I was told by a few people that they were excited to see what I'd write on my Christmas card this year. Well unfortunately, I did not do one as in years past. :( I know, I suck! But, I did have one prepared...just didn't make the final cut of the card. So, should you want to read what would have been on the back of 2010's Holiday Greeting, enjoy! PS-yes, it rhymes. ;)
Things We Learned in 2010...
We learned alot in 2010, actually much much more. We learned to take things day-by-day, even when we weren't so sure. We learned that we have incredible friends willing to dry our tears--willing to babysit, willing to cook, willing to share our fears. We learned that our kids are amazing-the truest Gift from God. Making light of Cancer can be uplifting...although you might find it odd. ;) Kids force you to pause and reassess, to literally shed some light. They remind you that they are the reason why you fight your hardest fight! We learned our family will go to the end of the Earth and back--to hold our hands, pull us up and get us back on track. And I personally learned, as you may have heard, that I have a husband full of life-and despite my struggles, despite the scars, still calls me his "beautiful wife." We learned handling cancer is tricky, it can cloud your point-of-view. But really, you have to beat the worst of it, before it gets the best of you! We learned to be more grateful, more honest and sincere--for you never know if your path will change and in a new direction you must steer. And if that day comes when you're posed with a very similar test...we will be there, as you were for us, giving it our very best! Here's to 2011, may Heaven bless you from Above! We wish you health and countless laughs, but mostly endless love!!! Cheers! :)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
On the Road Again...
I recently started running again. Not because I wanted to prove any stubborn point, but because I deem it my therapy...my antidepressant. The last few years have proven to be trying and for whatever reason, running seems to diminish any depression that may be lurking in the nether regions of my mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm one of those "glass is half full" types--I believe with every ounce of being that I am completely and totally blessed beyond recognition. My family is sincere, kind, generous, funny like no other--they keep me grounded when my head gets a tad large and remind me of my worth when I've forgotten. They are the light that shines brightest in my life and if I live to be 100 years old, I'll never find the proper words of gratitude to express to God for the gift of them! Having said all of that, I still harbor hidden depression--the loss of my father...a diagnosis of cancer...the battle afterward...the fact that my body will never be the same...the feeling of not being "enough."
When I run, these encumberences cease to exist. Its the most delicate yet least complicated relationship I have--I am completely zen when running. The road asks nothing of me yet, here I give it everything I have several days/week. When I'm stretching pre-run, all of those worries pulse through my veins-reminding me that they'll be there when I return to this very place. And that's okay--life's difficulties don't just disappear because you will them to. They are sometimes, not so subtle reminders that we were never guaranteed a straight shot--a road sans bumps or curves. And really, what fun would that be anyway. ;) But on my mind at that very moment before I take to the streets, is not the curves or bumps that I may or may not encounter during the week, but the inclines, trails and traffic that I will inevitably traverse during the next hour or so when I am at peace...when I am running.
Cancer's a bitch no matter which type, stage, outlook, etc. When you are finally forced to check yes in the "cancer box" on a health questionaire, you realize you belong to one of the least desirable clubs around. For me, cancer has been just that...a bitch! In fact, that's what I named my little silver dollar sized tumor..."bitch." I see nothing wrong with this either. I was diagnosed 1/14/2010 with cervical cancer and every week after that, was more difficult than the last. Finally, as the date of my surgery neared, I realized that I needed to make peace with a few things that had been left untended. One, was I really at peace with losing so many internal parts of myself? Was chemotherapy and or radiation a better option? Would I be ready? Would I be regretful? Would I be angry? Would I be determined or just indifferent? I had no idea what to expect from anything let alone myself. But I knew one thing to be true...after all was said and done, I'd be ready to take out my frustrations/pain/anxiety/disappointment...on that road again! This was the same road I'd pummelled for months after my Dad died. The same road that saw me through my anxiety; softened my days after so many sleepless nights. This road allowed me to find a steady strength that I'd previously determined was all but forgotten. This road did not judge me nor did it find fault in any of the choices I'd made. This road knows how to make me feel important and powerful. This road would be just as ready for me as I was for it. a very unspoken, quiet relationship. I start slowly and steadily. This road is predictable and trustworthy--I know where the cracks and uneveness are. I know where to look for cross-traffic and busted light signals. I know where to expect possible wildlife and their droppings. Always predictable...steadfast...reliable. So unlike the drama life unveils. The best confidant a person could have. Selflessly, the road expects nothing of me but to give it a little time and energy. In return, I get so much more-I get peace, quiet, relief, strength, will, and determination to fight for another day...on another road.
I'm starting oh so very slowly. I have to remind myself that only 9 weeks ago, I was essentially cut in half and gutted like a fish. My body will never be exactly the same. I have muscles that may never reconnect, forcing me to work twice as hard. And all of this is fine with me because...I am on that road again! I am back with my therapist, my antidepressant, my scapegoat, my friend. I am up and I am running. :)
When I run, these encumberences cease to exist. Its the most delicate yet least complicated relationship I have--I am completely zen when running. The road asks nothing of me yet, here I give it everything I have several days/week. When I'm stretching pre-run, all of those worries pulse through my veins-reminding me that they'll be there when I return to this very place. And that's okay--life's difficulties don't just disappear because you will them to. They are sometimes, not so subtle reminders that we were never guaranteed a straight shot--a road sans bumps or curves. And really, what fun would that be anyway. ;) But on my mind at that very moment before I take to the streets, is not the curves or bumps that I may or may not encounter during the week, but the inclines, trails and traffic that I will inevitably traverse during the next hour or so when I am at peace...when I am running.
Cancer's a bitch no matter which type, stage, outlook, etc. When you are finally forced to check yes in the "cancer box" on a health questionaire, you realize you belong to one of the least desirable clubs around. For me, cancer has been just that...a bitch! In fact, that's what I named my little silver dollar sized tumor..."bitch." I see nothing wrong with this either. I was diagnosed 1/14/2010 with cervical cancer and every week after that, was more difficult than the last. Finally, as the date of my surgery neared, I realized that I needed to make peace with a few things that had been left untended. One, was I really at peace with losing so many internal parts of myself? Was chemotherapy and or radiation a better option? Would I be ready? Would I be regretful? Would I be angry? Would I be determined or just indifferent? I had no idea what to expect from anything let alone myself. But I knew one thing to be true...after all was said and done, I'd be ready to take out my frustrations/pain/anxiety/disappointment...on that road again! This was the same road I'd pummelled for months after my Dad died. The same road that saw me through my anxiety; softened my days after so many sleepless nights. This road allowed me to find a steady strength that I'd previously determined was all but forgotten. This road did not judge me nor did it find fault in any of the choices I'd made. This road knows how to make me feel important and powerful. This road would be just as ready for me as I was for it. a very unspoken, quiet relationship. I start slowly and steadily. This road is predictable and trustworthy--I know where the cracks and uneveness are. I know where to look for cross-traffic and busted light signals. I know where to expect possible wildlife and their droppings. Always predictable...steadfast...reliable. So unlike the drama life unveils. The best confidant a person could have. Selflessly, the road expects nothing of me but to give it a little time and energy. In return, I get so much more-I get peace, quiet, relief, strength, will, and determination to fight for another day...on another road.
I'm starting oh so very slowly. I have to remind myself that only 9 weeks ago, I was essentially cut in half and gutted like a fish. My body will never be exactly the same. I have muscles that may never reconnect, forcing me to work twice as hard. And all of this is fine with me because...I am on that road again! I am back with my therapist, my antidepressant, my scapegoat, my friend. I am up and I am running. :)
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Above and Beyond Women
I sent out all of my Mother's Day cards this morning. I generally send about 30 to all of the amazing women who fill my life, whatever the capacity. It takes awhile to get all of them out. I really try to insert my heart and feelings into all of them so finishing in one day is fairly impossible. But this year, I struggled. Not because these women were not worthy of a $2.99 card and the $0.44 stamp that accompanied it, but because I choked up a few times on the words that I wrote--the words have never been more true than they are this year! I love these women with everything I have. And this year, they have proven to be above and beyond women...they are my heroes!
The past few years have been trying. In 2008, my Dad fell ill with cirrhosis of the liver and passed away, despite our best efforts to keep him alive. On July 6 at the young age of 49, he went to live with God. I've never been the same nor will I ever. He was such a light in my life-despite his pain and anguish, he continued to manage humor, laughter and above all, love. In 2009, after a battery of pokes, prods and tests, my husband was diagnosed with an incurable blood disorder. It was an incredibly scary time for us--not knowing why his platelet count had been continually low for years. Finally, a hematologist determined that Matt either had leukemia or ITP (idio thrombocytopetic purpura). It turned out to be the latter--his spleen filters then proceeds to"eat" many of his platelets resulting in a lower count. He was having his blood drawn every week for months @ a time. I was constantly worried what his count was at--it can fall from 100 to 2 overnight and there's nothing we can do about it, but watch and stay vigilant. Now that we know what "Matt's normal" is (90-120 a normal person's is 150+), we can breathe a little easier as long as he stays in that realm. But there's always the worry that it will change overnight and he ends up with an injury or an internal bleed. And finally, well, you all know what January 14, 2010 brought me...the "c word." Actually, the cancer has been there for awhile, it just took several doctors YEARS to find it. ;) If you haven't heard/read the full story of my journey with cancer, I did blog about it and you're more than welcome to view it. So where are we now...
Through all of this, test after test, these women, the ones I chose to write these "Mother's Day" cards to, were there--there to pray, think happy thoughts, send cards/flowers/meals, babysit, visit, cry with me or for me...they chose to be above and beyond anything I would've known to even ask for! They chose to be present. There were times they chose to temporarily disregard their own lives to assist mine. They would ache for my pain whether it be physical or emotional. These women helped me find my "fight" when I could barely find strength to open my eyes to take the next step. These are women I could not live without!
But I haven't been the only one who has battled life's challenges...these women are true warriors! Some of them, like me, have lost parents. Others, even more tragically, have lost children. Then there are others, who almost lost themselves. But still, their hearts continue to beat. They continue to love, strive, advance, laugh, cheer and live. These women have helped to remind me that I will never be alone, even in my darkest hour. They have held my hand and walked, sometimes crawled with me, to the other side. If they only knew how much they meant to me, how much they mean to the human race. Women like this should come with capes...they are "Above and Beyond" women!!
