of my stomach (was super glad I didn’t puke because it was hella gross and uncomfortable).

Once I was untubed, the nurse brought a walker so I could try taking a few steps. To my amazement, I was able to take a few steps from the bed to the window and back. This still just floors me. Just 48 hours after being under the knife to have my insides rearranged I was able to get up and walk.

That evening, I was moved out of ICU and into a room on the surgical recovery unit.

Never alone

Anyone who has ever stayed in the hospital knows someone is stopping by at all hours to get vitals or just check on you. This was the case here, too, and I rarely slept more than a couple of hours at a time. One interesting thing I realized was that I was talking in my sleep. A lot. And waking up while I was having conversations with people who turned out were not in the room.

Going back to that crowd in the ICU. I know there was a crowd there because I could feel it. You might say, “But, Rhonda, you admit to being loopy. You could have just been dreaming.” Yes, I could have. But I know what I felt. My theory is there was a crowd of angels in the room keeping an eye on me. I know a lot of people were praying for me and they were just there doing their job.

Then the people I kept talking to in my sleep? I know I was talking to someone each time, and I even remember what one of them looked like (he was a cross between Mark Ruffalo and Richard Ayoade). He would stand at the foot of the bed and talk to me. Very nice guy. I’m guessing he was my guardian angel when I was in the room alone.

Pain management

Somehow I was very fortunate with pain management. I did hold the morphine button like a security blanket, but tried to not use it very often.

I was also given a muscle relaxer which seemed to help me more than anything, at least that I remember. My gut seemed to cramp and my abs felt stiff, so that might be why this med helped me more than the morphine.

Recovery

I was recovering nicely for a couple of days, even able to walk in the hallway. My breathing game was going well and I was getting higher scores each day.

The docs let me start having some liquids like soup and such and my tummy seemed to be handling that fine. Problem was it was now four days after the surgery and I had yet to fart or poop. To get things moving, the doc ordered a suppository.

Now that you’ve had to know the fun personal fact that I got a suppository stuck up my butt, I’ll spare you the gross details of when it finally worked. Let’s just say I felt like I was in a scene from Bridesmaids and would have laughed had it not been so unfunny at the time.

The drain

During surgery, the biliary drain was removed. However, there was now a new fluid drain sticking out of the side of my abdomen. It was a little different in that it emptied to a little suction bulb rather than a bag with a drain. It was all fine and dandy until it started hurting whenever it was emptied.

The problem seemed to be when the nurse or doc would squeeze the bulb to get the suction going again. That caused a stabbing pain in my gut. As soon as they said they were thinking about removing the drain, I said, “Yes, please, as soon as possible, please.”

On Sunday morning, the drain was removed. It wasn’t fun, but I was so happy to have it gone, I didn’t care. Shortly thereafter, I was given oral pain meds to start switching from the IV. This did not go well.

Had a rough day

Shortly after the oral pain meds, I vomited. A lot. I was still in the bed and the only thing handy was one of those tiny plastic bedpan things. It was no match for the velocity of what was exiting my stomach. Not to brag, but I managed to get puke all the way to the foot of the bed. We were able to get a bigger bin for the other times the contents of my stomach decided to make an abrupt and violent exit.

The staff was able to get me some anti-nausea meds, but those only lasted for so long. Most of that day was spent either sleeping or puking, which was frustrating given the good progress I had made prior to this. My mom stayed the night with me, which was a good thing because the puking did not stop. Finally, one of the night nurses was able to get to the room fast enough to tell us to save the puke for analysis (ew, so glad I’m not a nurse or doc).

After a call to my doc at 4 a.m., the nurse hooked me up with stronger meds and scheduled an x-ray to see if there was an ileus causing a problem. Fortunately, there was not. The doc ordered a new medication to “promote bowel motility” which I thought was a very classy way of saying “it will make you poop.”

And poop I did

At least I stopped barfing. Now I was getting very good at quickly getting to the toilet. The silver lining here was it was like forced exercise and I was hauling ass so fast (relatively) that I was relying less and less on the walker.

Unfortunately, I was relying more and more on the nursing staff because I was still unable to reach back and wipe my own butt. I was thankful for their patience and them treating me with as much dignity as possible, because being in that situation sucked.

One other unexpected outcome of my time on the toilet was finally seeing my incision. I had been avoiding looking at it, even though it had been uncovered for a couple of days. It was like seeing it would mean the surgery really happened. At one point when I was sitting on the toilet leaning on the walker, I managed to peer down my fancy gown and saw the incision. It was pretty gross and extended from my sternum to about an inch below my belly button. I looked away as quickly as I could and avoided thinking about it.

Swelling

At some point I noticed my left arm was swollen. This is the arm that had the IV initially, but I don’t remember when it was removed. I also started being bloated around my abdomen. It was like having an inter tube of fluid around my waist. I was told this fluid would eventually make its way through my system and out of my body.

Finally sent home

Eight days after surgery I was released to go home. The last thing that had to be removed was the IV in my neck. The nurse cut the sutures holding it in place then told me to take a deep breath. I did and he pulled it out. Then he showed it to me. Yikes! It was about four inches long but it might as well have been ten feet. Thankfully, I did not pass out.

I was able to get dressed and be wheeled out of the hospital. The nurse wisely suggested I grab one of the pillows to brace my abdomen on the drive home. He is another one of my heroes for suggesting this. It made the ride home much more comfortable.

Extremely fortunate

I fully realize how fortunate I am with how well the surgery went for me, even with the bumps in the road. I did not need a feeding tube, I did not come home with a drain, and I am able to walk around on my own. Not everyone does this well. I credit being in pretty good health other than the cancer and the ton of prayers and positive vibes being sent my way. I also have awesome caregivers in my husband, mom, and son.

Knowing how fortunate I am makes me want to do a jaunty dance.

More pancreatic cancer posts:

• Getting a lung biopsy
• Cancer Possibly Has Returned
• Scanxiety
• My first Whippleversary
• One-year survivor
• Ring the bell!
• Coping with cancer
• Side quest: Pass a kidney stone
• Chemotherapy is weird
• The Whipple procedure recovery