Well, it was nice while it lasted... The reprieve from cancer.
Three weeks ago, I had a routine CT scan that showed 2 problem areas. One in the pelvis and a few small spots in the liver. We were immediately thrown into the whirlwind of PT/CT scans, blood tests, and my first MRI (yipee).
My needle phobia came back with a vengeance, and I found myself on the phone with hypnotists and counselors, who had lengthy advice but no availability.
The more extensive tests showed that there was indeed cancer everywhere they suspected. I would require a pelvic surgery, a liver surgery, chemo, and perhaps radiation. One week later, before I could grasp it all (not that I really wanted to), I woke up from a 14-hour surgery with another compressed nerve in my leg and tubes come out of me from every which way. I felt like that evil dude from Spiderman who highjacks all the electricity through his tentacles.
I am told that the surgery was a great success. They got the cancer with wide margins (surgeons are about as obsessed with margins as tenth grade English teachers) and no sign of cancer in the lymph nodes. Excellent.
They had thought I would be in the hospital for 7-10 days, I got to go home after 5 days for good behavior. Thank goodness. The kids were losing it at home. Memories, I think, were resurfacing, and Tom and my mom were having a hard time dividing their energy between me and the kids while trying to deal with all the emotions gone haywire.
The children want me to be better faster, but are glad that I am at least here, even if I still harp on them about their table manners... (Does it even help? The harping?).
I am still trying to take it easy and follow the doctors orders. I have always tried to do too much. I'm wired with a lot of energy. But my dad said something after he was recovering from a double hip replacement... he said that if you take it slow and steady, following the doctor's advice instead of attempting to cut corners, you're taking better care of yourself which is ultimately better for everyone. I'm trying to follow his advice. I'm walking every day, doing piano practice with the kids, but resting and sleeping... I'm not worrying about meals or cleaning or picking up the kids. I'm lucky enough to be surrounded with loved ones and friends who make this possible. My mother has been amazing.
Right now my goal is to heal from the surgery. If I think beyond that, I get terrified and overwhelmed. Fear is ever-present, Tom and I take turns freaking out and being calm. We count on the words from my oncologist that every spot of cancer is still removable. The bastard is back but I am still curable. I have every intention of getting it out for good this time and moving on. Wish us luck.
You have my wishes & prayers, Renee! and so for all the family! A day doesn't pass that your battle ebbs up in my consciousness, although I am battling with you constantly in my heart! Your dad has given you excellent advice as you well know. My love to you all. A. Diane (Boonie)
Posted by: Aunt Diane (Aunt Boonie) | March 08, 2011 at 01:42 PM
P.S. Coley I like the new background color; I liked the navy blue too, but this seems more positive for some reason. GBWY
Posted by: Aunt Diane (Aunt Boonie) | March 08, 2011 at 01:43 PM
Hi there, sweetie! Francis said to me after we found out the new about the new round: "Coley's had a big chunk of bad luck with all this. But she's had a lot a good luck within the bad luck." Maybe all those little good lucks will add up to no more cancer, ever. You're in my thoughts all the time.
I bounce with Gabriel on the exercise ball Gabriel every day, usually after his nap when he's still a little sleepy and needs a cuddle. (I used to do this when he was wee, then there was a long reprieve, but at about 18 months he wanted it again). Always some sort of improvised song or tune comes out of it which I can never reproduce even twenty minutes later. Whatever's there just sort of bubbles up and is gone into the ether. Today it was some sort of Native American sounding chant that I sang out as the sun was hanging low in the sky (he got up around 5). It seemed full of grief and sweet sorrow, surrender and fight. And I just knew it was for you, too, so sang it out to you, sending it to the other side of this continent. Thinking of you always, your friend, Lilo.
Posted by: Lilo | March 11, 2011 at 07:48 PM
You already know you all have my support. I just wanted to leave a comment so you know I, too, am back at Batmom, following the news you post there.
:)
xo
Posted by: don | March 16, 2011 at 04:49 PM
What to say? ... I'm here again. I hear you.
Slow and steady is great advice. You've healed before, you can do it again.
Fear can be good, it makes us more alert, but then... sooo much of what we fear never comes to be.
You can do this! You are a seasoned warrior woman.
Posted by: Christina | March 17, 2011 at 02:58 PM
Glad to hear you are taking good care of yourself. You will beat this. Hugs
Posted by: George Shuput | March 22, 2011 at 08:06 PM
There are certainly a lot of details like that to take into consideration.
Posted by: Animals Paintings | April 26, 2011 at 11:52 PM