My more astute readers have started to realize that somewhere the storyline dropped off and I never got back to it. Some of you are attentive enough to see that I skipped over part 2 and went to part 3. That’s okay, it all happened out of order for me too.
When I woke up, I cracked some jokes, was tormented by the recovery room nurses having chinese food for lunch, and was amazed my throat didn’t hurt. I got to my room and cracked more jokes. I had to explain why there was a Barbie sticker on my chart. (because I asked for one) I’m pretty certain even in her drugged state I drove my roomate nuts, because every time someone mentioned computers I told them how many sites I had. The last time, she snorted from her side of the curtain. I cracked more jokes, was declared more competent that the nursing consultants on staff, got little sleep, cracked some more one-liners in the wee hours, talked to my doctor at 7am, and as soon as I could, got up, got dressed, called Ron and woke him up so I could go the heck home.
And there I waited for recovery and my six week check-up.
Unbeknownst to me, my doctor got my lab results back, knew what he had to do, and called another doctor for a second opinion. This doctor was a busy man in another city, so I got a call out of the blue from his receptionist. When an oncologist calls and they want to see you the next day, it’s a pretty scary call to get.
Ron came home that night.
I can’t say we didn’t have any idea why they were calling. I’d already done enough reading up on the subject, surfing medical websites for a large portion of my day. The only thing I needed to know was how bad and if I had any options.
The next morning we all piled in the car and headed off to Moncton to the Oncology center. I must say, it is a very nice place. the waiting room was awesome, with couches, games, puzzles and even balls of yarn. Free coffee too. I was whisked away quickly though, at the top of the doctors list. I know people complain about wait times and such, but being at the top of the doctor’s list isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Eventually, Ron and I talked to a very nice articulate doctor. He even drew a diagram. (I offered, but he said he’d do it.) He said I had two choices, and two not very good ones either.
– they can do a bigger, trickier, messier and uglier cone biopsy, removing substantially more of my cervix, leaving a huge gaping hole, then keep an eye on things, maybe some chemo & radiation, and probably eventually do a hysterectomy.
– just do a hysterectomy already, which will remove all the cancer cells completely.
In all my reading, even the most conservative of advice for hsyterectomies and avoiding them, they all said “but if it’s anything to do with cancer, have it done” So that’s what we’re doing. I get to keep my ovaries, though, unless he finds something wrong with Righty. That one is gives me pain and has/had a cyst, which he’s said was normal and would go away.
You know, my mom had a hysterectomy at 36, and I’ve always said I wanted to avoid that. The irony is the final surgery date is March 30th – less than a week before my 37th birthday. The female line of my family has kept a team of specialists fully employed over the years, what with all the problems they’ve had. I was the only one who’d escaped any issues this long.
I figure there’s two ways to handle life’s curveballs: you can curl up in a ball and cry all day about it, but you wind up with puffy eyes, a runny nose and a headache,. That’s not attractive and doesn’t help anyone. Or you can pull up your bootstraps, pick yourself up, put on your big girl panties and deal with it, laughing. Some days that’s all I’ve got left.
Besides, one of my awesome internet friends has already knitted me a replacement.