Happy Mother's Day to all of the Moms, Grandmothers, Great Grandmothers, Aunts, Sisters, Cousins, Wives, Nieces and Friends out there! I hope you are just as blessed as I am to have such amazing women in your life. Let them know you love and appreciate them and that if and when the time ever comes, you'll be their cape-wearin', high flyin', meal makin', baby watchin' "Above and Beyond" woman, too! :)
The past few years have been trying. In 2008, my Dad fell ill with cirrhosis of the liver and passed away, despite our best efforts to keep him alive. On July 6 at the young age of 49, he went to live with God. I've never been the same nor will I ever. He was such a light in my life-despite his pain and anguish, he continued to manage humor, laughter and above all, love. In 2009, after a battery of pokes, prods and tests, my husband was diagnosed with an incurable blood disorder. It was an incredibly scary time for us--not knowing why his platelet count had been continually low for years. Finally, a hematologist determined that Matt either had leukemia or ITP (idio thrombocytopetic purpura). It turned out to be the latter--his spleen filters then proceeds to"eat" many of his platelets resulting in a lower count. He was having his blood drawn every week for months @ a time. I was constantly worried what his count was at--it can fall from 100 to 2 overnight and there's nothing we can do about it, but watch and stay vigilant. Now that we know what "Matt's normal" is (90-120 a normal person's is 150+), we can breathe a little easier as long as he stays in that realm. But there's always the worry that it will change overnight and he ends up with an injury or an internal bleed. And finally, well, you all know what January 14, 2010 brought me...the "c word." Actually, the cancer has been there for awhile, it just took several doctors YEARS to find it. ;) If you haven't heard/read the full story of my journey with cancer, I did blog about it and you're more than welcome to view it. So where are we now...
Through all of this, test after test, these women, the ones I chose to write these "Mother's Day" cards to, were there--there to pray, think happy thoughts, send cards/flowers/meals, babysit, visit, cry with me or for me...they chose to be above and beyond anything I would've known to even ask for! They chose to be present. There were times they chose to temporarily disregard their own lives to assist mine. They would ache for my pain whether it be physical or emotional. These women helped me find my "fight" when I could barely find strength to open my eyes to take the next step. These are women I could not live without!
But I haven't been the only one who has battled life's challenges...these women are true warriors! Some of them, like me, have lost parents. Others, even more tragically, have lost children. Then there are others, who almost lost themselves. But still, their hearts continue to beat. They continue to love, strive, advance, laugh, cheer and live. These women have helped to remind me that I will never be alone, even in my darkest hour. They have held my hand and walked, sometimes crawled with me, to the other side. If they only knew how much they meant to me, how much they mean to the human race. Women like this should come with capes...they are "Above and Beyond" women!!
Happy Mother's Day to all of the Moms, Grandmothers, Great Grandmothers, Aunts, Sisters, Cousins, Wives, Nieces and Friends out there! I hope you are just as blessed as I am to have such amazing women in your life. Let them know you love and appreciate them and that if and when the time ever comes, you'll be their cape-wearin', high flyin', meal makin', baby watchin' "Above and Beyond" woman, too! :)
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Should I stay or should I Go???
Just recently, I registered my daughter for kindergarten. This is pretty monumental for the Goyette foursome. Interpretation: both kiddos will be in elementary school next year. No more preschool-school 5 days/week for BOTH children. And although it is a bittersweet reminder that our children are growing and no longer babies, it is amazing to watch them become actual "little people."
Gratefully, I have been privledged to stay at home with these 2 incredible humans and guide them to this pivotal moment. My husband and I decided when I was first pregnant with our son, that I would stay home and be the primary caregiver (i.e. no daycare or nanny services). With Matt's job, there's always the possibility that he will be away from the home for days at a time--and in the past, weeks (i.e. bomb school in AL. for 6 wks). I'm not saying that "firewives" can't work due to their husbands' schedules, I am saying that we knew I wouldn't. I would essentially be working to fund our children's daycare fees and that made no sense to us. Did we sacrifice as a single-income family? Well yeah! But, we always made it work to the best of our ability. We sold our boat to buy me a reliable vehicle and have not purchased one since. We've focused on remodelling our home for the past 7 years instead of taking swanky vacations (although we snuck a couple in there for good measure). We pay our bills ontime, rarely make outrageous purchases (unless we've budgeted and saved), we do not over shop or overly induldge in anything, really. Still, we've led a wonderfully comfortable life as a single-income family with occasional "treats." My husband has worked as a fireman going on 10 1/2 years-he is incredibly dedicated and hardworking. He continues to amaze me in all of the advances he makes, not only in his career, but personally as well.
Having said all of that, we are now at what one could call, the fork in the road. Very soon, BOTH of my children will be in school full-time (2011-2012 school year). For whatever reason, this has become a topic of conversation for many people-more than I'd ever expected because really, who cares beyond my husband and myself? Apparantly, quite a few people. "So Kacey, Delanie's going into school next year...when are you going back to work?" I had no idea so many people were so interested because seriously, about 20 people have asked this EXACT question! Weird. Finally after person #18 asked, I decided to question my husband on the subject. We'd never really discussed it so we found it bizarre that so many people were interested. "Do you think I should go back to work once both of the kids are in school full-time?" Matt's response, "do you want to?" Me, "I really haven't thought that much about it, to be quite honest. I've been so busy with the kids and well, NOT dying of cancer!" He laughed. He started to wonder why so many other people were "concerned" about my future career prospects--I didn't have a valid answer. He finally said, "Babe, I want you to do what's going to make you happy. We've never lived on two incomes so it is not like we feel like we've been suffering for you to stay-at-home with the kids. Don't go back to work if YOU really don't want to. Only go back if it is what you always pictured yourself doing...if it makes you truly happy." Wow! Now that was a great answer. I had felt, for lack of a better term, pressure, from all of those other "people" to have the next chapter of my life planned out for all to view. And here it was, from the person whose opinion mattered most, that all he wanted was for me to be happy and fulfilled.
After that conversation with Matt, I started to piece everything together. Why did others care so much about what I chose to do with all of my days once the kids were in school full-time?? Why did I have to answer to them? Why did the inquistions bother me so much? And I think I've figured it out. What bothers me most about the questioning is NOT the fact that they asked, but the way they were asking--as if the moment my kids were in school full-time I'd be doing nothing productive with my days. No kids to run after for 8 hours, they'd be running amuck on the blacktop. No midday lunch to make, they'd be in a cafeteria. Were they so concerned that from 8am-3pm that I'd literally sit on my ass and do nothing?? While that would certainly be a concern for my husband, it really made no sense that anyone else cared. And, if I chose to NEVER go back to work, would these same people assume my life was wasted? That I never did anything "productive" with the years I'd been given on this Earth? Hmm. It really started to bother me. But why? Why do I care what these people think? Here's why--I am one of the busiest people I know, working or not! My day starts at 6am and ends no sooner than 11pm. I make 3 square, healthy meals/day. I am in my laundry room no less than 4 days/week. I volunteer at BOTH of my children's schools every single week. Throw in there, homework, baths, pets, library, checkbooks, groceries, drs./dentist appointments, workouts, house cleaning, lawn work, ballet/tap, recitals, playtime/naptime/bedtime...oh yeah and the occasional bout with CANCER, cannot forget that one. ;) Really, my days come and go by so quickly that I can barely keep up. Will this change once my kids are in school full-time, well yeah. But I don't think I'll be bored--I will have just as much to do and probably more. As the kids grow in size, so will their activities. I will be volunteering more of my time to the school and potentially, charitable services as well. Is this a waste of my years here on Earth? I don't happen to think so, but I am fairly sure, others do. And now that I've put everything into perspective and was given insight into the one opinion that mattered most (other than my own), I am pretty content with the decision that stands for now...that I will continue to be a stay-at-home parent because really, nothing fulfills me more than being just that. And in later years, should I choose to return to the grind of the workforce, so be it. But still, at the end of my days, should I choose to never receive another paycheck, I will know in my heart of hearts, that my life was a success. Not because of the $$ I did or didn't make--pretty sure God doesn't ask for W2's. I was not just a loving, devoted wife and mother...but I was a loving and devoted human!
Gratefully, I have been privledged to stay at home with these 2 incredible humans and guide them to this pivotal moment. My husband and I decided when I was first pregnant with our son, that I would stay home and be the primary caregiver (i.e. no daycare or nanny services). With Matt's job, there's always the possibility that he will be away from the home for days at a time--and in the past, weeks (i.e. bomb school in AL. for 6 wks). I'm not saying that "firewives" can't work due to their husbands' schedules, I am saying that we knew I wouldn't. I would essentially be working to fund our children's daycare fees and that made no sense to us. Did we sacrifice as a single-income family? Well yeah! But, we always made it work to the best of our ability. We sold our boat to buy me a reliable vehicle and have not purchased one since. We've focused on remodelling our home for the past 7 years instead of taking swanky vacations (although we snuck a couple in there for good measure). We pay our bills ontime, rarely make outrageous purchases (unless we've budgeted and saved), we do not over shop or overly induldge in anything, really. Still, we've led a wonderfully comfortable life as a single-income family with occasional "treats." My husband has worked as a fireman going on 10 1/2 years-he is incredibly dedicated and hardworking. He continues to amaze me in all of the advances he makes, not only in his career, but personally as well.
Having said all of that, we are now at what one could call, the fork in the road. Very soon, BOTH of my children will be in school full-time (2011-2012 school year). For whatever reason, this has become a topic of conversation for many people-more than I'd ever expected because really, who cares beyond my husband and myself? Apparantly, quite a few people. "So Kacey, Delanie's going into school next year...when are you going back to work?" I had no idea so many people were so interested because seriously, about 20 people have asked this EXACT question! Weird. Finally after person #18 asked, I decided to question my husband on the subject. We'd never really discussed it so we found it bizarre that so many people were interested. "Do you think I should go back to work once both of the kids are in school full-time?" Matt's response, "do you want to?" Me, "I really haven't thought that much about it, to be quite honest. I've been so busy with the kids and well, NOT dying of cancer!" He laughed. He started to wonder why so many other people were "concerned" about my future career prospects--I didn't have a valid answer. He finally said, "Babe, I want you to do what's going to make you happy. We've never lived on two incomes so it is not like we feel like we've been suffering for you to stay-at-home with the kids. Don't go back to work if YOU really don't want to. Only go back if it is what you always pictured yourself doing...if it makes you truly happy." Wow! Now that was a great answer. I had felt, for lack of a better term, pressure, from all of those other "people" to have the next chapter of my life planned out for all to view. And here it was, from the person whose opinion mattered most, that all he wanted was for me to be happy and fulfilled.
