I Know I'm Hot, But Am I Really THAT Hot?!?

Recovering from this surgery has been more difficult than I anticipated. I thought this surgery would be similar to the Boston surgery. Five days post-op then, we went out to dinner in Bean Town. Five days post-op now, I was still in bed moaning and groaning.

My mom kept reminding me that a hysterectomy is a more serious surgery than a resection. And that I've now had 2 surgeries in 3 weeks. This procedure was laparoscopic and done with the robot and includes just 5 little holes, like the other one. But Dr. Evans did have to take out a whole organ rather than just a piece of an organ, so it's understandable it hurts a little more.

The benefit of modern medicine is pain medicine. When you are in pain, take the meds. That's what I did. Chris kept encouraging me to hold off from taking the pain meds if I could stand it. He said the pain meds give you constipation and the fewer pills I took, the better it would be later. It's an argument I couldn't quite get behind. I was in pain immediately and he was worried about bowel back-up later. I thought, "Well, it hurts now. So let's take the meds now and deal with a pooping problem later." Good thought, not a good decision.

My husband is not stupid. He doesn't just make this shit up. I took the pain meds for 2 1/2 days straight - every 4 hours. If I didn't feel like a million bucks, I took a pill. I was uncomfortable all the time and in pain a lot of the time. And when else can you just pop Percocet regularly?? If not post surgery, then when? Well, I paid for it later.

I'll spare you the details. My poor mother, sisters and some of my close friends were getting a blow by blow of my bowel movements (or lack there of) for a few days. Chris became accustomed to me sitting on the bowl and screaming, "Oh god. Oh fuck. OH. MY. GOD." as i tried to successfully go to the bathroom. I did decide though, if passing a poop after 4 days of pain meds is at all like going through contractions during labor - thank god for the hysterectomy. I couldn't do it. I was Lamaze breathing while sitting on the toilet just trying to get through the pain. It wasn't pretty.

What also wasn't pretty was the site of me soaking wet several times a night. I was having night sweats. Bad night sweats. Wet through your pajamas night sweats. So damp your hair is wet and you need to change the sheets night sweats. At first I thought, "Is this menopause??" And how can you get through that as quickly as possible? But Dr. Evans left my ovaries in, so this hysterectomy did not plunge me straight into menopause. I have to wait until I'm 50 to go through these night sweats again. We're not sure exactly why I was having such bad sweats, but thank goodness friends and family bought me new pajamas.

This is what my bedroom floor looked like one morning. Three piles of soaking wet pajamas. I woke up every two hours and was dripping wet. I'd get out of bed and be cold from being damp. Then strip down right where I was standing, leaving a damp pile of clothes. I'd pull another cute pj set out of the drawer and get back in bed. I did this 3 times in one night. That means I wore a total of 4 pairs of pajamas. And if you look closely at the top of the picture, you'll see a beach towel on the bed. That's there because the sheets were so wet. I thought the best thing to do would be to sleep on a semi-absorptive towel.

It was not fun. But it was kind of funny. It was wonderful to have Ashley here for a few days to do all the laundry. She loves laundry and she's a good sister.

Name That Thing

When people say you can't get any sleep in the hospital, they are not joking. I had to spend one night at the Women's and Babies hospital for the hysterectomy and it was the longest night of my life.

First, I didn't feel well. My belly hurt. It was uncomfortable to move and I felt stuck in this hospital bed. It was hard to move to my left or my right. I couldn't reach my phone, the water was always just a few inches too far away, that tray thing wasn't close enough to help, but it was in the way enough that I couldn't put my knees up. I know, complain complain complain. It's just not your own bed.

Every hour, on the hour, someone came in to do something. The only person who I wanted to come in to do something was the nurse with the pain meds. Instead, I got every nursing assistant on the floor and they came in for blood pressure, temperature, oxygen levels, empty the cather catch basin (which I was filling up like a champ even though I couldn't feel I was leaking all this liquid out. Weird.) It wasn't until one lady came in with this contraption that I started paying attention:

WTF?? At first, I thought it could only be one thing - A Swedish-Made Penis Enlarger! It turns out this little do-hicky is some breathing thing. They want to make sure you continue to take large, deep breaths and this is supposed to help. It's actually a little annoying to do but when I was blowing like a champ (no comments, please) and the nurse called me a "show off," I was pleased. I'm a people pleaser and I was suddenly so happy that I had done this new little task so well that she called me a show off. That women told me I had to do it 10 times each hour. A little annoying. When the shift changed and another women came in, she said I only had to do it 5 times an hour. Someone is not making sure the "breathing thing protocol" is the same across the board. Tsk, tsk. (I only did it 5 times an hour.)

Taking a deep breath meant more than just filling my lungs up with air though. I felt like I could take a deep breath because the hysterectomy was over. It felt like a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders. Was it the right choice? Maybe we'll never know. Either way, it's the choice I made and I have to deal with the consequenses. While I'll still wince at the sight of pretty pregnant people, I hope some deep breathing will help that go away over time.

Physically, I'm still holding my breath a bit. Mainly because it feels better. If you don't breath as much, you abdomen doesn't move as much and therefore it hurts less. I'll keep using this do-hicky. I'm just holding my breath until I know the cancer is gone for good.

What Would The "Long Island Medium" Say?

When all you do is sit at home, you tend to watch TV. Shitty, shitty, meaningless TV. But I really like some of it. I have vowed never to watch the Kardashians and I've held up my end of the bargain. But my girl, Chelsea Handler, makes it a little more difficult to steer clear of this retarded family and its attention seeking antics by being on TV right after "Keeping Up." I sadly, have seen several of the "Coming up on the next 'Keeping Up With the Kardashians' ... blah blah blah, Kim has no real skill, that Scott guy is a dick, and Bruce Jenner's face hasn't moved since he won that Olympic medal in the 50's .... blah, blah, blah. Be sure to tune in." So I've never seen an episode, I just have to endure the commercial before Chelsea Lately.

