Facing the Future

When last we met, I had been given a clean bill of health in April of this year, and was venturing out in my motorhome for summer fun. My oncologist wanted to see me in 3 months, which would have been July. He had said previously that if the cancer returns, it doesn’t really matter if it is caught early–there is no advantage to the overall survival rate if caught early or later. In fact, they don’t usually treat it again until you’re experiencing symptoms. Wanting to put thoughts of cancer behind me, I said if it doesn’t matter, then why come back in July, why not 6 months from now? He went along with my request and I scheduled my next oncology appointment for October 2018.

When I got home from my trip to Waco in May I felt good and continued my running and yard work. I planted my flowers and vegetable garden. Life was looking pretty normal. I flew to Seattle in late May to visit my daughter and family, and had a great time. I made some local camping trips and did some kayaking and laying out in the sun.

After my long drive to Waco in May I started experiencing some neck, shoulder and back pain which would kind of come and go. At first I chalked it up to the long drive, but it really didn’t happen until a couple of weeks AFTER the trip. Anyway, it would go away for a while and then come back again. In July, it was getting a little worse and I wondered if it was my running that was causing it so I stopped running and returned to one mile walks again. I noticed (thanks to my Fitbit watch) that whenever these pain bouts would happen my resting heart rate would go into the high 80s for days when it was usually around 60-70 bpm. When the pain went away my heart rate would go back down to normal.

I had two big trips planned for August/September and was a little worried about these pains. Now I was having pain in my side intermittently and when I took deep breaths. When I was about to sneeze, and drew in that quick deep breath right before sneezing, it would cause such pain in my side that it stopped the sneeze. Strange. I made the long distance trips to see family and had a wonderful time, but did not feel great physically. The featured picture above is my daughter and granddaughter at our family “reunion” in Waco over Labor Day weekend. I put “reunion” in quotes because my family consists of me, my brother, sister and brother-in-law, and daughter, her husband and granddaughter. That’s it.

Of course I wondered what these pains meant and did it have something to do with the cancer or was it just chemo kickbacks, old age or some new dreaded problem. I was soon to find out when I went to my oncology appointment in October. The office schedules you for a lab draw a week prior to your actual appointment to see the doctor so he has all of the pertinent information available to him at the appointment. Labs are posted online as soon as they are available so I always see the results as soon as they come in, and before my appointment. The first ones to come in showed my hemoglobin and hematocrit (a blood protein that holds iron and transports oxygen through the body) was at the low end of normal which is fine, but much lower than what it was in April. That bothered me. I remembered it was low when I was first diagnosed with the cancer. I had to wait several more days before the tumor marker result came in, which was right before I went to bed one night. Never look at lab results like that at the end of the day! In April it was 15, and now it was up to 81 with a normal result being less than 35. Naturally, my heart sunk–the cancer was back. Although I’m sure I suspected it somewhere in my brain, this made it real and I had a hard time sleeping that night. So, there would be no miracles for me. Not only no miracle, but precious little time was granted me to be free of the disease. I didn’t beat the odds, in fact, it seemed the odds were beating me.

Next time I’ll tell you about my appointment with the oncologist and bring you up to the present day. Merry Christmas and a happy new year to everybody!

Life After Chemotherapy

One common misperception about chemo is that most people lose weight. Some do, I’m sure, but between the fatigue and inactivity, and my habit of eating to fend off mild nausea, I ended up gaining about 20 pounds. Prior to my diagnosis I was an avid runner for 23 years, year round, no breaks. It helped me keep my weight down, and my body got used to it. During my time on chemo I was lucky to walk the dog one mile a day. By December, when I was needing blood transfusions to keep going, I rarely walked at all. It doesn’t take much for me to gain weight.