After that conversation with Matt, I started to piece everything together. Why did others care so much about what I chose to do with all of my days once the kids were in school full-time?? Why did I have to answer to them? Why did the inquistions bother me so much? And I think I've figured it out. What bothers me most about the questioning is NOT the fact that they asked, but the way they were asking--as if the moment my kids were in school full-time I'd be doing nothing productive with my days. No kids to run after for 8 hours, they'd be running amuck on the blacktop. No midday lunch to make, they'd be in a cafeteria. Were they so concerned that from 8am-3pm that I'd literally sit on my ass and do nothing?? While that would certainly be a concern for my husband, it really made no sense that anyone else cared. And, if I chose to NEVER go back to work, would these same people assume my life was wasted? That I never did anything "productive" with the years I'd been given on this Earth? Hmm. It really started to bother me. But why? Why do I care what these people think? Here's why--I am one of the busiest people I know, working or not! My day starts at 6am and ends no sooner than 11pm. I make 3 square, healthy meals/day. I am in my laundry room no less than 4 days/week. I volunteer at BOTH of my children's schools every single week. Throw in there, homework, baths, pets, library, checkbooks, groceries, drs./dentist appointments, workouts, house cleaning, lawn work, ballet/tap, recitals, playtime/naptime/bedtime...oh yeah and the occasional bout with CANCER, cannot forget that one. ;) Really, my days come and go by so quickly that I can barely keep up. Will this change once my kids are in school full-time, well yeah. But I don't think I'll be bored--I will have just as much to do and probably more. As the kids grow in size, so will their activities. I will be volunteering more of my time to the school and potentially, charitable services as well. Is this a waste of my years here on Earth? I don't happen to think so, but I am fairly sure, others do. And now that I've put everything into perspective and was given insight into the one opinion that mattered most (other than my own), I am pretty content with the decision that stands for now...that I will continue to be a stay-at-home parent because really, nothing fulfills me more than being just that. And in later years, should I choose to return to the grind of the workforce, so be it. But still, at the end of my days, should I choose to never receive another paycheck, I will know in my heart of hearts, that my life was a success. Not because of the $$ I did or didn't make--pretty sure God doesn't ask for W2's. I was not just a loving, devoted wife and mother...but I was a loving and devoted human!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Cancer shmancer
I was asked by quite a few people if I would be "blogging" or "faceyspacing" (facebook) while I was in the hospital. And although I had the best of intentions to do so, I was on some serious medications that not only prevented it, but downright rendered me blind for a few days. So here is the factual recount of events from March 22 (day before surgery) to the present. Ready or not, here ya go...
March 22, 2010 was much like any other day in the Goyette home. Lawn duties, house cleaning, shopping, bowel prep...you know the same old same old. ;) Given the fact that I was having a radical abdominal surgery the very next day, the doctors wanted me to drink a bowel preparation medication known as "GoLytely." If I'm being honest, a more apt title would be "colon blow." There is nothing "light" about it. First off, you have to embibe 4 liters of the stuff--4 liters!! Do you realize just how much THAT is?? It's like downing two 2 liter bottles of soda. But not only do you have to drink that much, you have to get it all down in 2 hours or less. And it is the most unpleasant fluid I've ever experienced in my 32 years of life-can't quite explain the taste adequately, let's just say its salty and somewhat viscous...AND THERE'S 4 LITERS TO DRINK!!! I started @ 1pm that afternoon figuring the kids and Matt were down for naps so my every 5 minute-trips to the restroom would not bother anyone else in the house. And once it starts...it does not stop-which is the idea. They want you completely cleaned out prior to surgery. Nothing left in you. That day I was allowed to enjoy clear fluids (broth, teas, non-red jello), but nothing else. And after midnight, nothing @ all-no water, no food, possibly not even oxygen (how it felt anyhow). And what my foe GoLytley doesn't get, my dear friend "FLEET" will. ;) You get the point.
I woke up Tuesday morning and began to feel a tad bit anxious. I wasn't expected to arrive @ Loma Linda until 11am and surgery wasn't scheduled until 1pm. That's a long time to go without food or water and even longer when you've been forced to "clear" your body of any nutrients it may have had previously. I was visiting with my dear friend "FLEET" for the 3rd and final time when Matt comes knocking at the bedroom door--"Kace, the want us there now! We have to go!" WHAT?? Turns out, one of my surgeons finished his first surgery earlier than expected and they wanted to get a jump on mine while my primary surgeon was still operating on another woman. Yikes! I thought I had at least 2 more hours with my kiddos before leaving, but that was put to an immediate stop. We grab my bag, I hug my mother-in-law in town to help with the kids and kiss my babies with as much as I had without leading them to believe that I was afraid to leave them. We had prepared them for this day but at that very instant, I wasn't so sure I'd prepared myself enough. What if I didn't make it through? What if this was the last time I'd see their sweet faces? These are natural feelings for any mom going in for a major surgery, but they were feelings I chose to ignore-I was so busy preparing everyone else that I forget myself in the process. Oh well-there wasn't enough time to worry about it now. Kiss kiss hug hug and off we went. Matt opens my door to the truck, I hop in not realizing that the next time I see this truck, the hop would be more like a lope or roll-no more hoppin' for awhile! We get on the freeway and make some phone calls to friends and family that my surgery had been moved up. The one call that struck me most was that of my Mom's--"I thought I was going to get to see you before surgery, honey?!" There was a bit of hidden sadness in her voice. I tell her to get moving to the hospital and she can see me before I go in.
We make it to the hospital in a record 20 minutes and we are immediately whisked to the pre-op area. Clothes off, temperature checked, life signed over to the surgeons-I had just enough time to give my husband one last kiss and then it was time for some fun-not really. They wheel me to the O.R. waiting area where they "attempt" to get an i.v. started on me--I repeat "attempt" because I have never seen so many people blow out so many veins in one person in my entire life! I have great veins-so says anyone who has either started an iv on me or drawn blood-easy peasy lemon squeezy! Notsomuch. One, two, three, four, five veins blown in the matter of minutes. I start thinking to myself, "Hell I hope they're better at getting the cancer than they are at these freakin' veins." I ask the anesthesiologist who is also starting to attempt the iv situation at this point, "why is it so hard to get a vein on me?" She responds, "you're very dehydrated from the bowel prep and no fluids past midnight. Plus, we're throwing a big needle in your vein to get as much fluid as possible in you as fast as we possibly can and things just aren't cooperating." Lovely. They finally get a cooperative vein in the bend of my left arm (I'm left-handed so this would later pose a problem). The female anesthesiologist comes and discusses exactly what the intubation and anesthesia process would be like for me. I remind her that I do not repsond well to any form of anesthesia and that I was going to vomit when I awoke (which I did). She tells me that won't be a problem (I'd later learn why that was). Another anesthesiologist arrives and says, "Kacey, we want to put these things inside your arm during your surgery that will adequately monitor your blood gases, but you don't have to and you can change your mind at any point (what in the 5 minute time from here to the O.R.?)." I reply, "will I feel it?" He responds, "Oh no, we'll do them while you're out and they'll be removed before you awake." I give the go-ahead and sign yet another 270 forms for that procedure. I'd later learn that they are called ABG lines and they hurt like a mutha!! And although I did not feel them when they were placed in the arteries in my arms, I sure as Hell felt that it had been there once I awoke and STILL to this day, have a massive 9" bruise along the underside of my wrist to show for it (2 weeks later). Hope they got some good readings...
The VERY pregnant anesthesiologist gives me some Verced (sp?) for any pre-op anxiety and off we go! Loma Linda is an older hospital and boy can you tell with one glance at their operating room facilities. I was able to see into the other operating rooms through their oversized windows. Looking right into the open chests, abdomens, body parts of other fellow patients. I remember not feeling nervous-thank you Verced! They open the doors to my O.R. and I see at least 11 or so doctors, nurses, etc. staring me right in the face. I make the sign of the cross as the gurnee enters the room and an angel-faced nurse comes to my side. "Kacey, do you want me to pray with you?" I reply, "No, but will you pray for me?" She chuckles, "of course. God watch over Kacey as we prepare to rid her of this cancer that haunts her body. Guide the surgeons hands and help her to recover speedily." Well amen lady! I still remember exactly what she prayed despite the meds. :) And then I was out...
Many many many hours later, I awoke in recovery. And wow, was I in pain--andnot from the obvious. I look over at the wall and noticed the time--8:45pm?? They had to have started at about noon or so--was I really in surgery for more than 6 hours? Yep! Immediately I was groggy yet alert. My throat was on fire and I attributed it to the 7 hours of intubation that must have been needed for the surgery. But that wasn't the only reason my throat hurt so badly. They had placed an NG tube in my nose during the procedure--the tube ran from my nose down my throat and directly to my stomach-aha! That's why I didn't have to worry about vomitting post-op. That chick anesthesiologist knew all along that they'd be placing a tube in-thank God she didn't tell me. This sucked! I attempt to look at the nurse waiting at my bedside but my head would only turn so far--not only was there an NG tube in my left nostril pulling me in that direction, but now I realized that there was a giant mass of tubing on my right side that was connected to the side of my neck-fabulous, they central-lined me! The central line ran from a big vein in my neck damn near to my heart. Later I'd learn that this was necessary so that they didn't have to continue to poke me for blood draws and administer meds--and if a blood transfusion was eventually necessary, they'd go right through this line. But at that very moment I was baffled as to why I needed it. Finally she speaks, "Kacey, we're having a hard time getting your heart rate to go down and blood pressure to go up so you're having to stay in recovery longer than usual." I raspilly manage, "why is it doing that?" She says, "sometimes it just happens post-op from all of the fluids being pushed into your body and the blood loss. Your body is trying to work it all out." Even in this state I knew that this was not ideal. Finally one of the doctors walks over to us and says, "push another (whatever amount of cc's he said) of Albumen and get her upstairs so her family can see her." I start to think that something happened to me during surgery...did I code or something? Why are they worried?? But the nurse does as she's told and off I'm rolled by Joe Dirt's missing link sister--I couldn't wait for my sisters to get a gander at this chick's mullet! :)~I was hoping they'd take a picture of her--they are mullet-hunters and they were going to have a field day with this one!
