Recovery

The test we must set for ourselves is not to march alone but to march in such a way that others will wish to join us.
― Hubert Humphrey

 

On Wednesday I had my operation. Everything went well. I had an option to have my tubes removed as well, since I was already on the table, I decided to take this extra preventative measure. So, I still have my ovaries, however, the uterus, cervix and tubes were removed.

I am looking back to the night before I went, trying to remember if I had any expectation, trying to remember what was going through my mind. I know, deep down inside I was just exhausted, and sitting today I still feel the same.

Things are different though, and the tiredness I feel is more from the nervous energy I have than the fear and dread I was eating through a few days ago.

Do women talk about their procedures after the fact? What do they say? Is it horrible to have nothing to say?

I was by myself Wednesday night in the hospital, with what I expect to be, the worst pain I’ve experienced in my life. My catheter was pulled out at 3 pm, and every two hours I was peeing knives. My belly, bloated from the surgery was getting more bloated by the hour. I imagined my organs inside inflamed and pulsing from being pushed around. My abdominal section, almost nonexistent, stinging and pinching every time I breathed in and out. I cried a lot that night. I know it was part from the pain, and part from the realization of what I had just gone through.

Things have slowly been better each day. I’m trying to walk a little farther each day. The swelling has slowly gone down, and the pain is less consistent.

I have a list I go over in my head every night: getting through this initial two week period where I’m immobile is the first item. Slowly regaining core strength through movement is the second. Starting work again at the end of May is the third. Getting back on the bike for training is the fourth. The fifth is tying back into the climbing rope, I’m aiming for mid June.

Things are slowly unfolding, and everything that was before will still be, just different. Not different in a negative way, just different.  There’s nothing wrong with different, sometimes you need different.

I feel fortunate to be here, surrounded by the people that I am, that’s enough for today.

Tubes and all.

Last Wednesday I had my first oncology appointment. I hadn’t slept the night before, and was very tired. I was fortunate enough to have the company of my partner, Michael, through the course of the visit. I don’t think my attitude would have been as positive afterward if it hadn’t been for his encouragement, support and caring.

So this is it: I have to have a hysterectomy.

Here is why: At first I was told I have clear margins, this was from my most recent surgery, the cold knife cone biopsy. When I met with the oncologist this was and wasn’t true. Although I do not “have cancer,” cancerous cells are in place. I was diagnosed with Adenocarcinoma in situ (CIN II). Carcinoma are cancerous cells, in situ means in place. This was very different than their original assessment. First, only surface tissues seemed to be involved. Upon further evidence from the pathology report, they discovered that the abnormal cells were deeper in the cervical tissue than they’d like to see, especially after the biopsy. Also, they were showing up in the glands that run parallel throughout the cervical tissue.

Awesome!

I was given two choices for further treatment. First, if I was planning on having kids, my best option would be another cold knife cone biopsy, one where the surgery would go deeper into the cervical canal and also deeper into the tissue walls to remove as much as possible. I would probably have complications if I were to have kids. My cervix would have to be stitched.

The second option was a total hysterectomy. I would have the cervix, uterus and tubes removed, but I’d get to keep my ovaries. This option would be only if I was ok never having kids, and am not family driven.

Imagine sitting in an office chair and a doctor tells you that you’re basically making a semi or permanent decision about your fertility.

I cried a little, but mostly was in shock! I’m 34, I get annual PAPs, all of which had been clean, all of them except this last one. I felt conflict: what if I did eventually want to have kids someday? why was this happening now? are seriously kidding me?….they had to be someone else’s results.

After spending the night talking with friends, family and Michael, I decided, for me personally, the hysterectomy was the best option. I’ve never been “driven” to have kids. I love them, but realistically, if it hadn’t really happened by now, I wasn’t expecting it to, and had made amends with life in general.

So here I am. My surgery is May 2nd. It’s, for me, the most logical choice to make considering the facts. I could have biopsy after biopsy and possibly never remove all the offending cells. Not only that but I’d be destroying my cervix in the process. Or, I just remove the parts where the cells are lurking, possibly in areas yet undiscovered, and I lose my fertility, permanently.

I thought hard about this decision. I cried hard about it. Never being able to have kids is a big deal. But not being around at some point to enjoy life, family and Michael, is even worse. I’m sacrificing the parts for the good of the whole.

F Cancer.