My last day of chemo was January 2, 2018. I rang the bell loudly on my way out and received the cheers of everyone in the unit. I was scheduled for a CT scan a couple of weeks following that and an appointment with the oncologist. Everything looked good and my next appointment was made for April. He informed me that the first thing to improve would be my labs, which meant increased energy levels. The next thing to come back would be my hair, and finally, perhaps the neuropathy in my fingers and feet. We discussed my chemo port and in the spirit of optimism about my future, I was adamant about getting it taken out. He didn’t try to talk me out of it.

I thought about how best to spend my time initially in recovery before the chemicals slowly left my body. As a runner there are always times when you get injured and need to cope with that, and my philosophy was to ask myself, well, what CAN I do? That’s when I headed to the gym to exercise using body parts that weren’t hurting until the injury was healed. So, I figured I could do some things on the computer, and in the two to three months time I was sidelined, I accomplished an amazing amount of family history work in research and downloading pictures for future generations. I went through my recently departed husband’s files and shared hundreds of photographs online that he had stashed away.  So despite my physical deprivations, it turned out to be a marvelous and inspiring couple of months.

At the beginning of March I decided to start a new exercise program at the gym. I started slowly with a stationary bike and treadmill for walking and slowly increased the pace and distance. I was loving this new me and getting my mojo back, and losing weight too!

I saw my oncologist in April and my tumor markers were still in a good place. He said my hair growth was about 3 weeks behind most people at the same point. I was getting very frustrated with what I perceived as an exteremely slow growth of my hair, and this confirmed that it truly was not coming back as I had hoped.

Looking ahead to the summer and what I could do to grab hold of a good time in my life with an uncertain future, I perused the motorhome ads for a small, class B vehicle that would be just right for me and Izzy. I so enjoyed the time camping and RVing with my husband a few years ago that I wanted to recapture the magic and be able to go kayaking as well.

IMG_0797This is the motorhome I ended up purchasing in April. My first trip was to Waco, Texas to visit my sister and her husband who had just moved there from California. Although I don’t necessarily love long road trips I figured if I just drove 4-5 hours a day and camped in cities along the way I’d be fine. Most people thought I was crazy to be driving across the country by myself. When you are facing a cancer diagnosis like mine, there is not much to be afraid of. The featured picture above is me on this trip, eating at the Magnolia Table in Waco with my sister and brother-in-law. It was great to spend time with them and the motorhome performed splendidly over the hundreds of miles I drove.

Next time I’ll talk about some struggles through the rest of the summer and my follow up with the oncologist in October.

Chemo Complications

This is Izzy, my Shih Tzu, modeling what I referred to as my “cancer hat.” I bought it at the wig store. It went down farther in the back than a regular ball cap to cover more of my baldness. As I mentioned in my previous post, when I started losing my hair I just had it all shaved off which made wearing the wig easier. I much preferred wearing a hat out in public and really didn’t mind that much but more often than not, just wore a ball cap. The wig was fine, but some of my hair growth at the sides would show through at times, so I was always worried about trying to keep everything in place.  Remember that when purchasing a wig. I bought mine well before I lost my hair so I would be ready. When you lose your hair, you lose it all over your body. It made me feel like my entire body was wrapped in Saran Wrap–not a pleasant sensation. But it also meant I didn’t have to worry about shaving my legs or plucking my face for an extended period of time. Be grateful for what you can be grateful for at this time!

I always thought that losing my hair would be the worst of all the complications I could face, and it was close but not the winner. In early October 2017 after I had been on chemo for about a month, I started having frequent urges to urinate. I brought this up at my appointments and of course they figured it was a urinary tract infection (UTI) and did tests to pinpoint the suspected bacteria. Every test they did indicated there was no infection. This is one time you wish there WAS an infection because there would at least be a treatment and explanation for it! Not only did I constantly have the urge to go, I also lost the ability, again, to keep it from leaking out. I had some pain when going, but it felt more like pressure in my bladder. It was getting worse and worse. I was having the urge to go about every 30 minutes. Try to sleep with that constant wake up call! They sent me to a urologist and I saw the nurse practitioner who, without touching or examining me in any way diagnosed “overactive bladder.” You gotta be kidding me. I didn’t believe for a minute that is what it was because you don’t go from normal to ridiculous, overnight. He gave me some samples of a medication that so completely dried out my mouth that I couldn’t function. It didn’t work either. I searched the internet for some insight into what was going on, and nothing seem to fit my symptoms, although I eventually convinced myself I had a prolapsed bladder. I didn’t. So anyway, I suffered tremendously for several months. If this was how I had to live, I didn’t want to live. Mentally, it took it’s biggest toll on me, far more than even the cancer diagnosis. I couldn’t go anywhere without searching for a bathroom constantly. My oncologist just couldn’t believe it was caused by the chemo because it was such a rare thing to happen.