I'm rolling along on my bed compliments of Josie Dirt and I see my Mom running down the hall towards me. She starts to cry and the anxiety starts pulsing through me once again..what happened that is making everyone so weird? I ask, "Mom, why are you crying?" She replies, "it's just so great to see you, honey!" I muster, "okay, but stop crying." She tells me she's going to go get Matt and my lovely mulleted transporter gets me into my room. They transfer me into my bed and get everything set up-the pain pump, ivs, NG tube connected to the container in the wall, catheter checked, you name it. Finally Matt makes his way in and immediately rushes to my side to kiss my head. "Hi babe. Doctor says the surgery went really well!" He's so happy to see me. I ask him, "did you expect all of this (waving to all of the lines/tubes)?" He frowns and responds, "yeah kinda." :( He hadn't filled me in. Little by little, my family begins to trail into the room to see me. They kiss the top of my head (the only part of unencumbered by something) and tell me they love me. My sisters, Mom, Aunt Patti, cousin Erika and Matt had waited all day while the surgeons worked their magic. God bless 'em. They all make their way out of the room so that I can get some rest and only Matt stays behind. He asks how I'm feeling. I tell him my throat is killing me. My night nurse walks in and Matt asks her if I can have anything for my throat-"Not really at this point in time. Just use the pain pump every ten minutes until it goes away. You cannot have any water or food either. If your mouth is dry, use these little sticks with sponges on them to moisten your mouth." I was sad-not that I couldn't have any water (I didn't want any), but because we had to give these to my Dad when he was in the hospital and wasn't allowed food or water. He also had an NG tube, central line, catheter, you name it. I considered how I must have looked to my sisters and Mom--how much this reminded them of my Dad's experience in the hospital and that he wasn't here to be with all of us. The pain never subsided. It was hitting me from all sides--my throat, my wrists (now heavily bandaged), my head was pounding, my abdomen started to burn! I started to hit the pain pump as often as it allowed without overdosing. It was 11:30 at night and Matt decided to go home and get some rest-I was happy with this. He looked like he'd had as long a day as I had-although, he definitely looked much hotter than I did at this point. ;)
Wednesday rolled around and I got very little sleep the night before--how could I? The nurses were constantly monitoring every bodily function I possibly had! My JP drains (they look like grenades) coming from my abdomen were collecting so much fluid they could barely keep up with the output. My heart rate finally went down, but my blood pressure now posed the problem--I have low blood pressure anyhow, but this was measurably lower. 85/50. Get up stupid! I started coughing up fluid and that hurt like a mutha! Anyone who has had any form of abdominal surgery knows that coughing, sneezing, etc. are the absolute worst! And I couldn't stop the coughing, the fluid was had to escape somewhere. And that NG tube-God I hated that! The surgeons and residents made their way in at about 6:30am (I'd learn that this was their routine-EARLY). They checked everything and asked how I was. I told them that I felt really weak and my throat was on fire. They told the nurse to order some Chloraseptic spray but that the NG tube needed to stay in for now. Boo! I would've given my right arm at that point to get that out of my nose! No such luck. Burn away nose and throat. Matt makes his way in a 1/2 an hour later and is noticably disappointed that he'd missed the surgeons. A little later the nurse comes in to clean me up and change my bedding. The doctors wanted me to "attempt" to get out of bed this morning and at the very least, sit in a nearby chair--are freakin' kidding me? I cannot even sit up on my own! But this nurse is determined and has some type of unearned faith in me. Matt and the nurse help me sit up and get my legs over the side of the bed (note: it takes almost 15 minutes for this process to complete). I vomit as soon as I'm upright depsite the NG tube. My head was spinning and everything looked mobile. If I couldn't even sit up straight, how in the Hell was I going to get over to that chair?? But somehow, I do. My youngest 2 sisters arrive and are excited to see me out of the bed and in a nearby chair. I can barely see them clearly--my eyesight is completely off and everything looks fuzzy (later, we'd learn it was the medication in the pain pump-dilaudid). The nurse cleans me and warns that if I am still vomitting, the doctors are NOT going to take that NG tube out for fear of aspiration (which my Dad did post-op, coded and passed away days later...I knew the risks thoroughly!). I am not a modest person. I figure once you've had and nursed 2 children and had as many gynecological snips and procedures as I have...modesty is no longer an issue. ;) And although I do not think it was seeing me naked that bothered my 2 youngest sisters-seeing me naked, weaker than they'd ever realized and connected to so many "things" probably did. They left a little while later-couldn't blame them. I definitely wasn't at my finest. :( A tad later, when back in bed, my Mom, sister Kortney and cousin Erika made their way to the hospital. Erika has worked on an ambulance and in a hospital so the sight of me wasn't anything that alarmed her-she knew what everything was, why it was there and what it was meant to do. Kort and my Mom on the otherhand, looked scared...and sad. My pain started to get out of control and the coughing started back up. No amount of pain pump pushing was hitting it. No matter which way I tried to lay to get comfortable, something pulled me in the opposite direction--the God-forsaken NG tube pulled to the right, central line the left, drains filling pulling on my abdomen every which way, suprapubic catheter to the right-stand up sit down fight fight fight! ;) Nowhere to go and nothing to help. My Mom and Kortney start to cry--they look at my fingers, hands and feet; I look like the stay-puft Marshmellow man-so much fluid build-up. My body is bloated and my coloring's yellow. Really, not my finest! I peer over at my Mom and ask her why she's crying-she doesn't respond and just looks away. I look to Kort and ask the same question, "why are you guys crying?" She repsonds, "because you're in so much pain and we can't do anything for you!" And that was true, but I hated to see them cry. We needed laughter..."stop crying or I'll throw this cup at you" I wearily warn! They allow a chuckle but I could tell that they'd had enough for the day. It was too much for them to see. I knew my Dad was fresh in their minds. A little while later, I asked Matt if anyone else was coming to visit me--he responds, "just my Dad and Denise (his stepmom)." I reply, "okay, but no one else. " He understood that no one else needed to see me this way. Dr. Jordyn (Sr. resident, a female about my age-smarty pants), comes in while my inlaws are visiting, takes one look at the container collecting the bile from my stomach and NG tube says, "Kacey, I think you'll feel better once we get this NG tube out at the very least. And, we may need to do a blood transfusion-your blood count went from 14 pre-op, to about 7 right now and I think that's why you're so weak." No shit, doc?! Hallejulah!!! My inlaws step out and the resident asks me to take a deep breath while she removes the tube that was my nemesis. One two three pull!!! That bastard is LONG! And although it did not hurt when it was coming up, it did make me gag a bit...I didn't care, I was free! Immediately, I felt that burning sensation subside. Ahhh! Now I could focus my pain managment elsewhere. My inlaws returned to the room and immediately saw a difference in my comfort level. God bless anyone who has to have one of those-seriously!
That night they gave me the blood transfusion to get my hemoglobin back up. They said I was young and they'd hoped my body would just do the work for me in regenerating the bloodcount, but it was happening too slowly and I needed some energy. They gave me some Benadryl prior to the transfusion in case of reaction and that's all I remember of Wednesday night. God bless the person who donated that unit of A+ blood--you have no idea how much you helped me from then on out! :) By morning, my count had gone from 7 to 8.2. They were hoping for better but again relied on my young, studly body to do the rest of the work. ;) Eventually, DAYS later..it did (up to 9 before leaving the hospital).
Matt came in Thursday morning and was excited to see that I had a little more energy and that I'd had a great night's rest-sure, Benadryl is everyone's nighttime friend (not to mention being free of the NG tube). Today the doctors had another surprise in store for me...they were going to take out my central line. Came in handy, they didn't have to continue to start new Iv's on me--just popped whatever they needed right into the lines in my neck and voila! The tape was stuck in my hair and the resident felt horrible about pulling knowing that I would be partially bald by the time she'd finished-she asks Matt, "you want to get the tape off?" Wrong person to ask if you thought he'd say no or yuck-Matt hops right over and gets to work. She reminds him NOT to pull the sutures that held the line in place--yeah Matt remember where that line leads (uh hum heart). He gets the job done, she cuts the sutures and asks if I'm ready...no...one two three breathe--it didn't hurt, but wow, what a weird feeling! Matt was enthralled as he is by anything medically-related. All he can say, "wow, that was super long!" :)
After that line was removed, I felt even more free. My neck was (and still is) super sore from being held in place for so long by those lines and tubes. But at the very least, those were gone and the rest, I could handle. I forgot to mention the Heparin shots--oh those Heparin shots! Heparin is used to prevent blood clots and is very important post-op. The thing of it is...it burns...BADLY! At some point, you think you get used to that burn when the shot is given to you twice a day for 6 days, but no. It always burns just as bad as it did the 1st time and you do not get used to it. And, they have to give it to you in either your thighs, back of your arms, abdomen, etc. I chose thighs most of the time knowing that they are the strongest part of me, but I asked for it once (and only once) in the back of my arm-f%$k!! Still, not as bad as other things I'd experienced those past couple days. Thursday was a big day for me...I started doing laps around the nurses station. Now, when I say laps, you should take into consideration that I am still connected to a catheter, 4 drains that protrude from my abdomen and have to be pinned to my hospital gown so they don't drag and hurt me, an iv and a pain pump mechanism--all of this has to makes it way with me as attempt to walk. But I do, knowing that the sooner I am up and about, the better i am going to feel and the stronger I am going to get. I manage one lap at maybe 1/2 of a 1/2 a mile per hour, but I do it! And from then on, I did in fact get stronger. :)
Every day I got stronger and every day they removed a few more devices. My vision continued to be blurry so I could not read any text messages or greeting cards on flowers that were sent to my room. Finally they realized that the dilaudid in the pain pump was the culprit and they took me off it. Hours later, I could see (finally, so irritating). Thursday was the 1st day I was able to eat actual food again. I hadn't had solid food since the Sunday before and I was ready to eat! Loma Linda is a Seventh Day Adventist institution so they are vegetarian and caffiene-free. And although I can assimilate to the former, the caffiene was going to have to come in some form. Thank God for Matt and my cousin, Erika and their stops to Am/Pm-type places when enroute to the hospital. Matt would sneak me in some fabulous mexican food--good man!
