Just One More Thing

Lunch break at work. Since I can't seem to focus on anything else, I decided to write about my appointment with my gynecologist this morning.

Last April, a few months before I found out I had cancer, I got into one of the patrol cars one day at work to load up one of my RAD gear bags to lend to another university. As I sat in the driver's seat, a sharp pain shot up through my insides. It felt like I had sat on a sword. I went inside to use the restroom and try to collect myself. It did no good. The pain got worse and worse. I ended up on the bathroom floor clutching my stomach just trying to breathe.

I finally gathered enough strength to stand up and walk to my boss's office. I stood in his doorway and told him that I needed him to take me to the hospital. I can endure a lot of pain and only went to my boss when I was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that this pain was not simply going to go away.

He took me to the hospital and I sat in the waiting room of the ER for an eternity, sweating and breathing heavy and repositioning myself in the chair trying to keep that pain from shooting up into my abdomen. I thought I was having appendicitis. Turned out to be fibroids. A cyst ruptured causing that excruciating pain. The ER doctor told me that fibroids were common in women and there was little else to do. The pain would subside. It did...for the most part.

I saw a gynecologist and my gynecologist at the time had a wait and see attitude about things. This is the same one I stopped seeing after I got cancer and could no longer tolerate that wait and see attitude.

When I got cancer and started getting chemotherapy, my oncologist told me to hold off on the fibroid issue until after treatment. I understood his reasoning for wanting to wait so I waited.

During my last CT scan, it showed the fibroids looked bigger. He sent the information to my new gynecologist and we set up an appointment for an ultrasound. I like this gynecologist. This is the one who took my IUD out when I asked her to as soon as my oncologist said it was okay. She saw no reason to wait if he said it was okay and that's what I wanted.

I met with her to discuss the results of the ultrasound. I have five fibroids. Three are on the outside lining of my ovaries, but they are about the size of small oranges. I have one on the inside, but it is small. I can't remember where the fifth one is located. At least one of the fiboids is pushing on my ovary. That explains why I constantly have discomfort on the left side of my lower stomach. It's not painful, but it is uncomfortable. I asked if this could explain my constant lower back pain. She said possibly, but there is no way of knowing for sure. These fibroids pushing on me is also causing heavier bleeding during periods.

My new gynecologist said she likes the decision to be the patients put she wants to make sure her patients have all the information up front in order to make an informed decision. She said we have several options: do nothing and live with it. Many women do. I could get another IUD inserted. This will help the bleeding, but will not help the pain and discomfort. I could get a myomectomy to remove the larger fibroids. I could get a hysterectomy which would remove the fibroids and ovaries.

I told her how I did not like my old gynecologist because of her "wait and see" attitude about things, but how, after treatment, I am not sure what to do. I am 37 years old. I do not have kids and do not want kids. That part is not what concerns me. I even told her about my mom and grandmother having hysterectomies at my age. This is hereditary.

What concerns me now is having had cancer. The post-effects of cancer are still lingering. I told her about my wrist problem. When it took so long to heal, my doctor said surgery was an option. I said no because I realize my body is taking longer to heal. I wanted to give it more time and my wrist did end up healing on its own.

I told her about the thyroid issue and how my oncologist said it may recover on its own or this may be a permanent problem.

She said she understood, but warned me that even so, these fibroids will not get smaller. They may grow, but they will not shrink or disappear.

I told her I didn't like the idea of doing nothing. The pain last April and the minor discomfort right now is awful. If I can do something to possibly help my side and my back to feel better, I want to do whatever I need to do. The IUD issue is not an option. I had it taken out for a reason and I do not want to put it back in. The bleeding does not concern me or bother me. It is the fibroids alone that concern me.

The only seemingly viable option, then, is either the myomectomy or hysterectomy. Both have their pros and cons. The myomectomy means the fibroids will be taken out, but the ovaries will be left in. However, the fibroid in the ovary would remain. In time, it could grow and cause problems, putting me right back in this position. The other issue is recovery time. The myomectomy and hysterectomy both take between 4-6 weeks of recovery time. She said she is old school and does not perform the non-surgical hysterectomies.

She told me to consider the emotional impact of a hysterectomy. Even if I don't want kids, the reality that I cannot have kids could take an emotional toll. Should I choose the hysterectomy, I need to be prepared for the emotional impact and healing as well as the physical.

I told her that although I did not like my former gynecologist's attitude about "wait and see," that's exactly what I wanted to do right now. Because of the cancer, I wanted to wait and talk this over with my oncologist to see what he thinks. I fully trust him and value his opinion.

