"Don't hog your journey": Part II

Thank you all so much for your sweet, personal, and uplifting commentary about Thursday’s post.  You are making what feels like a huge leap of faith that much easier.  My story, though personally devastating and unique to me, is but one story.  Upwards of 260,000 women in the U.S. alone will have their own stories to share this year.  They are, I imagine, equally sad, equally inspirational, and equally sobering.  I appreciate that you’re taking the time to focus on mine and I’m hoping it will be helpful to someone (or lots of someones) now that I have decided to share it.

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As my surgery date drew closer, so did the holidays, last-minute Christmastime preparations ... and germs.  Lots and lots of nasty germs.  I had just finished with the most essential holiday baking and food gifts (knowing that I would be sidelined for weeks after surgery and wanting to grasp at some semblance of ‘normal’) when the stomach flu decided to take root in our home.  With a vengeance.  It was most definitely not funny at the time, but as with so many life events, a little distance has made the absurd rather humorous.  

Oh, yes ...  sometimes you just have to find the funny, folks.  Wherever it may be and whenever it presents itself. 

Connor was the first casualty, followed quickly by Brendan (in the car no less!), and then Todd.  The day before my surgery.  It was epic and I was beginning to wonder just how much we were meant to bear.  I was also petrified that I would become ill, causing all of our well-oiled surgery and post-surgery plans and meal arrangements to be thoroughly thwarted and delayed. 

Somehow I managed to stay healthy and Todd made a miraculous recovery.  We left bright and early for the hospital and continued on with  mixed emotions, a healthy dose of fear, and the belief that we’d be all right (and done with the worst) after surgery.  It was all completely surreal and we didn’t do a whole lot of talking.  The nurses were wonderful and the pre-op procedures bearable because the professionals in charge of those duties were so kind and skilled.  Again I remember feeling that I was in very capable hands. 

Just before surgery, the anesthesiologist shared with me that she too had gone through the same surgery just sixteen months before.  She was also young -- and a mom -- and I remember thinking she did not have to share that personal information with me.  But I was so glad she did and I was completely touched by her candor.  I was also uplifted to think that she too had managed to endure and seemingly thrive in the aftermath.  So I kissed Todd goodbye and the next thing I remember is waking up in a recovery room packed to the gills with patients, many of whom were making a scene as they came out of anesthesia.  It was nothing short of a madhouse in there! 

I was brought to my room well after dark.  Nearly half a day had passed since the surgery began and I was still quite groggy, uncomfortable, and restless.  As I looked at Todd, I knew something was wrong.  And it was.  He told me that when the doctor biopsied my primary lymph node, the on-site tests found cancer cells there.  Which meant that she then had to remove all of the lymph nodes on my right side for further testing.  Given the ‘clean’ image from the MRI I’d had, this information came as a huge blow to me.  It meant that the worst was only beginning.  It meant that chemo would be a must where it hadn’t even been on the table before, and it meant that the bottom fell out of my world for a second time in as many months.  The roller coaster ride was far from being over, unfortunately.  I cried angry, hot tears right there in front of the nurses that night ... all while Todd assured me we’d be okay.  I wasn’t so sure and I just couldn’t imagine how I was going to deal with what was coming.  Giving up was not an option, but I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get through to the cure that was still very much a reality.

This may shock you, but I was discharged the very next day after one crazy busy night in the hospital.  My favorite nurse continually teased me because my number of choice on the 1-10 pain scale was always a three.  Most people, she assured me, chose at least nine.  I remember her telling Todd  something to the effect of “This one’s a real tough cookie.”  And, as I recall, he chucked and said something like “You have no idea.”  Both of my doctors cleared me to leave and were pleased to know that I was antsy to get home.  At Christmastime, apparently, a hospital is a hotbed of ‘germiness’ and they wanted me home ASAP to avoid infection.  Though I could’ve stayed, I was more than happy to oblige.  If I was going to feel lousy, I wanted to feel lousy at home.  And I wanted nothing more to do with doctors, nurses, procedures, and bad news.

The next days fell into a predictable and comforting routine of timely meds, surgical drain maintenance, movies, couch time, and lots of food love from friends and family.  We were all well cared for, together, and in what seemed like a protective bubble far removed from the reality that was looming.  But not until after New Year’s once I had healed enough to proceed with treatment.  I allowed myself to set all of that aside as we looked forward to Christmas with the kids and our families.  My brother and his wife came to stay and they were a huge help, along with being a wonderful presence.  My drains came out two days before Christmas -- which was a huge boost.  I finally got to shower and I was feeling stronger every day.  Christmas was bittersweet, but I soaked it all in and dreamed of next Christmas ... when this journey would be a memory.  Oh, the plans I made!

The post-holiday blues, quite predictably, hit hard -- especially as we learned that two additional lymph nodes had been microscopically affected.  The enormity of the situation felt even weightier and more impossible to bear than ever.  We had told the kids only what they most needed to know and now we had to get down to brass tacks and share more with them than we ever intended to.  I wanted to protect them for as long as possible, but the truth -- delivered in a way they could understand -- had to come out.  We talked about breast cancer, chemo, hair loss, fatigue, and so many other things.  We were digging in for the long haul and, like it or not, they too were going to be along for the ride.  Their acceptance and resiliency inspired me.  And it was then that we all began to look forward, to plan for better days, and to make the most of whatever ‘good’ ones presented themselves.  Then we prepared to meet with my oncologist. 

The next unwelcome chapter was about to begin.

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Part III will be forthcoming.  Please stay tuned and thanks again for your keen interest, prayers, cheer leading and support.  What a gift!