I was so angry about the trip to the urologist that I didn’t want to go back, but my tortured existence finally got to me and I called for another appointment–but not with the caretaker I had before! It would be another 8 weeks before I could get in. My next appointment (with a different nurse practitioner) went much better, and she got me in quickly for a real examination with the female doctor I requested. She went into my bladder with a camera (pretty much pain free thankfully) and did see an area of inflammation. She said it didn’t look like cancer but wanted to do an outpatient procedure to go in and scrape the area for a biopsy. This happened in January 2018. The biopsy showed no cancer, just inflammation. It was about this time that my symptoms seemed to be easing up a bit anyway. She had me taking samples of a newer medication for active bladder, Myrbetriq, which did not have the drying side effects of the first medication. It didn’t bother me, but it didn’t change my symptoms when I started taking it and when I stopped taking it.  So, overall, I just got better with time. Eventually, the oncologist had to admit that it was probably due to the chemotherapy given the timing of it. Again, this is very rare, and not to be expected with Taxol and Carboplatin, but you never know what can happen.

It wasn’t until the last month or two of chemo that I started experiencing the promised neuropathy in my feet and fingers. I described my symptoms as “hot fingers” because that is what it felt like. They were hot at the tips, losing feeling, and looked as if someone bashed them with a 2×4 with dried blood underneath the nails. I took a picture of them to send to somebody but deleted them off my phone. Too bad. A friend commented on how horrible they looked so to spare people the sight, I painted them over with some tan fingernail polish–something I don’t usually use. I recovered most of the feeling in my fingertips but not completely and the ugliness soon went away. My feet went numb in the last month of treatment. It is not painful, just annoying, and this has not gone away.

Next up, life after chemotherapy…

Starting Chemotherapy

As with anything new, and especially dreaded, we all have our own preconceived perceptions about what an experience is going to be like. If you’ve never been or accompanied anyone to a chemotherapy unit, it’s likely you have a negative picture in your mind. I know I did. I pictured very ill people being tortured by this poison going into their system, and a lot of throwing up. Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Never once in 18 weeks did I ever see anyone throw up. Although in the picture I chose above, they do seem to be just a little too happy and put together for the chemo encounter.

Before picking the day of the week to start, my oncologist informed me that my “best days” would be five days after receiving the chemo. Since church was the only place I had to be every week, I chose Tuesday as my treatment day. The first time I walked into the unit was Tuesday, September 5, 2017, the day after Labor Day. It was quite crowded because all the Monday patients were there that had had a holiday the day before. I don’t care for crowds, so that made it a little more stressful. I was told to go sit anywhere but I think there was only one seat available. I wondered how the nurses would know who I was because I was new. Of course they have got these things figured out already as they have been doing it forever. So they knew who I was and I was warmly greeted eventually by a friendly and caring RN. Normally, the first thing they do is connect your chest port (as I mentioned in my last post) to an access tube. Although it is under the skin, and the skin must be punctured to connect the two parts, it usually requires a nanosecond of pain to endure before you are on your way. But, that is if everything goes as planned. As has seemed to be my lot in life lately, the nurse pushed through the access and nothing happened. “Well that’s strange–that never happens!” she exclaimed. She continued her pushing and apologizing for at least a half a dozen tries and by then it was quite painful. Add on top of that the anxiety I was feeling to begin with, the tears began to fall! I was embarrassed but my mind and body had reached the end point. She eventually got a connection after giving me a little rest. After that, blood is drawn from the tube for lab tests and you wait for the results. If your red blood cells and platelets are in good shape you are cleared to get your meds.

