It was a rainy dreary day here in Lancaster today. Appropriate weather for a hysterectomy. I felt like how it looked outside. A bright sun shining day would have fucked with my head even more.
But I was surrounded my sunshine in the pre-op room. My husband, who again successfully juggles being an orthopedic surgeon and the wife of a cancer patient with such grace. The man doesn't even break a sweat. And it was his face I needed to see as they wheeled me back in my glorious Versaid (sp?) high. But he had back-up. Marcia was there with her beautiful smile and even more beautiful disposition. And my wonderful girlfriend Chris Steltz was there to make me laugh, let me cry and encourage the cursing.
The surgery went fine. I feel sore but fine. I'm in a little bit of a morphine haze right now. But morphine is really just a Cosmo in a syringe, right?
I'm okay for three reasons:
1) God meant it to be so and I believe He has a plan
2) I have received excellent medical care from the most wonderful staff ever. It made me cry when Dr. Evans said last week that she was guiding me as a physician and as a friend. We've been through a lot together.
3) You. All. My family, friends and even those people I don't know who say a prayer in my name, who send good vibes through the air and offer virtual hugs and kisses.
I may not have a uterus anymore, but I'm still the most blessed girl in the world.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
It's Not Funny Anymore
So we've decided. I've decided. I'm going to have a hysterectomy tomorrow. I'm so sad.
Those words, "going to have a hysterectomy" were simply not in my vocabulary before. I don't think I was being naive or not facing the facts. It's just that I thought we had such a good plan in place. I thought I was doing everything that was asked of me. I thought "it was all going to be okay." But it wasn't enough.
Everyone is trying so hard to help. Asking what they can do? How am I feeling? Do I need anything? I can imagine that my family and close friends feel helpless as I move through this next phase. But if you feel helpless, just imagine how I feel. I can't tell you what to do because I don't know what to do.
I go through swings of just sheer sadness. Sobbing. In the shower. In bed at night. In bed in the morning. In the kitchen. When Chris holds me. When I look at the dogs. When I see pregnant women looking so cute with their bellies. Sitting in church. Sitting here now. You just never know.
But then I'm also having moments of real clarity. Where the emotion subsides and the rational thought creeps back in. When I can see the wisdom of my choice despite the gaping hole it leaves in my gut ... physically and emotionally.
I was so afraid of making the wrong decision. God forbid you have your uterus removed then decide later you should have given the resection one more go. It's important to me that Chris and I are on the same page. I trust his judgement and listened to his reasoning. But I also knew, I got to choose. I didn't want to feel pressured into this and then resent Chris for it. Maybe that's why we are going through this now. Two years ago, we weren't in a good enough place to communicate honestly. I don't think I would have thought my opinion counted as much as I believe it does now. I don't want to disappoint Chris, but I know I don't want to disappoint myself either. My mom said we are a family, him and I, a small family of two, husband and wife, but a family that needs to decide the future of this family together.
I said my prayers. Talked to the handful of people who really matter. And I said my prayers again. Gregory Rannazzisi once said to me (before he was a priest, so you know he was destined for greatness) feel free to ask God for a sign. And if you think you might miss His subtle signs, ask him for a really obvious sign. Greg suggested a 2x4 hitting you over the head. I felt like I needed that 2x4 and I wanted the word "hysterectomy" or "re-resection" to be written on it in black sharpie marker.
God is more sophisticated than a 2x4, so he sent me a phone call with the man we've trusted since the beginning. Dr. Goldstein called from Boston. Like a good journalist, I took notes while we spoke. It's so easy to have a whole conversation then hang up and really have no idea what was said. So I'm creating a paper trail. He said and I quote, "Frankly, I think the long term best option is a hysterectomy." If that's not a 2x4, I don't know what is. One, he said it's the only way we can be reasonably sure I will be cancer-free. The uterus has cancer, chemo didn't kill it, taking the tumor out wasn't enough, so take the organ that has cancer out. Plus, he said, "You want to get on with your life."
And I do. I just want to get on with my life with three children. I've had to alter my plan pretty drastically so far. I'm willing to make some minor adjustments moving forward. But I'm determined to leave this world a parent ... of human children. (No offense to the dogs, "my girls.")
I try to focus on the positive: I won't get my period anymore. That's a plus. No need for birth control. Saving money on prescriptions. I try to inject a little wry humor into the whole thing until I stop for five seconds and remember what I'm really talking about. Like Chandler on Friends "I use humor to mask the pain." Now even the humor isn't enough.
Those words, "going to have a hysterectomy" were simply not in my vocabulary before. I don't think I was being naive or not facing the facts. It's just that I thought we had such a good plan in place. I thought I was doing everything that was asked of me. I thought "it was all going to be okay." But it wasn't enough.