By Sunday morning, the surgeon gave me the option to leave either that day or stay till' Monday if I preferred--Sunday please!! I hadn't seen my babies in 6 days and I really wanted to get home and in my own bed. They order up all of my prescriptions (6 total) and teach Matt and I (mostly Matt) how to use and care for my suprapubic catheter--since they had to take alot of tissue from my pelvic wall and many lymph nodes from around my bladder, kidneys and uretars, they had to place a suprapubic catheter in my bladder to take the pressure off those organs and allow them to heal. There is an incison in my abdominal wall and a tube that is directed into my bladder from the hole in my side (sewn in). The catheter in my bladder's held open by an inflated balloon. There is tubing that runs the entire length of my right leg and urine's collected in small lunch-sized bag that connects at my ankle by straps. Yes, it looks like a giant waterslide and yes, when the tubing's pulled the wrong way, it hurts. And yes it is inconvenient and yes, I wish I didn't have to have it for a total of 6 weeks (yes a month and a 1/2). But, oh well. :) Early May, I will get the catheter removed. But it does feel weird not to pee on my own. ;)
Matt gives the charge nurse a couple pies he'd picked up earlier in the day as a token of our appreciation for all of the care they'd given me--never forget to treat your nurses to sweets! And we were free!! I forgot to mention that the pathology report had come in that morning. And it was a good morning--the cancer, the size of a silver dollar, had not spread. It had kept its little bastard self in one place, like I asked it to. The report was 3 pages long and discussed in detail EXACTLY what was removed, the size, shape, quantity, appearance and whether or not it was malignant. All of the following were removed: upper 1/3 of the vagina, cervix, uterus, appendix, 52 lymph nodes and part of the pelvic wall--and everything besides the mass we knew of was clear! Can I get an AMEN?!! I was literally free! Free from all of the tubes/drains/lines; free from the hospital; free from the cancer; free from the possibility of chemo and/or radiation. We were free. Matt and I left Loma Linda feeling 1000 lbs. lighter.
Of course, I am still really slow. I have a constant reminder that I had cancer--the incision healing in my abdomen and the suprapubic catheter that will be my close friend until early May. But at the end of the day, I am free and unencumbered by what was haunting us most since 1st being diagnosed-free from cancer. My family can breathe a little easier. My hubby is downright freakin' amazing and has cared for me better than anyone could've asked for. Even finds the time to remind me how beautiful I am. I think we are all a little wiser about how this cancer can sneak up on women even when they are tested and retested as much as I was (location location location). My kids have found a way to make anything funny, even a suprapubic catheter: "Mom, now you can pee like a robot!" :) God bless them. And as for me...I'm just happy that God thought enough of me to present me with a challenge I was capable of overcoming...with a little help of course. ;) Was I scared-uh yeah! Was I really really scared-nope. I knew early on that this was going to be hard--and not just hard, but really painful (didn't know just how much). All in all, I am blessed. And its not that I didn't already know this, but it was definitely reinforced.
Thank you for all of the amazing prayers, thoughts, cares/concerns, books, care packages, meals, flowers, cards, cupcakes (Jenna and Dee), you name it! We are grateful for ALL of it!! God bless you all-and if one day, you happen to find yourself in a similar situation, I will be your cheerleader, too! Go fight win!! Cancer shmancer...
March 22, 2010 was much like any other day in the Goyette home. Lawn duties, house cleaning, shopping, bowel prep...you know the same old same old. ;) Given the fact that I was having a radical abdominal surgery the very next day, the doctors wanted me to drink a bowel preparation medication known as "GoLytely." If I'm being honest, a more apt title would be "colon blow." There is nothing "light" about it. First off, you have to embibe 4 liters of the stuff--4 liters!! Do you realize just how much THAT is?? It's like downing two 2 liter bottles of soda. But not only do you have to drink that much, you have to get it all down in 2 hours or less. And it is the most unpleasant fluid I've ever experienced in my 32 years of life-can't quite explain the taste adequately, let's just say its salty and somewhat viscous...AND THERE'S 4 LITERS TO DRINK!!! I started @ 1pm that afternoon figuring the kids and Matt were down for naps so my every 5 minute-trips to the restroom would not bother anyone else in the house. And once it starts...it does not stop-which is the idea. They want you completely cleaned out prior to surgery. Nothing left in you. That day I was allowed to enjoy clear fluids (broth, teas, non-red jello), but nothing else. And after midnight, nothing @ all-no water, no food, possibly not even oxygen (how it felt anyhow). And what my foe GoLytley doesn't get, my dear friend "FLEET" will. ;) You get the point.
I woke up Tuesday morning and began to feel a tad bit anxious. I wasn't expected to arrive @ Loma Linda until 11am and surgery wasn't scheduled until 1pm. That's a long time to go without food or water and even longer when you've been forced to "clear" your body of any nutrients it may have had previously. I was visiting with my dear friend "FLEET" for the 3rd and final time when Matt comes knocking at the bedroom door--"Kace, the want us there now! We have to go!" WHAT?? Turns out, one of my surgeons finished his first surgery earlier than expected and they wanted to get a jump on mine while my primary surgeon was still operating on another woman. Yikes! I thought I had at least 2 more hours with my kiddos before leaving, but that was put to an immediate stop. We grab my bag, I hug my mother-in-law in town to help with the kids and kiss my babies with as much as I had without leading them to believe that I was afraid to leave them. We had prepared them for this day but at that very instant, I wasn't so sure I'd prepared myself enough. What if I didn't make it through? What if this was the last time I'd see their sweet faces? These are natural feelings for any mom going in for a major surgery, but they were feelings I chose to ignore-I was so busy preparing everyone else that I forget myself in the process. Oh well-there wasn't enough time to worry about it now. Kiss kiss hug hug and off we went. Matt opens my door to the truck, I hop in not realizing that the next time I see this truck, the hop would be more like a lope or roll-no more hoppin' for awhile! We get on the freeway and make some phone calls to friends and family that my surgery had been moved up. The one call that struck me most was that of my Mom's--"I thought I was going to get to see you before surgery, honey?!" There was a bit of hidden sadness in her voice. I tell her to get moving to the hospital and she can see me before I go in.
We make it to the hospital in a record 20 minutes and we are immediately whisked to the pre-op area. Clothes off, temperature checked, life signed over to the surgeons-I had just enough time to give my husband one last kiss and then it was time for some fun-not really. They wheel me to the O.R. waiting area where they "attempt" to get an i.v. started on me--I repeat "attempt" because I have never seen so many people blow out so many veins in one person in my entire life! I have great veins-so says anyone who has either started an iv on me or drawn blood-easy peasy lemon squeezy! Notsomuch. One, two, three, four, five veins blown in the matter of minutes. I start thinking to myself, "Hell I hope they're better at getting the cancer than they are at these freakin' veins." I ask the anesthesiologist who is also starting to attempt the iv situation at this point, "why is it so hard to get a vein on me?" She responds, "you're very dehydrated from the bowel prep and no fluids past midnight. Plus, we're throwing a big needle in your vein to get as much fluid as possible in you as fast as we possibly can and things just aren't cooperating." Lovely. They finally get a cooperative vein in the bend of my left arm (I'm left-handed so this would later pose a problem). The female anesthesiologist comes and discusses exactly what the intubation and anesthesia process would be like for me. I remind her that I do not repsond well to any form of anesthesia and that I was going to vomit when I awoke (which I did). She tells me that won't be a problem (I'd later learn why that was). Another anesthesiologist arrives and says, "Kacey, we want to put these things inside your arm during your surgery that will adequately monitor your blood gases, but you don't have to and you can change your mind at any point (what in the 5 minute time from here to the O.R.?)." I reply, "will I feel it?" He responds, "Oh no, we'll do them while you're out and they'll be removed before you awake." I give the go-ahead and sign yet another 270 forms for that procedure. I'd later learn that they are called ABG lines and they hurt like a mutha!! And although I did not feel them when they were placed in the arteries in my arms, I sure as Hell felt that it had been there once I awoke and STILL to this day, have a massive 9" bruise along the underside of my wrist to show for it (2 weeks later). Hope they got some good readings...
The VERY pregnant anesthesiologist gives me some Verced (sp?) for any pre-op anxiety and off we go! Loma Linda is an older hospital and boy can you tell with one glance at their operating room facilities. I was able to see into the other operating rooms through their oversized windows. Looking right into the open chests, abdomens, body parts of other fellow patients. I remember not feeling nervous-thank you Verced! They open the doors to my O.R. and I see at least 11 or so doctors, nurses, etc. staring me right in the face. I make the sign of the cross as the gurnee enters the room and an angel-faced nurse comes to my side. "Kacey, do you want me to pray with you?" I reply, "No, but will you pray for me?" She chuckles, "of course. God watch over Kacey as we prepare to rid her of this cancer that haunts her body. Guide the surgeons hands and help her to recover speedily." Well amen lady! I still remember exactly what she prayed despite the meds. :) And then I was out...
Many many many hours later, I awoke in recovery. And wow, was I in pain--andnot from the obvious. I look over at the wall and noticed the time--8:45pm?? They had to have started at about noon or so--was I really in surgery for more than 6 hours? Yep! Immediately I was groggy yet alert. My throat was on fire and I attributed it to the 7 hours of intubation that must have been needed for the surgery. But that wasn't the only reason my throat hurt so badly. They had placed an NG tube in my nose during the procedure--the tube ran from my nose down my throat and directly to my stomach-aha! That's why I didn't have to worry about vomitting post-op. That chick anesthesiologist knew all along that they'd be placing a tube in-thank God she didn't tell me. This sucked! I attempt to look at the nurse waiting at my bedside but my head would only turn so far--not only was there an NG tube in my left nostril pulling me in that direction, but now I realized that there was a giant mass of tubing on my right side that was connected to the side of my neck-fabulous, they central-lined me! The central line ran from a big vein in my neck damn near to my heart. Later I'd learn that this was necessary so that they didn't have to continue to poke me for blood draws and administer meds--and if a blood transfusion was eventually necessary, they'd go right through this line. But at that very moment I was baffled as to why I needed it. Finally she speaks, "Kacey, we're having a hard time getting your heart rate to go down and blood pressure to go up so you're having to stay in recovery longer than usual." I raspilly manage, "why is it doing that?" She says, "sometimes it just happens post-op from all of the fluids being pushed into your body and the blood loss. Your body is trying to work it all out." Even in this state I knew that this was not ideal. Finally one of the doctors walks over to us and says, "push another (whatever amount of cc's he said) of Albumen and get her upstairs so her family can see her." I start to think that something happened to me during surgery...did I code or something? Why are they worried?? But the nurse does as she's told and off I'm rolled by Joe Dirt's missing link sister--I couldn't wait for my sisters to get a gander at this chick's mullet! :)~I was hoping they'd take a picture of her--they are mullet-hunters and they were going to have a field day with this one!