I was set to receive two drugs to kill cancer cells or keep them from reproducing: Taxol and Carboplatin. Taxol I would receive weekly and the latter, every three weeks.  My doctor called it six, three week cycles, or 18 weeks total. Taxol can cause some bad allergic-type reactions, so prior to getting the drug I would receive an infusion of diphenhydramine which is like Benadryl in order to avoid any trouble. After that, I received an anti-nausea drug infusion which worked great not only the day of treatment but for several days after. By this point I am getting a bit sleepy because of the Benadryl. I’ve now been there for an hour to hour and a half and have yet to receive the drugs I came to get! Those are the final drugs for the day and, in total, that can take another hour to an hour and a half to receive. I feel nothing while receiving them–they might as well have been saline. As I left the unit I thought that wasn’t too bad even though I was still sleepy from the Benadryl. I went home and took a nap.

Taxol is the drug that causes hair loss. It is not gradual. One day you have hair and you can pull on it and nothing happens; the next day you pull on it and it all comes out. It took 3 weeks and 2 days before that day occurred. I had already been to a fine wig shop in town and was ready for this day, if anyone is ever ready to have their hair fall out. Rather than try and hold on to it (and look rather sick and pathetic in the process–my own interpretation) I chose to just have my head shaved and get it over with. A good friend came over to do the deed–I was grateful I didn’t have to go out and have it done. I always found it easier to jump into a pool rather than enter inch by inch. The wig was okay but I looked different because there is no way to replicate my real hair. I wore it to church but I always felt a little phony, that’s just me. Out in the world I wore my self-described “cancer hat” which I bought at the wig shop (longer in the back) or a regular ball cap and felt much more comfortable about being seen.

My next blog post will be about complications I experienced, both expected and unexpected!

 

Regrouping

Since I took my first professional job in 1981 when I moved 2 hours away from family to live by myself in a town where I knew no one, I have been a pretty independent soul. I can do most things for myself–with the possible exception of fixing the lawn sprinklers  because it requires the hand strength of a man. And moving furniture. Other than that, I’ve always had it covered.

Arriving home weakened after major surgery put me in an unfamiliar situation of having to depend on others for help. Although it was foreign to me, I knew there are times in life when the humility to depend on others for assistance is required. I didn’t have to ask my sister Mindy for help though, with her it was a given. She arrived from California just in time to accompany my brother in picking me up from the hospital. She immediately went about getting things I needed from the store, procuring a wheelchair loaner so I could get outside and go for longer distances than I could under my own power and most importantly just talking about everything I was going through. No filter needed in conversations with Mindy. The sisters from church had arranged to have dinner brought in for us for several days. I was hungry now that I was home, and some of that food we received was just over-the-top delicious. My daughter and granddaughter arrived about the time Mindy was going home and stayed for a week. There are no words to describe the gratitude I felt for all who contributed to my recovery phase. They were the actual hands working for God to answer my prayers.

Following major abdominal surgery there are bound to be changes to your body. I would soon learn what the “new normal” entailed, and how to adjust my life accordingly. This mostly involved my digestive system since I had part of my colon removed. In the first few weeks at home I would have periodic lower abdominal pain that would be intense for an hour or so and then go away. I’m not sure what caused it, but I could imagine in surgery the doctors cramming everything back into my body before suturing me up, and what that could do to me. I have no idea how that is done but this is what I pictured, and decided this was why I was having pain. Thankfully, after a couple of months this stopped. Worse, however, was the unpredictability of my bowels. I could go days without anything and then other times found myself running to the pot all day long. I was afraid to go out to eat or even to church. This complication has improved over time.