I left her office feeling deflated. On the one hand, I was glad that she is giving me options. On the other, I wish she would make the decision for me, take a lot of the stress off of me. Again, I do not like the idea of living with the discomfort and knowing I could end up in the hospital again with complications from them. If there is even a small chance that either surgical procedure could help me stomach and back feel better, why not try?

On the other hand, I am feeling better than I have felt in years. I am running and active and hope to get back into Krav Maga on some small level this week. I really, really, really don't want to be down for another 4-6 weeks. I've had enough of being sick. Plus, there is no good time to plan this. Work is busy. My RAD class is picking back up. I've been helping out in church. I hoped to go to Gethsemane again this October.

The other downer is the realization that I am still not healthy. I cannot afford to move back to Texas as long as I still have these issues. Will I be better and able to move home in another year? Will I have to give up that dream and just stay put? Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but it isn't what I hoped for.

On the one hand, if I think surgery is the way to go, now would be the time--while I have insurance and a good job instead of moving and possibly developing worse problems down the road and not having as good of a job or insurance. On the other hand, this is a very big deal, not a decision to be taken lightly.

For now, I will do my best not to think about it and wait and discuss the issue with Dr. Meluch in a few weeks. I ask for prayer for God to show me the way.

Survivor's Guilt and Post Cancer Anxiety

I have experienced a whirlwind of emotions this week. While it was going on, I felt too depressed to bother with writing about it. When it was over, I no longer cared. The thought occurred to me to simply forgo a blog entry. After all, how many people actually read it anymore now that I am cancer free.

Then, while on the way to breakfast with a few coworkers the other day, one of the guys asked about my port removal. He told our boss that he keeps up with how I'm doing by reading the blog. I told them about my experience on Sunday and how I thought I should write about it since my purpose for the blog has always been to be blatantly honest about my experience so that loved ones can stay up to date and so that others who may be going through their own cancer experience will know that what they are experiencing is normal. My boss told me that this type of honesty is important. It helped him when a friend shared her experience when she found out about his upcoming carotid artery surgery. This is the first chance I have had to share my story.

Sunday:
Just after walking into the house after church, I received an text from my mom. She shared that her cousin's son died that morning of cancer. Now, I barely remember her cousin. I am sure I have met his son, but I cannot place him. I may not even recognize him if I saw a picture of him. However, the news struck me in a profound and unexpected way. I immediately felt withdrawn and on the verge of breaking down. I hit a very hard depression. I was hungry, but in no mood to eat. I isolated myself in my bedroom.

Mike came in and asked if I was okay. I could not say a word. I tried, but I simply could not speak. Instead, I pulled up the text and showed it to him. As he read, I finally broke down and cried. When I could finally catch my breath, I tried my best to explain what I was feeling.

I did not know him. I wasn't upset for the normal reason one would be upset when someone died. I was upset because I felt guilty that he died and I lived. Not only did I live, but I had just gotten my port removed a few days before.

I had just come from church. In Sunday school, I shared the good news about my port with the class. I felt guilty as I said it because my friend, Cheryl was in class that day. She is battling her second round of cancer. She is only at church on occasion. She is dealing with intense treatments. We prayed over her husband for her last week. She was not there and he cried. His emotion touched me deeply. Her courage and genuine happiness for me overwhelm me sometimes. It's so unfair.

I get home and learn of my distant cousin's death from cancer. He had been sick less than six months. I thought about his family. I thought of my friend, Michael from Belmont who died late last year. Why was my family spared and their families had to suffer? Michael and Mikito wanted to live. They had children and families to live for. When I was sick, I prayed for death many times. I was fine with the death option. Why was I spared and they taken? What does God want from me? Why did He keep me here? What purpose does He have for me?

I knew and know all the right answers. Even as I whined to God, He told me my purpose is the same as it has always been, love. I may never know the why and it is not for me to know. Understanding the answers don't help the heart stop hurting. The last thing I wanted on Sunday was for anyone to try to tell me what I already knew. It just didn't make sense to me at the time. My heart and my head were at odds.

It's funny what brought me out of my funk. After dinner, I turned on the television and what was on? GI Jane. I must admit, I absolutely love that movie. I am not tough enough physically or emotionally to make it even one day through the Seal program, but I love to imagine myself as tough as Demi Moore's character. She is one tough cookie. I watched a few minutes of that movie before bed and felt pumped up and ready to tackle a new day. My depression, thank God, was very temporary.

