Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...Fixing What's Broken

It's been awhile since I bothered blogging. I guess there are various reasons. Too bored, too depressed, too anxious about money, no energy. This nightmare has been going on for over a year. I thought I be back at work by now but no.

As I posted in previous blogs, my guts exploded (hernia) a few months ago, November I think. I ate a bit too much and felt something give in my abdominal area. It didn't hurt but I knew something was up, especially when I suddenly looked a bit pregnant. My regular surgeon refused to operate because chemo had tanked out my immune system and it would just come back because I healed slowly. He told me I had to wait at least four weeks after chemo before he would touch me. Great.

They're unsightly things, hernias. Not life threatening, I'm told, unless the guts get strangulated. Encouraging. Was that what caused my partial bowel obstruction this past November? Hmmm...it certainly caused enough pain and vomiting IMHO.

So I continued with chemo even though my body was clearly telling me ENOUGH ALREADY! PLEASE! But there were so many people harping on me to continue, continue, continue, listen to US instead of YOURSELF. Finally, on December 10th, 2008,chemo number nine was my last. I refused anymore. I didn't care what anyone said to me.

After I ditched chemo I called my surgeon and he couldn't get me in for the initial consult until January 19th, 2009. Too long to wait! Patience is yet to become one of my virtues.

So I called the clinic where I had been getting nuked and got in touch with a surgeon there and went to see him January 12th, a week earlier than with surgeon number one. Unlike my first surgeon, who would use a laproscope, this one would open me up because the hernia was so big. I didn't care. Just make it go away.

I was scheduled for surgery January 14th. He said he would put me completely under and he would repair it with mesh. He said he might have to remove my belly button but would hopefully not have to. He was aiming to discharge me the same day.

I hate surgeries. I'm so tired of having my abs cut into. This is the third time my poor abdominals were being sliced into. And I don't like being put under; I get terrified lying on the OR table; it looks like the type of table used to execute people by lethal injection.

But I looked six months pregnant and it was slowly getting bigger. I couldn't go back to work until it was fixed and I'm almost out of money. I've tapped into and used all the various savings I had put away. Gone is My New Septic fund. Gone is my daughter's college savings fund. Gone is the money originally saved in my checking account. Forget cashing in my daughter's savings bonds with the way interest rates are. I might be able to buy a pack of gum if I did that now. Nothing else though. And the bills keep piling up. After I do my taxes and I'm still not back to work, I'll end up homeless.

But all I cared about was getting the hernia fixed and my port taken out. My oncologist was none too pleased with my port being removed, especially before he got the MRI of my liver back. He still was concerned about that 'area of concern' on my liver. I was confident it was scar tissue from the biopsy taken when I had my colectomy surgery (which came back cancer free). I think he got the MRI results back in record time to look at them before my surgery.

So I called the clinic where I had been getting nuked and got in touch with a surgeon there and went to see him January 12th, a week earlier than with surgeon number one. Unlike my first surgeon, who would use a laproscope, this one would open me up because the hernia was so big. I didn't care. Just make it go away. So on January 14th I was put under once again to go under the knife. It's still as scary as ever for me. I don't think I'll ever get use to it. They had to give me extra fentynal, probably enough to knock out a grown man. I must have look terrified because I heard someone say 'give her some fentynal.' A couple of minutes later my eyes were still open wide, so I heard someone say, 'hmmm...give her some more.' That did the trick; I remembered nothing else until I woke up.

Of course I woke up in pain. When I woke up they kept me pretty juiced up on dalaudin for awhile. It at least took the edge off of the pain. I also woke up with a drain in my belly. I would have to empty the bulb until the doctor could remove it. Yuck. At least I no longer looked pregnant, just mangled and deformed. There was a valley between two ridges on my abdomen. Great. How long would this take to heal?

I wanted to go home, but something was telling me that might not be a good idea. I started to feel really nauseated but didn't hurl, so they eventually sent me home. The weather was atrocious, winter storm warning, but my wonderful neighbor has four wheel drive. She picked me up and took me to the pharmacy to get my pain pills.

I took a plastic bag with me because I was feeling pretty nauseous and if history from previous surgeries repeated itself, I'd soon be throwing up.

Sure enough. My friend ran in to get my meds and on the way home I threw my head in the plastic bag and started heaving. Jesus, I was so sick of throwing up! And I so hate throwing up in front of people, I don't care how close we are!

The next day was was horrible. The pain was awful and I kept throwing up. Never any fun but when your abdomen has just been sliced and diced AGAIN, and it made it worse.