When you are discharged from the hospital following any abdominal surgery the doctor will prescribe a blood thinner (Lovenox) for you to take at home to avoid complications of blood clots that would lead to a stroke or pulmonary embolism. Much to my dismay, however, this is not a pill but an injection. The prescription is given in the form of a syringe. There is a reason I became a dietitian and not a nurse! I don’t mind getting shots but I don’t want to give them, especially to myself! This was one of the hardest things I had to do every day for about 3 weeks. I am confessing right here and now, I did not take that last shot–I just couldn’t do it any more and figured I’d be okay.  I was.

This recovery interval was also a time I was forced to confront my future and make decisions. Was I to go back to work or retire? Did I have enough money to retire? Could I work while going through chemotherapy? What were my chances of surviving? What about all of my dreams for an idyllic retirement? Was I a fighter or a “dier?” (I made up that last word).

I am not a fighter. I don’t take on causes because I never see myself as a victim. There is nothing in this life that has been withheld from me if I was willing to go after it. Bad things happen to good people, which is just part of this mortal experience. I related with a recent “Music And The Spoken Word” which described resilient people, or “survivors” as sharing certain traits: “They are optimistic, selfless, and spiritual, and they accept what can’t be changed.” (Music And The Spoken Word, September 9, 2018) So I may not be a fighter but I figured out I am more of a survivor.

I decided to retire since I was fairly well-positioned financially and didn’t want to work another 4 years only to have the cancer come back and not have any retirement. It would also allow my employer to hire someone to take my place and not leave them in limbo. I didn’t want to have to work through chemotherapy. I would stay put and not move to the Pacific Northwest where I didn’t know anyone except my daughter and her family. I had a good support system here. It felt good to make those decisions and move on.

I went to my first appointment with the oncologist two weeks after my discharge from the hospital. I was dreading this appointment. My daughter and granddaughter accompanied me which was comforting. He explained in great detail the treatment, the possible side effects and the odds of survival. He discussed drug trials I could get involved in during chemotherapy. I was initially all in with that, until right before beginning chemo treatments they said I had to have scans and blood tests, and wanted to put off the start of chemo until after that was done. Then I said forget it, I wanted to get this going.

A week or so before starting chemotherapy I was scheduled to have a “port” surgically placed in my chest which would facilitate easy access to my veins, thereby eliminating the agonizing process of trying to find a vein to poke each visit. This took the better part of a day in outpatient surgery but was well worth it. The port is just under the skin with no tube or anything hanging out. It was uncomfortable sometimes at night lying in bed on my side when it seemed to get scrunched a bit, but overall I did not feel it. With that taken care of, I was now ready to embark upon the next, and scariest phase of my treatment–chemotherapy.

The Longest 10 Days

As has been famously stated, “A hospital is no place for a sick person.” The goal for my anticipated discharge home was, of course, to recover enough from the surgery to be able to get around on my own. My doctor set another, more challenging, milestone. Due to the excision of my colon, I had to “void” before I could go home, and without the help of diet or enema so that there would be no danger of my stitches coming apart. This waiting game wore me down as the days dragged on. I was met with many challenges.

Two days following surgery it was time to have my urinary catheter removed. This meant that I would now have to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom, initially with help. Unfortunately it also signaled a new and humiliating problem that would last through my hospitalization, and for a couple of weeks beyond. When I stood up to go to the bathroom, it was as if someone left the spigot open on the dispenser, leaving gravity to do its thing. Not good. I figured the catheter had messed me up somehow, although my doctor was not very reassuring that this happened all the time, as I hoped to hear.