Survivor's guilt is a very strange phenomenon, though. I imagine that is what it must feel like for soldiers returning from war. For a brief moment, I thought I should start seeing a counselor to discuss this. Then, I thought not. The benefits of my background is that I know exactly what a counselor would say or do. The most important thing is to understand and believe the truth even if you don't feel it and to talk about it. I did both several times with several people. I was honest with myself and others. I shared. I prayed. I did all the things a counselor would counsel. For anyone struggling with these issues who need help or someone to talk to, I would highly recommend counseling. Had these emotions stayed with me, I would have sought help. There is nothing shameful about counseling. I have seen a counselor several times in my life. Like I tell the women in my self defense class, women who are victims of a crime who seek counseling heal and are able to move on and live normal, healthy lives more easily and quickly than those who never seek help. Same is true for anyone going through an issue like survivor's guilt.

Thursday:
This morning, I had a bowel movement. Nothing out of the ordinary about that - except that I pooped blood and not just a trickle or two. There was so much blood that I thought I had started my period. There was so much blood that I wiped over and over again, being sure to only wipe my bottom to be sure where the blood was coming from. There was so much blood that I actually examined the stool itself.

I have never in my life bled that much from a bowel movement or knew that could in any way be normal. My port was taken out a week ago today. (It is doing well, by the way. No pain.) I had a blood cancer. now, I was now bleeding from my butt! I immediately jumped to worse case scenario. I had colon cancer and I was going to die. A coworker of mine died of colon cancer years ago.

I wanted to immediately call the doctor then call my family and tell Mike. But, two other officers and my boss were in my and Mike's office. We had a lot to discuss. I tried to stay focused on work, but I was so scared. I wanted to scream out, cry, something other than work.

My boss and another officer left. When the conversation between Mike and the remaining officer got to a point that I did not have to be involved in the conversation, I excused myself. I called and left a message for Dr. Meluch. I just knew he was going to call back and tell me to come in or schedule me for another colonoscopy.

I thought about contacting my parents and sister, but what would I say? Why worry them before I heard back from Dr. Meluch's office? I thought about calling just my mom and asking her to pray for me. Why worry her, though? I decided to not call anyone until there was something to say.

After running an errand on the other end of campus, I walked back to my office and talked to God. I was upset. It's not that I feared death. I have been down that road before. I was just upset because I didn't want to go through treatment again. I have been doing so well. I still need to work on my eating habits. I even contacted my primary care physician about seeing a nutritionist. But, my workouts have been awesome. I have been running and seeing great results. I planned to return to Krav Maga (bag class at least) next week now that the port is out. I started working hard to improve my life and health. Now this? I get a taste of health and see a vision of happiness possible in the future just for it to be taken away? No moving to Texas? No possible writing career or ministry or other job opportunity? This is it?

The lyrics to a Bon Jovi song came to mind. It was a song I heard during my jog this morning. From The Fighter "with loneliness next to me, fear sits in misery, nursing another black eye."

As the rest of the song and the next played on, my mind stopped and focused on those lyrics as I heard them. I had always listened to this song as a fighter who has been defeated or feels defeated. This time, I heard it differently. The slow melody does give it a sense of a broken person, but he is not lost. Times are tough, but he is tougher. He is lonely, but he is not letting fear beat him. He is not nursing another black eye. Fear is nursing another black eye. He beat fear. This is not the first time he beat fear either. Another black eye.

I imagined my own fears crouching in a corner crying and holding his eye, looking back at me like a child bully who was just put in his place.

For me, this morning, the fear was the run. Week five, day three of my 5K training. Running eight minutes at a time without stopping. Run eight minutes, walk five minutes, run another eight minutes. How in the world would I manage to run for eight minutes straight? I did it--twice!

This afternoon, the fear felt a little more real and a lot more threatening than upping my exercise routine.

"Fear sits in misery, nursing another black eye."

I took a few deep breaths and thanked God for the shift in focus and shift in attitude. With the help and grace of God, I can knock out this fear.

As I neared my office, I prayed, "My life is in your hands. I give it all to You. Take my life and make of it what you will. Take all of me and use me how You see fit."

I gave it all, every last bit of myself and my circumstances, whatever they may be, to God. In doing so, I felt at peace.

Even with that sense of God sent peace, I was still a bit withdrawn until my doctor's nurse returned my call later this afternoon.

I have been constipated for the past few days. The blood was bright red and stopped after the bowel movement.Bottom line (no pun intended), I feel no pain from a hemorrhoid, but I most likely have an internal hemorrhoid. She gave me treatment options and told me not to be concerned unless I continue bleeding, especially without bowel movements.