This surgery was hard to recover from. I lost count of how many times I vomited. I just remember feeling excruciating pain through the haze, every time I hurled. I can't even begin to describe the feeling of dread each time I realized I was going to throw up AGAIN. The Universe must hate me, I thought. Haven't I been through enough? I thought for sure the mesh wouldn't be able to hold and my guts would explode out again.

My poor neighbor, Connie, was worried sick about me. I barely remember her coming in and checking on me. If my daughter had not been there to help keep an eye on me, she would have temporarily moved in.

She came in with my daughter to take my temperature and when she removed the thermometer, my hands stayed up, like they were still holding it. Then I just tipped back over on my side. I don't remember that. She later told me I just wouldn't wake up. Well, I did wake up long enough to hurl quite a few times. I do remember doing that. Multiple times. Ouch.

I was so out of it Connie and my daughter were freaking out. I barely remember those days right after surgery. Connie, bless her, was calling the Ask A Nurse hot line, my surgeon's office, and the hospital. They all told her I'd have to go back in so the doctor could see me but I refused. No more hospitals. No more surgeries. No more needles. No no no. Hell no. I do things my way now.

One time Connie came in with my daughter to take my temperature and when she removed the thermometer from my mouth, my hands stayed up, like they were still holding it. I don't remember that. She later told me I just wouldn't wake up. Well, I did wake up long enough to hurl quite a few times. I do remember doing that. Multiple times. Ouch.

I remained this way for almost a week. When I was finally able to get out of bed (with lots of help), I was unable to walk upright. I had to walk all stooped over. I never realize just how much we use our abdominals. Each movement I made sent waves of pain coursing through me.

I still hate the way my abdomen looks. It depresses me. I can't stand to look at it but sometimes I can't stop. I can feel the mesh in there, my entire abdomen feels numb, and I'm terrified it will not hold. I'm scared to eat for fear the mesh won't be able to hold my guts back.

I went in for my first post-op check-up January 20th. He took the drain out (what a creepy feeling) but not the 11 staples. That would have to wait a week. I was told I would be off work for at least another six weeks.

Six more weeks.

I have been in cancer-limbo for almost a year, I didn't want to stay another six weeks! But of course I had no choice. I knew I was in no shape to do anything, let alone do the work of a CNA.

A week later I went in to get the staples out. I've never had staples in my life so I was really nervous it would hurt. But I really don't have any feeling my belly anymore. It's numb. I didn't feel a thing. He told me I could do light walking only. When I started to complain (I'm sooo ready to do more than light walking!) he looked at me calmly and asked me if I wanted him to do the surgery again. OK doc, I see your point. No need to issue threats! He wanted to see me again February 23rd.

This thing is taking too long to heal. Patience has never been a virtue of mine, and I have yet to learn it. Surgeon says nothing more than light walking. Nothing more, unless I want him to do the surgery again. Yeah right doc. It's just too damn cold outside, the neuropathy still hurts my hands and feet.

But then lo and behold, I get a phone call from the mixed martial arts gym a block from my home wondering what happened to me. They were letting me use their facilities NO CHARGE until I got strong enough to sign up for a class. But I got that obstruction in November, and then chemo knocked me on my ass again in December, along with the bitter cold, and I stopped going. Guess they hadn't forgotten about me.

So I started going to do some light walking, a couple miles on the treadmill about a week before I went to see him again. I was still having a hard time standing upright but walking helped. I was having a real hard time with the way my belly looked...mangled and deformed. But the more I'm able to exercise, the better it looks.

So I have gone in with my trusty iPod (a gift I bought myself for chemo treatments) to walk on their treadmill a couple of miles. Boring but it feels good to be moving around, just as long as my guts don't explode again.

Finally, February 23rd gets here and off I go to see my surgeon. He has me stand up, looks at my belly, and then releases me! I'm finally free!

I must admit I'm terrified of going back to work, one reason being I don't want this damn hernia to come back but I'm almost out of money. I've had to use my New Septic System savings, the sale of my deceased ex-husband's Toyota tundra savings, and my daughter's college savings I set up for her years ago. Thank goodness my ex's family still considers me family; Eddie, my brother-in-law, has faithfully been sending me money every month since I started chemo.

I'm right back at square one and it's kinda scary but I guess none of that can be helped now. I didn't get on disability, any social security, or welfare. But if I don't get back to work, SOON, I will. I'm broke.

Cancer took so much from me. I feel like a part of me has died.