I'm rolling along on my bed compliments of Josie Dirt and I see my Mom running down the hall towards me. She starts to cry and the anxiety starts pulsing through me once again..what happened that is making everyone so weird? I ask, "Mom, why are you crying?" She replies, "it's just so great to see you, honey!" I muster, "okay, but stop crying." She tells me she's going to go get Matt and my lovely mulleted transporter gets me into my room. They transfer me into my bed and get everything set up-the pain pump, ivs, NG tube connected to the container in the wall, catheter checked, you name it. Finally Matt makes his way in and immediately rushes to my side to kiss my head. "Hi babe. Doctor says the surgery went really well!" He's so happy to see me. I ask him, "did you expect all of this (waving to all of the lines/tubes)?" He frowns and responds, "yeah kinda." :( He hadn't filled me in. Little by little, my family begins to trail into the room to see me. They kiss the top of my head (the only part of unencumbered by something) and tell me they love me. My sisters, Mom, Aunt Patti, cousin Erika and Matt had waited all day while the surgeons worked their magic. God bless 'em. They all make their way out of the room so that I can get some rest and only Matt stays behind. He asks how I'm feeling. I tell him my throat is killing me. My night nurse walks in and Matt asks her if I can have anything for my throat-"Not really at this point in time. Just use the pain pump every ten minutes until it goes away. You cannot have any water or food either. If your mouth is dry, use these little sticks with sponges on them to moisten your mouth." I was sad-not that I couldn't have any water (I didn't want any), but because we had to give these to my Dad when he was in the hospital and wasn't allowed food or water. He also had an NG tube, central line, catheter, you name it. I considered how I must have looked to my sisters and Mom--how much this reminded them of my Dad's experience in the hospital and that he wasn't here to be with all of us. The pain never subsided. It was hitting me from all sides--my throat, my wrists (now heavily bandaged), my head was pounding, my abdomen started to burn! I started to hit the pain pump as often as it allowed without overdosing. It was 11:30 at night and Matt decided to go home and get some rest-I was happy with this. He looked like he'd had as long a day as I had-although, he definitely looked much hotter than I did at this point. ;)
Wednesday rolled around and I got very little sleep the night before--how could I? The nurses were constantly monitoring every bodily function I possibly had! My JP drains (they look like grenades) coming from my abdomen were collecting so much fluid they could barely keep up with the output. My heart rate finally went down, but my blood pressure now posed the problem--I have low blood pressure anyhow, but this was measurably lower. 85/50. Get up stupid! I started coughing up fluid and that hurt like a mutha! Anyone who has had any form of abdominal surgery knows that coughing, sneezing, etc. are the absolute worst! And I couldn't stop the coughing, the fluid was had to escape somewhere. And that NG tube-God I hated that! The surgeons and residents made their way in at about 6:30am (I'd learn that this was their routine-EARLY). They checked everything and asked how I was. I told them that I felt really weak and my throat was on fire. They told the nurse to order some Chloraseptic spray but that the NG tube needed to stay in for now. Boo! I would've given my right arm at that point to get that out of my nose! No such luck. Burn away nose and throat. Matt makes his way in a 1/2 an hour later and is noticably disappointed that he'd missed the surgeons. A little later the nurse comes in to clean me up and change my bedding. The doctors wanted me to "attempt" to get out of bed this morning and at the very least, sit in a nearby chair--are freakin' kidding me? I cannot even sit up on my own! But this nurse is determined and has some type of unearned faith in me. Matt and the nurse help me sit up and get my legs over the side of the bed (note: it takes almost 15 minutes for this process to complete). I vomit as soon as I'm upright depsite the NG tube. My head was spinning and everything looked mobile. If I couldn't even sit up straight, how in the Hell was I going to get over to that chair?? But somehow, I do. My youngest 2 sisters arrive and are excited to see me out of the bed and in a nearby chair. I can barely see them clearly--my eyesight is completely off and everything looks fuzzy (later, we'd learn it was the medication in the pain pump-dilaudid). The nurse cleans me and warns that if I am still vomitting, the doctors are NOT going to take that NG tube out for fear of aspiration (which my Dad did post-op, coded and passed away days later...I knew the risks thoroughly!). I am not a modest person. I figure once you've had and nursed 2 children and had as many gynecological snips and procedures as I have...modesty is no longer an issue. ;) And although I do not think it was seeing me naked that bothered my 2 youngest sisters-seeing me naked, weaker than they'd ever realized and connected to so many "things" probably did. They left a little while later-couldn't blame them. I definitely wasn't at my finest. :( A tad later, when back in bed, my Mom, sister Kortney and cousin Erika made their way to the hospital. Erika has worked on an ambulance and in a hospital so the sight of me wasn't anything that alarmed her-she knew what everything was, why it was there and what it was meant to do. Kort and my Mom on the otherhand, looked scared...and sad. My pain started to get out of control and the coughing started back up. No amount of pain pump pushing was hitting it. No matter which way I tried to lay to get comfortable, something pulled me in the opposite direction--the God-forsaken NG tube pulled to the right, central line the left, drains filling pulling on my abdomen every which way, suprapubic catheter to the right-stand up sit down fight fight fight! ;) Nowhere to go and nothing to help. My Mom and Kortney start to cry--they look at my fingers, hands and feet; I look like the stay-puft Marshmellow man-so much fluid build-up. My body is bloated and my coloring's yellow. Really, not my finest! I peer over at my Mom and ask her why she's crying-she doesn't respond and just looks away. I look to Kort and ask the same question, "why are you guys crying?" She repsonds, "because you're in so much pain and we can't do anything for you!" And that was true, but I hated to see them cry. We needed laughter..."stop crying or I'll throw this cup at you" I wearily warn! They allow a chuckle but I could tell that they'd had enough for the day. It was too much for them to see. I knew my Dad was fresh in their minds. A little while later, I asked Matt if anyone else was coming to visit me--he responds, "just my Dad and Denise (his stepmom)." I reply, "okay, but no one else. " He understood that no one else needed to see me this way. Dr. Jordyn (Sr. resident, a female about my age-smarty pants), comes in while my inlaws are visiting, takes one look at the container collecting the bile from my stomach and NG tube says, "Kacey, I think you'll feel better once we get this NG tube out at the very least. And, we may need to do a blood transfusion-your blood count went from 14 pre-op, to about 7 right now and I think that's why you're so weak." No shit, doc?! Hallejulah!!! My inlaws step out and the resident asks me to take a deep breath while she removes the tube that was my nemesis. One two three pull!!! That bastard is LONG! And although it did not hurt when it was coming up, it did make me gag a bit...I didn't care, I was free! Immediately, I felt that burning sensation subside. Ahhh! Now I could focus my pain managment elsewhere. My inlaws returned to the room and immediately saw a difference in my comfort level. God bless anyone who has to have one of those-seriously!
That night they gave me the blood transfusion to get my hemoglobin back up. They said I was young and they'd hoped my body would just do the work for me in regenerating the bloodcount, but it was happening too slowly and I needed some energy. They gave me some Benadryl prior to the transfusion in case of reaction and that's all I remember of Wednesday night. God bless the person who donated that unit of A+ blood--you have no idea how much you helped me from then on out! :) By morning, my count had gone from 7 to 8.2. They were hoping for better but again relied on my young, studly body to do the rest of the work. ;) Eventually, DAYS later..it did (up to 9 before leaving the hospital).
Matt came in Thursday morning and was excited to see that I had a little more energy and that I'd had a great night's rest-sure, Benadryl is everyone's nighttime friend (not to mention being free of the NG tube). Today the doctors had another surprise in store for me...they were going to take out my central line. Came in handy, they didn't have to continue to start new Iv's on me--just popped whatever they needed right into the lines in my neck and voila! The tape was stuck in my hair and the resident felt horrible about pulling knowing that I would be partially bald by the time she'd finished-she asks Matt, "you want to get the tape off?" Wrong person to ask if you thought he'd say no or yuck-Matt hops right over and gets to work. She reminds him NOT to pull the sutures that held the line in place--yeah Matt remember where that line leads (uh hum heart). He gets the job done, she cuts the sutures and asks if I'm ready...no...one two three breathe--it didn't hurt, but wow, what a weird feeling! Matt was enthralled as he is by anything medically-related. All he can say, "wow, that was super long!" :)
After that line was removed, I felt even more free. My neck was (and still is) super sore from being held in place for so long by those lines and tubes. But at the very least, those were gone and the rest, I could handle. I forgot to mention the Heparin shots--oh those Heparin shots! Heparin is used to prevent blood clots and is very important post-op. The thing of it is...it burns...BADLY! At some point, you think you get used to that burn when the shot is given to you twice a day for 6 days, but no. It always burns just as bad as it did the 1st time and you do not get used to it. And, they have to give it to you in either your thighs, back of your arms, abdomen, etc. I chose thighs most of the time knowing that they are the strongest part of me, but I asked for it once (and only once) in the back of my arm-f%$k!! Still, not as bad as other things I'd experienced those past couple days. Thursday was a big day for me...I started doing laps around the nurses station. Now, when I say laps, you should take into consideration that I am still connected to a catheter, 4 drains that protrude from my abdomen and have to be pinned to my hospital gown so they don't drag and hurt me, an iv and a pain pump mechanism--all of this has to makes it way with me as attempt to walk. But I do, knowing that the sooner I am up and about, the better i am going to feel and the stronger I am going to get. I manage one lap at maybe 1/2 of a 1/2 a mile per hour, but I do it! And from then on, I did in fact get stronger. :)
Every day I got stronger and every day they removed a few more devices. My vision continued to be blurry so I could not read any text messages or greeting cards on flowers that were sent to my room. Finally they realized that the dilaudid in the pain pump was the culprit and they took me off it. Hours later, I could see (finally, so irritating). Thursday was the 1st day I was able to eat actual food again. I hadn't had solid food since the Sunday before and I was ready to eat! Loma Linda is a Seventh Day Adventist institution so they are vegetarian and caffiene-free. And although I can assimilate to the former, the caffiene was going to have to come in some form. Thank God for Matt and my cousin, Erika and their stops to Am/Pm-type places when enroute to the hospital. Matt would sneak me in some fabulous mexican food--good man!