Mike could tell an instant change in my mood after the news. I felt lighter. I confessed to the nurse that I was really scared this morning. She reassured me. If Dr. Meluch is not concerned, then I won't be either.

What an emotional whirlwind! May explain why I crashed on the couch when I got home today. I've said it before, but it's worth repeating. Everyone can imagine what life with cancer is like. No one prepares you for life after cancer.

The Port is Out

This past Thursday, I had an appointment with my surgeon to remove my port. I wrongly assumed that I would be in the hospital and knocked out for the procedure like I was when they put it in. However, I had my biopsy at the same time as the insertion of the port so the first surgery was a bigger deal, but still. I would not have known any different had I not called the Monday prior to find out about the recovery time. The only reason I cared about the recovery time is because I was asked to help with vacation Bible school starting the following week. I wanted to know if I would be okay in a week's time to be able to assist with the cleanup crew on the last night. The nurse explained how the procedure would work. They would not be putting me out. I would feel no pain, only a little tugging when the port was pulled out. I would recover in no time.

Pain or not, I DID NOT like the idea of being awake for the procedure, but the same surgeon who put the port in was the same one scheduled to take it out. While in the hospital last summer, Dr. Meluch told me that Dr. Polk did not have the best bedside manner, but he was the best surgeon. I put a lot of trust in Dr. Meluch's opinion, therefore, I put a lot of trust in Dr. Polk. As long as he was in charge, I would let him perform the procedure the way he saw fit. My trust in the physician did little to calm my nerves. My apprehension intensified as Thursday drew closer.

I had a plan to get my mind off the procedure. My sister suggested listening to music. I planned on bringing my headphones and doing just that. I also planned on bringing my palm cross that my mom had given me to hold during chemo treatments. I planned on holding that and squeezing it if necessary. I also planned on eating a light breakfast as suggested since I had no idea how long it would be until I was able to and in a mood to eat again. I forgot all about my morning prep plans.

I did, however, go for a walk/jog the that morning before leaving for my appointment. The jog did a lot to calm my nerves, at least temporarily. Along the way, I found three pennies and a dime. Every time I find a penny, I pick it up and read the inscription, "In God We Trust." I pause and remember God and His love for me. I take it as a sign to slow down and put my trust in Him. I always seem to come across pennies when I need this reminder the most.

I said a small prayer of thanksgiving and thought, "Are You simply wanting to comfort me or are You preparing me for something above what I expect? Is something going to happen that I won't like?" I quickly dismissed this concern and thought, "It doesn't matter. Knowing I can trust in Him is a comfort, whether things go smoothly or if I hit a rocky patch." The run turned out to be more therapeutic than normal.

My friend, Mike, took me to the doctor's office. As is usually the case, I was not seen at the time of my appointment. I had to wait an extra half hour. The intake person told me that the procedure was no big deal. He said they would deaden the area then "I won't tell you what happens next." I told him I didn't want to know what happened next.

The man who took my vitals asked how I was doing. I confessed that I was quite nervous. He told me it was not big deal. I would feel a slight tug and that was it. Several people told me it was no big deal and assured me that it did not hurt. How did they know? Did they ever have it done to them?

As we waited, Mike pulled up a video on YouTube about the procedure. It amazes me how a simple Google search will pull up information on just about everything imaginable. Mike told me it looks like it only takes about 8 minutes. The guy on the video watched the procedure as it happened. I told Mike that I cared nothing about watching the video or watching it happen to me. I planned on keeping my eyes closed the entire time. Mike promised not to watch the video until I left.

They finally took me back. I waited in the room for what seemed like an eternity before the doctor arrived. When Dr. Polk finally came in, accompanied by another doctor and a nurse, he shook my hand and asked if we knew each other. I told him he was the one who put the port in. He said he thought so and asked if it was lymphoma that I had. It was. I thought to myself that this man either has a remarkable memory or this information was on my chart and he read it before coming into the room.

The time had come. With my hospital gown on, open to the front, I lay on top of the little operating bed. "Something must not have been right," Dr. Polk said. "I never put the port on the left side." I was going to suggest maybe it had something to do with doing the biopsy at the same time, but I was too scared to speak. I simply lay perfectly still and quiet with my hands at my sides.

I heard the three of them chatting as they prepped for the procedure. Dr. Polk apologized, but I told him I didn't mind. It was a good distraction for me. I opened my eyes and saw the giant syringe the nurse handed to him. I immediately closed my eyes again as he brought it closer to my chest. "Now this will burn." He emphasized the word "will." It reminded me of the shots my podiatrist gave me on the bottom of my feet when I had plantar faciitis, how he pushed the needle in, moved it around, being very specific on making the fluid go where it needed to go. It burned all right. That was not comfortable at all.

