Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...And The Beast Is Removed

Wednesday, June 4th 2008. D-day for me. I had already had a long 'talk' with my body, my bowels, and even the tumor itself, explaining why I had to do what I was getting ready to do. I said my good-byes to the half of my colon that had to be sacrificed so that I could live.

I realized then that the tumor really was not an evil thing; it was neither good nor bad. It just was. It was just doing what tumors do; growing and surviving, and spreading, as all living entities do. I don't think it wanted to kill me, but it couldn't help but do just that if left alone. I felt it's fear as I explained it had to come out because when I died, IT died, and I wasn't going to sacrifice my life and go down with it.

So I went to my date with the surgeon, anethesiologist, nurses, med students, and lots of sharp looking objects. I had to do another fun bowel prep the night before. My boss was kind enough to pick me up early to take me and my daughter to the hospital where my social worker friend met me. I got checked in and went to put on one of those sexy hospital gowns and get some more blood drawn. By then I've had quite a few transfusions and they kept taking it out again! Didn't they realize how expensive blood is??

This phlebotomist either had an ax to grind with someone and took it out on my poor vein, or she is just naturally mean; I know not which. I didn't like the way she shoved the needle in my arm, it was not the least bit gentle.

I was then wheeled to a waiting room where a nice nurse tried to start an iv. No luck. Another nurse tried. No luck. I'm so terrified the 'fight or flight' response was in high gear, rendering attempts to get an iv in my arm useless, and I'm threatening to go home. But the nurse went to talk to the surgeon and they said they would start an iv after they put me under like they do with children. Fine then.

Finally they wheeled me into surgery and my fear kicks up another notch which I didn't think was possible. No one looked at me and I start to cry a bit. For some reason I start to think of evil Hitler's evil Angel of Death and how utterly terrified his poor victims must have felt as they were wheeled into the operating table. As terrified as I was, their fear must have been a thousand times worse. At least I knew that everyone in that room was dedicated to saving my life. I don't know why I thought of that.

I get myself on the chopping table and then really start to cry. Everyone is trying to reassure me but I've totally lost it. The anethesiologist trys to put the mask on my face but I wouldn't let him; I tried to grab it out of his hands saying 'just give me a minute!' Finally the nurses hold my hands (to gently restrain me, I'm sure) and guy with the masks says 'just three deep breaths, that's all, you're going to be alright' over and over, but it took about six or seven breaths before I finally went under.

The pain was horrible when I finally woke up. I swear the morphine pump they put me on was broken. Just dropping paper on me caused me to holler. I'm taken into my room and I'm in a haze of pain. The rest of that day and the next were hell, I'm in sooo much pain I just want to disappear. I'm told the surgeon found a node on my liver which he sent out for biopsy, fearing the cancer had managed to spread to my liver, which would be very, very bad. He also took out 33 of my lymph nodes.

Luckily the spot on my liver was not cancer and only five of my lymph nodes had cancer out of the 33, so it could have been much worse.

But it was bad enough. That put me at Stage III-C. The next stage is stage IV, or end stage, which is when the cancer metastisizes to other organs, usually the liver or lungs. No doubt I had micro-tumors floating around in me since the cancer managed to invade five of my lymph nodes.

Friday was much better and I'm able to go for a walk in the halls with a cute cna guy. Saturday my surgeon let me go home. I was in the hospital for only three days, which surprised a lot of people considering the kind of surgery I had; I was told I'd be in there at least five days. People underestimate me a lot.

A week later on Wednesday, the incision got infected. My temperature was over 101 at times. Saturday an area burst and starts draining a lot, so I finally call the on-call doctor who calls in an antibiotic for me. I noticed the infection took hold on the place where I had my navel pierced many years ago.

About a week after that, I'm sitting on my couch and I notice something poking up under my skin on my incision. I touch it and it pops through my skin. It's white and looks like a worm! I FREAK! I'm thinking I got worms coming out of my belly!

Thankfully it wasn't a worm, but a plastic staple. Whew! But then I freak out AGAIN because I'm thinking I'm coming apart where my guts were joined back together! Thankfully that wasn't the case either.

When I went to see the surgeon for the follow up visit, the wound is still draining; the hole goes down at least an inch. I'm told it needs to be packed so it will heal properly, so they give me the supplies and show me how so I can do it myself. The wound is quite deep and goes straight down. I hated pulling the guaze out of the wound because it looks like a tape worm and it made a squishy noise. Ugh!

Now I just need to get a port put in so I can start chemo that everyone is insisting I get. I'm not too sure about that but I was in no shape to argue.

I would later regret not following my instincts about getting chemo.