By Sunday morning, the surgeon gave me the option to leave either that day or stay till' Monday if I preferred--Sunday please!! I hadn't seen my babies in 6 days and I really wanted to get home and in my own bed. They order up all of my prescriptions (6 total) and teach Matt and I (mostly Matt) how to use and care for my suprapubic catheter--since they had to take alot of tissue from my pelvic wall and many lymph nodes from around my bladder, kidneys and uretars, they had to place a suprapubic catheter in my bladder to take the pressure off those organs and allow them to heal. There is an incison in my abdominal wall and a tube that is directed into my bladder from the hole in my side (sewn in). The catheter in my bladder's held open by an inflated balloon. There is tubing that runs the entire length of my right leg and urine's collected in small lunch-sized bag that connects at my ankle by straps. Yes, it looks like a giant waterslide and yes, when the tubing's pulled the wrong way, it hurts. And yes it is inconvenient and yes, I wish I didn't have to have it for a total of 6 weeks (yes a month and a 1/2). But, oh well. :) Early May, I will get the catheter removed. But it does feel weird not to pee on my own. ;)
Matt gives the charge nurse a couple pies he'd picked up earlier in the day as a token of our appreciation for all of the care they'd given me--never forget to treat your nurses to sweets! And we were free!! I forgot to mention that the pathology report had come in that morning. And it was a good morning--the cancer, the size of a silver dollar, had not spread. It had kept its little bastard self in one place, like I asked it to. The report was 3 pages long and discussed in detail EXACTLY what was removed, the size, shape, quantity, appearance and whether or not it was malignant. All of the following were removed: upper 1/3 of the vagina, cervix, uterus, appendix, 52 lymph nodes and part of the pelvic wall--and everything besides the mass we knew of was clear! Can I get an AMEN?!! I was literally free! Free from all of the tubes/drains/lines; free from the hospital; free from the cancer; free from the possibility of chemo and/or radiation. We were free. Matt and I left Loma Linda feeling 1000 lbs. lighter.
Of course, I am still really slow. I have a constant reminder that I had cancer--the incision healing in my abdomen and the suprapubic catheter that will be my close friend until early May. But at the end of the day, I am free and unencumbered by what was haunting us most since 1st being diagnosed-free from cancer. My family can breathe a little easier. My hubby is downright freakin' amazing and has cared for me better than anyone could've asked for. Even finds the time to remind me how beautiful I am. I think we are all a little wiser about how this cancer can sneak up on women even when they are tested and retested as much as I was (location location location). My kids have found a way to make anything funny, even a suprapubic catheter: "Mom, now you can pee like a robot!" :) God bless them. And as for me...I'm just happy that God thought enough of me to present me with a challenge I was capable of overcoming...with a little help of course. ;) Was I scared-uh yeah! Was I really really scared-nope. I knew early on that this was going to be hard--and not just hard, but really painful (didn't know just how much). All in all, I am blessed. And its not that I didn't already know this, but it was definitely reinforced.
Thank you for all of the amazing prayers, thoughts, cares/concerns, books, care packages, meals, flowers, cards, cupcakes (Jenna and Dee), you name it! We are grateful for ALL of it!! God bless you all-and if one day, you happen to find yourself in a similar situation, I will be your cheerleader, too! Go fight win!! Cancer shmancer...
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Ready, get set, cut!
I remember piecing it all together--the phone calls, the appointments, the testing, the research, the look on my Ob/Gyn.'s face when it was confirmed that I had what everything in my being told me I already knew I had...cancer! And even when your brain reminds you that you had a hunch, your soul still takes a punch to the gut and your heart aches for what is surely to come. Or, even scarier, what you've yet to learn. I know ignorance is bliss, but where cancer's concerned, that's a death sentence...the unknown.
So we sat waiting in this little exam room...waiting for the next phase of my life to be explained in detail to me. In extreme detail. :( Matt sat in an appropriately uncomfortable chair behind me as I took my place on the exam table. Little did we know, this would become a routine position for both of us--me on the exam table and Matt sitting quietly behind, taking it all in. Most men avoid these situations at all cost--sitting idly by while their wives get poked, prodded and cut apart by another man in the most intimate of positions. Girls, you know that position all to well--the "yearly" position. ;) For the past 5 years, this was my thrice yearly position. You see, I have been battling cervical dysplasia since I was pregnant with my second child. Never before that did I have an abnormal pap, but for whatever reason, my body decided age 27 was a great time to start. And they weren't even that abnormal...just a few cells here and there, enough to warrant the more invasive testing (colposcopy). That was my routine, abnormal pap, absolutely, 100% normal colposcopy...once, twice, sometimes three times a year for five years. My Ob/Gyn. said that I was his perpetual colp patient and that I was a champ-barely a flinch each and every time a piece of me was taken away for testing. In all reality, for most women, cervical dysplasia just fizzles away on its own or the colposcopies chissel away at the abnormal tissue and the diseased portion is eventually gone. He'd light me up with the dye and ready the microscope and always, the same response was uttered from his mouth..."I don't see anything at all, but we'll take some samples anyhow." Year after year, this was my routine and both the doctor and myself truly believed that at some point, I would be cured. I mean, come on, how can such a diligent patient end up with cancer? I was the faithful one, the one who did everything I was told to do. The one who DID NOT have HPV. I'd been tested several different times by a couple different doctors and never once did they find any strain of HPV, the leading cause of cervical cancer. Not that it would matter if I did, my care would be the same either way. But I didn't have it and to this day, my tissues have been sliced, diced, tested and retested and still, no HPV anywhere to be found. But I've digressed, as always. ;)
Where were we...oh yeah, Matt sitting behind me as I get the one over by a new doctor. But not just any doctor, a gynecological oncology surgeon at a renowned hospital. Let us call him "Dr. Meany" which is really funny since his real name may or may not rhyme with his fake persona. He's a million years old if he's a day and has the personality of a dishrag. I don't know quite what to make of him, but he lets us in on the secret soon enough. He finishes the VERY invasive testing as my husband sits quietly by and exits the room so that I can dress. Dr. Meany reenters with the same blah face and demeanor and says, "well, you have cervical cancer and its a bad one." (was there a good one I didn't know about?) Dr. Meany, "you're going to need a radical hysterectomy where I will remove the upper part of the vagina, don't worry, you've got enough that it'll stretch back into shape (geez, thanks doc), your cervix, uterus, appendix, maybe that left ovary with a cyst on it and ALL of your abdominal lymph nodes from one side, clear to the other. You'll need to live with a catheter for 6 weeks since we have to go around your kidneys, uretars and bladder. There could be permanent damage to the bladder..it's common with this major surgery." Huh?? I attempt a winded response, "wow, let me just process all of that for a moment!" To which he blandly replies, "uhm, you don't have to process it." WHAT? Who the Hell gets informed that they need a 7-8 hour gutting and doesn't feel the need to be a tad taken aback? Oh wait, dead people, that's right. Not a normal, 31 year old woman with two very small children at home! No one in their right mind at the very least! We finish our appointment together and he walks us over to the surgery scheduler who is just as "pleasant" as Dr. Meany. Matt and I just sit in the chairs staring at one another..."what just happened? how did it get this bad? where did we go wrong?"...all thoughts that are in silent conversation between us. WTF is really what we wanted to say! The bland lady recaptures our attention as we attempt to gather our thoughts and anxst. "We can perform your surgery either March 11 or March 23...which would you prefer?" Neither thank you. "Well, the 11th is my birthday," She interrupts, "oh, Happy birthday." Yeah right. I tell her to pen me in for that day and I notice Matt's face turning different and darker shade of red as each second passes. His leg has also started to shake...not a good sign. I can just imagine the obscene language that is going to be purged from his mouth once we exit this hospital...it is going to be ugly (and it was).
We leave with our big white folder of fun and the cursing begins..."that piece of #^%$ doctor is not going to lay one f^%*ing finger on you! Over my dead f^%$ing body!!" I haven't seen Matt this mad in years, if ever. I'm normally quite verbose and have something to say about every and anything, but at this point, nothing. I can barely see through the intense tears that are falling from my eyes. Matt just cusses along as we proceed home. As for me, I just sat in the passenger's seat, waiting for the coherent thought that did not come till' much later that evening when I was all alone. We make it home and Matt needs to head back to work to relieve the friend who came in for him. He asks, "do you want me stay home with you? I will if you need me to?" And although it was tempting, I needed some time to make peace with at least part of it before I could really let him in. If I could handle it, I knew he could to (and he knew it). I wipe my tear-stained face with a baby wipe and go to meet my Mom and kids inside awaiting our return. Matt gives the kids a kiss and hugs me with more vigor than I can remember in a long time and leaves to return to the station. I chat with my kids for awhile and they go back to playing whatever it was before I came home. My Mom asks how it went and I tell her everything from start to finish. There's just something about discussing traumatic things with your Mom specifically that induces major tearage. Thankfully, my kids weren't around to see me lose it. I tell Mom about the 7-8 hour surgery where I'm going to be gutted like a halibut; the fact that I have to be in the hospital and away from my kids for 7-10 days (I've never been away from them for more than 2 nights); Dr. Meany was just that, mean! And on and on and on. She says, "well, you just have to do it." To which I reply, "duh, of course I have to do it, I'm just not happy right now." I take her to dinner, a thank you for watching the kids while we went to my appointment. I refused to answer any anxious phone calls or text messages will we ate. Again, I just needed to be able to wrap my own mind around everything before I could let everyone else in on the sitch without breaking down every time (and not in front of my kids). And quite frankly, I just needed an hour or so to not have to replay the whole horrible ordeal again and again in my mind. Every time I uttered the words "catheter" and "radical hysterectomy" I audibly heard my heart break a little more. Whether you are done bearing children or not, those parts of you assist to make a woman, feel like a woman. I knew there'd be a grieving period coming soon.
The next day, the tears were gone. I allowed myself a minor pity party and decided to give my primary Ob/Gyn. a call to see if there were any other gynecological oncology surgeons around that I could approach for a second opinion. The bitch of it is, there are very few of these wizards around, in fact, only three hospital in this area that can do this surgery-Loma Linda (uh hum, Dr. Meany), UCI and City of Hope. My doc informs me that he's never been able to get a patient into City of Hope under my medical group specifically and UCI doesn't have a contract with Blue Shield of California (huh, its blue shield, doesn't everyone take b.s.? NOPE). I told him that I was confused by the consultation and I wanted to see another doctor. He reminds me that "Dr. Meany" is an oncology surgeon and many times, that's just the way they are...brilliant, but inhuman and robotic. I had other adjectives in mind, but whatever. ;) He also says, "he's the best at what he does and he will get it all."
I eventually got in to see another doctor out at UCI who was better able to explain everything in its entirety. He took a look at my insurance carrier and said, "whomever does your surgery, and I don't think it'll be me..." Ugh! My heart breaks all over again and I don't hear a single word he says after that for about five minutes. He does say that "Dr. Meany" has been doing this surgery forever (no kidding, he's a million years old) and I'd be in great hands out at Loma Linda. That was comforting. I knew that getting my surgery performed at UCI would be an uphill battle with the insurance company and I was running out of precious time. I didn't need to be set back anymore than I'd already been. So there it was...my life was literally going to be set in the hands of Dr. Meany, whether I liked it or not. I decided that very moment that I was not willing to spend the next weeks on the phone fighting for a lost cause and battling the insurance company for a doctor that I would eventually never see again...I accepted my fate out at Loma Linda. And that leads us to now...