Everyone is trying so hard to help. Asking what they can do? How am I feeling? Do I need anything? I can imagine that my family and close friends feel helpless as I move through this next phase. But if you feel helpless, just imagine how I feel. I can't tell you what to do because I don't know what to do.
I go through swings of just sheer sadness. Sobbing. In the shower. In bed at night. In bed in the morning. In the kitchen. When Chris holds me. When I look at the dogs. When I see pregnant women looking so cute with their bellies. Sitting in church. Sitting here now. You just never know.
But then I'm also having moments of real clarity. Where the emotion subsides and the rational thought creeps back in. When I can see the wisdom of my choice despite the gaping hole it leaves in my gut ... physically and emotionally.
I was so afraid of making the wrong decision. God forbid you have your uterus removed then decide later you should have given the resection one more go. It's important to me that Chris and I are on the same page. I trust his judgement and listened to his reasoning. But I also knew, I got to choose. I didn't want to feel pressured into this and then resent Chris for it. Maybe that's why we are going through this now. Two years ago, we weren't in a good enough place to communicate honestly. I don't think I would have thought my opinion counted as much as I believe it does now. I don't want to disappoint Chris, but I know I don't want to disappoint myself either. My mom said we are a family, him and I, a small family of two, husband and wife, but a family that needs to decide the future of this family together.
I said my prayers. Talked to the handful of people who really matter. And I said my prayers again. Gregory Rannazzisi once said to me (before he was a priest, so you know he was destined for greatness) feel free to ask God for a sign. And if you think you might miss His subtle signs, ask him for a really obvious sign. Greg suggested a 2x4 hitting you over the head. I felt like I needed that 2x4 and I wanted the word "hysterectomy" or "re-resection" to be written on it in black sharpie marker.
God is more sophisticated than a 2x4, so he sent me a phone call with the man we've trusted since the beginning. Dr. Goldstein called from Boston. Like a good journalist, I took notes while we spoke. It's so easy to have a whole conversation then hang up and really have no idea what was said. So I'm creating a paper trail. He said and I quote, "Frankly, I think the long term best option is a hysterectomy." If that's not a 2x4, I don't know what is. One, he said it's the only way we can be reasonably sure I will be cancer-free. The uterus has cancer, chemo didn't kill it, taking the tumor out wasn't enough, so take the organ that has cancer out. Plus, he said, "You want to get on with your life."
And I do. I just want to get on with my life with three children. I've had to alter my plan pretty drastically so far. I'm willing to make some minor adjustments moving forward. But I'm determined to leave this world a parent ... of human children. (No offense to the dogs, "my girls.")
I try to focus on the positive: I won't get my period anymore. That's a plus. No need for birth control. Saving money on prescriptions. I try to inject a little wry humor into the whole thing until I stop for five seconds and remember what I'm really talking about. Like Chandler on Friends "I use humor to mask the pain." Now even the humor isn't enough.
Do My Friends Know Me ... Or Do My Friends Know Me??
I think a lot of times I'm an open book ... ie: blogging about every little thing ... but it's always nice to know that my friends really get me.
Backtracking a little ... before I went to Boston for the resection, I received two fun going away gifts. The first, from my neighbor Cindy, included fun snacks with a theme - a drinking theme!! Go figure. Some Nik'n'Nip candy bottles "A few nips for the plane ride home!" and some Jelly Belly jellybeans in Cocktail Classic flavors, "Some cocktails for the plane ride." So fun and a whole lot better than a mini-bottle of booze served on a plane by a disgruntled flight attendant.
Another neighbor, Jeannette, came by with a going away gift along the same theme. This one though, had an Italian flare, in honor of our Italian doctor. It's a three-pack of Prosecco in mini bottles. She thought it might be easier to get them on the plane if they were close enough to the 3 oz. rule. One for me, one for Chris, one for Dr. Garguilo.
Backtracking a little ... before I went to Boston for the resection, I received two fun going away gifts. The first, from my neighbor Cindy, included fun snacks with a theme - a drinking theme!! Go figure. Some Nik'n'Nip candy bottles "A few nips for the plane ride home!" and some Jelly Belly jellybeans in Cocktail Classic flavors, "Some cocktails for the plane ride." So fun and a whole lot better than a mini-bottle of booze served on a plane by a disgruntled flight attendant.
Flying on September 11th, we chose not to take a chance with the Italian champagne, so we're saving it. Instead of it being a "glad the surgery went well" toast ... I think we'll hold off until I can say for sure, "I'm 100% Cancer Free!" I'll toast to that.
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