I also swore never to watch Honey Boo Boo. Pure shit. Total, unbelievable trash. Yet, as Chris flipped through the channels one night he landed on it and was drawn to it like Disaster Professionals with blue lights on the top of their pick-up trucks are drawn to a fender bender. In other words, he couldn't look away. I was sitting next to him. I wanted to shield my eyes. But TLC isn't stupid. (The Learning Channel! Right, like that's still an applicable name for that channel. No one's learned anything since we learned John and Kate were getting divorced because she is a crazy bitch.) TLC includes subtitles in this show. English subtitles, for English. Dumb, no? Well not so dumb when the people who are speaking English are speaking it so badly they simply cannot be understood. Do you know how old that women is - Mama Bear or Sugar Bear or whatever her stupid name is? Like 34 years old. God gave her 5 kids ... and she has a GRANDchild. I just gave up my uterus, but she gets to pro-create. How is that fair?

Moving on. One show I do love is Long Island Medium. Half because she's from Long Island and I feel at home listening to her extreme accent. Even on my worst days I never sounded like her. Even when I was drunk, angry and talking with my family (my 3 accent triggers) did I sound like her. And half, I think she's great. AND I think she's the real deal. I firmly believe she talks to the dead. Chris is convinced it's a hoax. But I am a believer!

That's why I thought she might like to see this:

This is the t-shirt I wore to my hysterectomy. It's from my friends Alison and John and at one time it read: "Dear Cancer, Suck It!" I loved it. I wore it to several chemo sessions. I thought it had just the right amount of class and anger ... all rolled into one super comfy t-shirt. I've worn it and washed it a bunch. It's been legible the whole time. It was only after my sister Ashley did the laundry for me when I was recuperating that the message disappeared. Maybe the Cancer Gods don't need the message anymore ... because the hysterectomy did it's job .... made me Cancer-free for the first time in 4 years. I think the Long Island Medium could weigh in and tell me what "Spirit" has to say about my outlook. It never hurts to get a little peek into the future. I hope mine includes babies. 

Alright ... It's still a little funny.

You can't be depressed forever. Believe me, I tried. I actually decided before the hysterectomy that I would be depressed afterward. I resolved not to leave my bedroom, no less the house. I planned to pull the blinds shut and stay in my pajamas for a week shunning phone calls, visitors and well wishes.

The only thing I actually followed through on was the pj's. If you have the opportunity to spend all day in your pajamas - you should take it. Plus, my belly was too sore for any of my other pants (which are too tight regardless of abdomenal surgery, but bloating and post-surgery pain are a great excuse for wearing elastic waistbands for days.)

I received tons and tons of calls, texts and get-well cards. Plus, the florist just kept making a loop to my house. If I had followed through with "Be Depressed" plan, I would have missed out on two different Cookie Bouquets - one full of cosmo-shaped cookies and another that said, "Beat Cancer ... and Jaan." (You'll have to ask Joe Mitton what that means. It's one of our best stories!) Even if I HAD been successful at Depression Plan, a sugar cookie covered in a fun sugar design, topped with a funny phrase would have snapped me out of it.

Thank goodness one group of caregivers dropped off it's latest and greatest creation before surgery ... because it hurt so bad to laugh afterward. And all Chris and I did was laugh when we saw this:

You can't get anything passed my dogs. That's not too say that a robber couldn't walk right into my house and walk right out with the TV. It's just that Tweedle-Dee (Barlie) and Tweedle-Dumb (Molly) would bark their heads off the whole time. So when the girls went crazy a few days before the surgery, I knew someone was at the door. Because I live only in pj's, I didn't have a bra on. It is socially unacceptable to answer the door without a bra on. (Someone should mention this fact to half of the people I interview.) It takes me a second or two to get a sweatshirt and pull it on, therefore putting an extra layer of clothing between my guest and my nipples. By the time I make it to the door, there's no one there. Weird. Chris is at this same time driving up the driveway. He gets out of the car and says matter of factly: someone was just running across the yard. Before I have a chance to panic and make sure the TV is still there, we find what's been left behind. It's from my Guardian Groundhogs ... and it's hysterical.

It reads: (in half perfect elementary school teacher print and half candy goodness)

Dear Meredith,
We wanted to take a "mentos" to say that we are thinking of you, you "Hot Tamales", as you face this part of your journey on the road to "Heath" and well being. We are sending you "Extra" prayers and "100 Grand" worth of well wishes. If you "Orbit" the entire "Milky Way" you would not find a more caring bunch of ...

"Goobers" than us, (my favorite one, by the way!) your guardian groundhog and his "3 Musketeers." In the coming (Hershey's) "Dark" days, don't just "Rolo" over and take it. We want you to "Kit-Kat" this disease in the ass! Your "Payday" of "Mr. Goodbar" health will come soon enough. Your trusted doctors will pull out all their "Twix", hopefully without "Butterfingers," to help you ...

"Skor" against this monster. Meredith - 1, Winner! Cancer  - 0. But until then "Take 5" and know that we are ready to celebrate with plenty of "Hugs" and "Kisses"!
Love, The Guardian Groundhog et al. (and the Cirque De Soliel Entertainers)
P.S. - I hope we made you "Snickers"!

Well, Snickers we did. What fun and creativity. What time and effort. And Mission Accomplished - I couldn't cry, I had to laugh. I'm so blessed to be surrounded by such love. Thank you!
 

It's Done

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.

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.

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.  

 

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.