Matt has come to every single appointment with me, sat by my side when most husbands would run for the waiting room while their wives are "opened to the World." He's done hours of research on my cancer; bought me reassuring books; knew when to ask questions and when to keep quiet. He has been my activist when I wasn't able to fight for myself or just didn't want to. He never once believed that this was my death sentence-and if he did, he was damn good at hiding it. And although I know he's just as scared as I am, he has been able to disguise it as strength and a willingness to witness exams that no spouse should have to see. Matt is my hero and my rock. Our lives have been forever altered. The thing of it is, this test that's been thrown our way, has brought us closer together. It has challenged us as individuals and as a partnership. And, we haven't even gotten to the hard part yet...the surgery on March 23, 2010. But even though I know it is going to be difficult and extremely painful, I know that he will be there the whole way through...my quiet partner sitting idly by on that appropriately uncomfortable chair.
Here's to all of the cancer families and friends out there--if you think cancer only affects the patient, you're dead wrong! Here's to the whatever it takes to get home to my precious angels, Cole and Delanie, who I'd fight to the death for. Here's to hoping that Dr. Meany has a change of personality in the next week or so, and if he doesn't, well, at least I'll be heavily sedated. ;) Here's to my family who proves day in and day out that they are incredibly devoted and possibly psychotic (God love 'em). Here's to my husband who has been more than willing to live up to our vows of "in sickness and in health." Here's to the next road, wherever it may take me...
So we sat waiting in this little exam room...waiting for the next phase of my life to be explained in detail to me. In extreme detail. :( Matt sat in an appropriately uncomfortable chair behind me as I took my place on the exam table. Little did we know, this would become a routine position for both of us--me on the exam table and Matt sitting quietly behind, taking it all in. Most men avoid these situations at all cost--sitting idly by while their wives get poked, prodded and cut apart by another man in the most intimate of positions. Girls, you know that position all to well--the "yearly" position. ;) For the past 5 years, this was my thrice yearly position. You see, I have been battling cervical dysplasia since I was pregnant with my second child. Never before that did I have an abnormal pap, but for whatever reason, my body decided age 27 was a great time to start. And they weren't even that abnormal...just a few cells here and there, enough to warrant the more invasive testing (colposcopy). That was my routine, abnormal pap, absolutely, 100% normal colposcopy...once, twice, sometimes three times a year for five years. My Ob/Gyn. said that I was his perpetual colp patient and that I was a champ-barely a flinch each and every time a piece of me was taken away for testing. In all reality, for most women, cervical dysplasia just fizzles away on its own or the colposcopies chissel away at the abnormal tissue and the diseased portion is eventually gone. He'd light me up with the dye and ready the microscope and always, the same response was uttered from his mouth..."I don't see anything at all, but we'll take some samples anyhow." Year after year, this was my routine and both the doctor and myself truly believed that at some point, I would be cured. I mean, come on, how can such a diligent patient end up with cancer? I was the faithful one, the one who did everything I was told to do. The one who DID NOT have HPV. I'd been tested several different times by a couple different doctors and never once did they find any strain of HPV, the leading cause of cervical cancer. Not that it would matter if I did, my care would be the same either way. But I didn't have it and to this day, my tissues have been sliced, diced, tested and retested and still, no HPV anywhere to be found. But I've digressed, as always. ;)
Where were we...oh yeah, Matt sitting behind me as I get the one over by a new doctor. But not just any doctor, a gynecological oncology surgeon at a renowned hospital. Let us call him "Dr. Meany" which is really funny since his real name may or may not rhyme with his fake persona. He's a million years old if he's a day and has the personality of a dishrag. I don't know quite what to make of him, but he lets us in on the secret soon enough. He finishes the VERY invasive testing as my husband sits quietly by and exits the room so that I can dress. Dr. Meany reenters with the same blah face and demeanor and says, "well, you have cervical cancer and its a bad one." (was there a good one I didn't know about?) Dr. Meany, "you're going to need a radical hysterectomy where I will remove the upper part of the vagina, don't worry, you've got enough that it'll stretch back into shape (geez, thanks doc), your cervix, uterus, appendix, maybe that left ovary with a cyst on it and ALL of your abdominal lymph nodes from one side, clear to the other. You'll need to live with a catheter for 6 weeks since we have to go around your kidneys, uretars and bladder. There could be permanent damage to the bladder..it's common with this major surgery." Huh?? I attempt a winded response, "wow, let me just process all of that for a moment!" To which he blandly replies, "uhm, you don't have to process it." WHAT? Who the Hell gets informed that they need a 7-8 hour gutting and doesn't feel the need to be a tad taken aback? Oh wait, dead people, that's right. Not a normal, 31 year old woman with two very small children at home! No one in their right mind at the very least! We finish our appointment together and he walks us over to the surgery scheduler who is just as "pleasant" as Dr. Meany. Matt and I just sit in the chairs staring at one another..."what just happened? how did it get this bad? where did we go wrong?"...all thoughts that are in silent conversation between us. WTF is really what we wanted to say! The bland lady recaptures our attention as we attempt to gather our thoughts and anxst. "We can perform your surgery either March 11 or March 23...which would you prefer?" Neither thank you. "Well, the 11th is my birthday," She interrupts, "oh, Happy birthday." Yeah right. I tell her to pen me in for that day and I notice Matt's face turning different and darker shade of red as each second passes. His leg has also started to shake...not a good sign. I can just imagine the obscene language that is going to be purged from his mouth once we exit this hospital...it is going to be ugly (and it was).
We leave with our big white folder of fun and the cursing begins..."that piece of #^%$ doctor is not going to lay one f^%*ing finger on you! Over my dead f^%$ing body!!" I haven't seen Matt this mad in years, if ever. I'm normally quite verbose and have something to say about every and anything, but at this point, nothing. I can barely see through the intense tears that are falling from my eyes. Matt just cusses along as we proceed home. As for me, I just sat in the passenger's seat, waiting for the coherent thought that did not come till' much later that evening when I was all alone. We make it home and Matt needs to head back to work to relieve the friend who came in for him. He asks, "do you want me stay home with you? I will if you need me to?" And although it was tempting, I needed some time to make peace with at least part of it before I could really let him in. If I could handle it, I knew he could to (and he knew it). I wipe my tear-stained face with a baby wipe and go to meet my Mom and kids inside awaiting our return. Matt gives the kids a kiss and hugs me with more vigor than I can remember in a long time and leaves to return to the station. I chat with my kids for awhile and they go back to playing whatever it was before I came home. My Mom asks how it went and I tell her everything from start to finish. There's just something about discussing traumatic things with your Mom specifically that induces major tearage. Thankfully, my kids weren't around to see me lose it. I tell Mom about the 7-8 hour surgery where I'm going to be gutted like a halibut; the fact that I have to be in the hospital and away from my kids for 7-10 days (I've never been away from them for more than 2 nights); Dr. Meany was just that, mean! And on and on and on. She says, "well, you just have to do it." To which I reply, "duh, of course I have to do it, I'm just not happy right now." I take her to dinner, a thank you for watching the kids while we went to my appointment. I refused to answer any anxious phone calls or text messages will we ate. Again, I just needed to be able to wrap my own mind around everything before I could let everyone else in on the sitch without breaking down every time (and not in front of my kids). And quite frankly, I just needed an hour or so to not have to replay the whole horrible ordeal again and again in my mind. Every time I uttered the words "catheter" and "radical hysterectomy" I audibly heard my heart break a little more. Whether you are done bearing children or not, those parts of you assist to make a woman, feel like a woman. I knew there'd be a grieving period coming soon.
The next day, the tears were gone. I allowed myself a minor pity party and decided to give my primary Ob/Gyn. a call to see if there were any other gynecological oncology surgeons around that I could approach for a second opinion. The bitch of it is, there are very few of these wizards around, in fact, only three hospital in this area that can do this surgery-Loma Linda (uh hum, Dr. Meany), UCI and City of Hope. My doc informs me that he's never been able to get a patient into City of Hope under my medical group specifically and UCI doesn't have a contract with Blue Shield of California (huh, its blue shield, doesn't everyone take b.s.? NOPE). I told him that I was confused by the consultation and I wanted to see another doctor. He reminds me that "Dr. Meany" is an oncology surgeon and many times, that's just the way they are...brilliant, but inhuman and robotic. I had other adjectives in mind, but whatever. ;) He also says, "he's the best at what he does and he will get it all."
I eventually got in to see another doctor out at UCI who was better able to explain everything in its entirety. He took a look at my insurance carrier and said, "whomever does your surgery, and I don't think it'll be me..." Ugh! My heart breaks all over again and I don't hear a single word he says after that for about five minutes. He does say that "Dr. Meany" has been doing this surgery forever (no kidding, he's a million years old) and I'd be in great hands out at Loma Linda. That was comforting. I knew that getting my surgery performed at UCI would be an uphill battle with the insurance company and I was running out of precious time. I didn't need to be set back anymore than I'd already been. So there it was...my life was literally going to be set in the hands of Dr. Meany, whether I liked it or not. I decided that very moment that I was not willing to spend the next weeks on the phone fighting for a lost cause and battling the insurance company for a doctor that I would eventually never see again...I accepted my fate out at Loma Linda. And that leads us to now...
Matt has come to every single appointment with me, sat by my side when most husbands would run for the waiting room while their wives are "opened to the World." He's done hours of research on my cancer; bought me reassuring books; knew when to ask questions and when to keep quiet. He has been my activist when I wasn't able to fight for myself or just didn't want to. He never once believed that this was my death sentence-and if he did, he was damn good at hiding it. And although I know he's just as scared as I am, he has been able to disguise it as strength and a willingness to witness exams that no spouse should have to see. Matt is my hero and my rock. Our lives have been forever altered. The thing of it is, this test that's been thrown our way, has brought us closer together. It has challenged us as individuals and as a partnership. And, we haven't even gotten to the hard part yet...the surgery on March 23, 2010. But even though I know it is going to be difficult and extremely painful, I know that he will be there the whole way through...my quiet partner sitting idly by on that appropriately uncomfortable chair.
Here's to all of the cancer families and friends out there--if you think cancer only affects the patient, you're dead wrong! Here's to the whatever it takes to get home to my precious angels, Cole and Delanie, who I'd fight to the death for. Here's to hoping that Dr. Meany has a change of personality in the next week or so, and if he doesn't, well, at least I'll be heavily sedated. ;) Here's to my family who proves day in and day out that they are incredibly devoted and possibly psychotic (God love 'em). Here's to my husband who has been more than willing to live up to our vows of "in sickness and in health." Here's to the next road, wherever it may take me...
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