I figured they would wait a while for the shot to take effect, but apparently, there is no need to wait. He started immediately. I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on my breathing. I made an effort to keep my arms at my sides and relax my hands, keeping them opened and not balled into fists. I did not feel the cut, but I felt the tug. Not so bad yet, but a little nerve wracking. I thought we were just about through until I felt the tug again. At this point, I realized he had merely unhooked the port and now he was attempting to get it out.

He stopped and turned around. My eyes were still closed, but I could tell what he was doing by the sounds, light, and slight breeze as he turned away from me. As he turned he said, "Well, one thing I have to say about you. You heal quite well." I didn't have to ask what he meant. I immediately knew how to translate that statement. In other words "this sucker does not want to come out."

When he turned back around, I made the mistake of opening my eyes. I saw the bloody scalpel in his hand. I closed my eyes again. I could not feel a thing, but I knew he was cutting more as he tried to free the port. Then, the real tugging started. My whole chest heaved up and down as he tugged. I did not need to feel it to be able to imagine what was going on. I knew how hard he had to be tugging in order for my chest to move like that.

When the procedure first started, I sang the song "God is an Awesome God" silently in my head. The words were calm and precise. As he tugged, cut, tugged, cut, and tugged some more, my body tensed. My hands slowly inched toward my stomach. I repeated the line "God is an awesome God" over and over and over and over again. The voice in my head screamed these words.

Sensing my tension, the nurse and doctor asked me if I was okay, if I felt any pain. "No," I reassured them. "I'm just nervous." The nurse tried to calm me by reminding me of the benefits of doing this procedure in the office rather than in the hospital. She told me that Dr. Polk was the only one in that building who did this procedure in the office. The others made their patients go to the hospital. By doing it here, though, I was saving a ton of money by not having to pay for the hospital room and every single person in that room. I was saving time because by the time we were done with the procedure, I would just be finished filling out the admittance papers at the hospital. By not having to have anesthesia, my recovery time will be much quicker. I told them that I did appreciate all that, but I was nervous nonetheless. Thank goodness I forgot to eat breakfast. The growing trepidation I felt may have caused me to throw it all up. That would not have been good.

When the port finally came out, I heard a small popping sound like a cork when it is pulled out of a bottle of wine. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the tugging was over. As he neared the end of stitching me up, I could feel it. I opened my eyes and saw the bloody thread as he pulled it up. I closed my eyes once again. I winced a couple of times and he apologized for hurting me. Even though I could feel that part, the pain of the stitches was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt as he tugged at the port trying to get it out.

When the doctors left and the nurse cleaned me up, she gave me instructions for the next few days. Leave the bandages on until Sunday. It was okay to get it wet, but don't soak it. Refrain from using that arm or putting any pressure on it for the day, but I was free to go back to work on Friday if I felt up to it.

I asked about how I would feel when the shot wore off. She told me it would not hurt like I thought it would because the port was not in muscle. Any anti-inflammatory would do. I asked when I could run again. She told me I could walk as much as I wanted now, but should be able to run again by Monday.

Before I left, I put my shirt back on and stuffed my bra in my pocket. I had no intention of trying to put it on again for at least 24 hours.

Mike took me home and made sure I had everything I needed before leaving for work. Since I did not have any anesthesia, my head felt fine. My chest was tender and I was exhausted from exerting so much energy on nerves. I was propped up on a lot of pillows with one on my chest to keep Bailey from jumping on me. I spent the rest of the day in bed. I stayed home Friday as well. I had already planned on taking both days off when I thought it was going to be more of an ordeal than it was. I decided to keep the day off and continue to rest and heal. Even though I only needed to take something for the pain once, I was still a little tender and reluctant to wear a bra.

The bandage is still on today and the tape itches some, but other than that, I feel fine. Nothing to it after all, except for a little anxiety. It was mentally the final barrier to truly being cancer free. Even though I still have to get CT scans every three months for a while, this was a big hurtle to real recovery. It was the major obstacle keeping tied to Nashville. Now, come my one year anniversary date, if my mind is still set on Texas and it be God's will for me, I will be able to finally go home...on my terms. As I told my ex the other day, I never felt like we set down any real roots in Nashville. I am ready to do so, whether here or back home. I'm just ready to settle down, whatever that looks like and wherever that is. I'm tired of wandering.