Normally, I consider myself to be one of the most emotionally stable people I know. This experience opened up a new world of loneliness and despair. I was in a bad place psychologically throughout my hospitalization–worry about my future life, my work, chemotherapy, and my new bladder problem among other things. I did many internet searches about ovarian cancer which didn’t help because nothing sounded hopeful. Early on, I looked for TV shows that would portray someone worse off than me.  I finally settled on “My 600-Pound Life” as the antidote for my pain. I thought this was my own warped sense of self-pity until I recently read in Susan Gubar’s book that she too, searched her mind for someone worse off that she was! I was surprised. I also found it hard to pray because I couldn’t concentrate on anything. So besides a few short pleadings to deliver me from this place, (I found it hard to pray for a BM even though I knew He would understand) I was also spiritually empty.

Food began to be a problem. I love food, and am known to devour food of any quality or quantity with dispatch. So this was a whole new world of disconnect between my brain and my stomach. Initially on liquids, I enjoyed the soups and juices they sent. I progressed quickly to a “soft” diet which is basically a regular diet with no roughage. The menu the hospital had was extensive because there was only one menu for the entire stay. As time passed, my appetite decreased until it was almost non-existent. I ordered some things that sounded good but when they arrived, they did not resemble what I thought that food should look like and couldn’t eat it.

Near the end of the week I was starting to go stir crazy. My hospital room window looked out on the massive parking complex and construction work in progress for a new parking structure. I could also see the dialysis facility across the street where I was working at the time my life was turned upside down. I missed the active and productive person I was just a week ago, and this daily scene was a constant reminder. I wanted more than anything at that time to be able to go outside and breathe the air and feel the sunshine.  I knew I couldn’t walk that far so I needed help. I asked a volunteer who came by offering books and such if they could take me in a wheelchair outside. Nope, couldn’t do that–maybe a nurse could do that they suggested. I knew darn well that nurses didn’t have the time to do such things. I asked a hospital volunteer from my church if they could take me. Nope, can’t do that. I cried that day. I am not a crier but I cried.

This brings me to some suggestions I have to anyone who is anticipating a hospital stay or is visiting family or friends in the hospital.

  1. Visitors can be a boon or a bust. First, let me be clear that I appreciated everyone who came to see me in the hospital because that meant they cared about me and I needed to feel that. I also enjoyed the text messages and calls on my cellphone, sometimes even more than actual visitors because of my appearance. My suggestion to visitors is to let the patient steer the conversation to where they want it to go. Stay in the moment–what does the patient need today, right now? Is there anything I can bring, anything I can do for you here or at your house? For the patient, don’t be shy about telling people what you need. I asked a friend from work to bring me nail clippers and she also brought me a smoothie which was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten and I will never forget her for that. Thanks Doina! My brother Kevin came to see me every day. He ended up being the one to take me outside in a wheelchair and pushed me around for probably half a mile in the heat. He also mowed my lawn for the rest of the summer. I saw a KFC commercial on TV and the chicken tenders looked appetizing to me, so I asked him if he could bring me some. He brought me that and a gigantic A & W root beer float too. It was more than I could eat but I ate a good amount of it. When he left the hospital that day (Saturday) I’m sure he wasn’t even out to his car before LIFT OFF happened in the bathroom! Glory Hallelujah–the slaves had just been freed!
  2. Take charge of managing your own care. This may seem like common sense, but it took me a few days to figure it out. When I was most vulnerable, right after the catheter came out, I was in the bathroom with a nurse who was telegraphing to me she would rather be anywhere else in the world than where she was. (Me too sister!) I was needing help and I was also dripping something from somewhere that looked like diluted blood. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I soon learned that there was a drainage tube in my side (I didn’t even know it was there) that they had failed to empty that day. It was leaking all over everything. From then on, I had the technician check it and empty it every day. I made sure all supplies I needed, especially in the bathroom, were stocked and within reach. They were good employees for the most part, but they have a lot of people to tend to and can’t be expected to know everything you need. One day I wrote a special request on my menu–cottage cheese and fruit plate–that sounded good to me at the time.  They sent a nice one. I could have, and probably should have, requested to speak with a dietitian or diet tech about things I felt I could eat, but I never made that request.  As a dietitian myself, I was a bit disappointed that after a prolonged stay, and the fact I had written things in on the menu, that no one came to talk to me on their own.

Sunday was emancipation day. After the doctor came in and removed the drainage tube, I was up and dressed and ready to go. All I needed was the pharmacy to send up my prescriptions and I’d be on my way! I waited and waited and waited. Oh, one more thing to remember about hospitalizations–you will probably be waiting for something your entire stay!

 

Debulking Surgery

My “debulking” surgery was scheduled for first thing Friday morning at 7:00 AM. Due to my insomnia and misery, I was thrilled to be first on the list. Ovarian cancer survivor Susan Gubar, in her book Memoir of a Debulked Woman, describes the surgery as “grotesque” and “patently hideous” among other discouraging adjectives. To me, however, it only meant a chance to feel better now and in the near future. So after my initial reactions to the whole situation, I now embraced the “barbaric” opportunity to be debulked–I didn’t care what they had to do. The National Cancer Institute describes debulking as “surgical removal of as much of a tumor as possible. Debulking may increase the chance that chemotherapy or radiation therapy will kill all of the tumor cells.” The sobering message of this definition is that no matter how much or what they remove, there will still be cancer cells left.

Besides removing the cancer, another purpose of the surgery is staging of the cancer, or a determination of how far the cancer has spread. Stage I indicates that the tumor is pretty much localized, and stage IV means the cancer has spread to other vital organs such as the liver. With my symptoms I already knew that it wasn’t localized. Then finally, the surgeon makes a determination whether the surgery was “optimal” or “suboptimal.” Was there any visible cancer left? If not, it would be considered to be optimal, along with a better chance of long term survival.

Besides the delivery of my only daughter 25 years ago, this would be my first hospitalization. I arranged to have my brother Kevin pick me up at 5:00 AM to take me to the hospital. He is the only family I have close by, and he would prove to be my greatest champion and supporter over the coming ten days. He took the “before” picture above as I was waiting in the hallway to be taken into surgery and the “after” photo below so he could report to our sister and my daughter on the days progress. I told him to stop taking pictures and later asked him to delete them. Fortunately for this blog he doesn’t listen to me and you are able to see the good and bad of it all.

I was visited by the surgeon and anesthesiologist while I waited in the hallway, and it felt like a long wait. I was finally wheeled in to an ice cold surgical room about 7:30AM in a semi-nervous state.  The next thing I knew, about 5 hours later, I woke in the recovery room with Kevin again snapping a picture. Pretty bad I know.

aftersurgery

My pathology report indicates that my surgeon performed a radical hysterectomy with resection of the uterus, cervix, ovaries and fallopian tubes, excision of the sigmoid colon, greater omentum and right diaphragm. There were actually two small separate areas, referred to as “donut holes,” removed from my colon, with an anastomosis which means they just sewed the two ends together. I have heard of women who were not so lucky and had to have a colostomy performed (with an opening made to the outside of the abdomen), including the “Debulked” author above–she has good reason to be cranky about the surgery. I looked it up and according to Johns Hopkins Ovarian Cancer Center, only about 3% of patients undergoing debulking wind up with a colostomy.

My cancer was determined to be stage IIIC which means the cancer has spread or grown into organs outside the pelvis, but has not spread to liver or spleen or distant sites.  The farther you get into the staging, the worse your prognosis is. At this stage I have a 41% chance of surviving for 5 years. I can’t find a written report of whether my surgery was optimal or suboptimal. I didn’t know enough at the time to even ask but I’m putting it on my list of questions for my next visit to the oncologist.  I think it was optimal however.

I spent the next day and a half lying in a hospital bed, pushing a magic button that delivered a dose of morphine. I slept a good deal of that time, probably because I pushed the button every time I woke up. But hey, I didn’t feel much pain. They inserted a urinary catheter during surgery which meant I didn’t have to get up to use the bathroom and I liked that idea! That is until Sunday when they took the catheter out and the fun ended. Stay tuned!