How I got here...

Cancer. This is a journey I never expected to take-- couldn't happen to me. WRONG! Even though I can catastrophize with the best of them, I hadn't even considered a scenario where I got anything but a clean bill of health from my colonoscopy. It was a routine test, scheduled because I was due. No symptoms. Nothing that would lead me to worry about any outcome other than the expected. I fully intended to wake up post-procedure, get dressed and go have lunch with my husband.

Instead, I find myself on a very, very different road now. My whole life is changed-- not sure where I'm going, only that a long and difficult road is between here and "whole again." I have been so totally overwhelmed by calls, and cards and notes and food and flowers from so many friends it's hard to grasp. But the good wishes and prayers are what have sustained me these last 3 weeks. So this blog seemed to be a good way to share the journey for anyone interested, and I'm told it will be therapeutic for me. We'll see. I do seem to be short a few brain cells post-surgery so if nothing else, will be good exercise!

It started with a routine scheduled colonoscopy. I'd had one about 5-6 years before so knew what to expect, etc. But waking up to the words "colon cancer" wasn't in the plan. I'm sure it was much harder for my family-- my husband who was waiting and realizing it was taking too long and something must be wrong. That part is kind of hazy for me. I remember "colon cancer" and being given the option of going home and coming back to start all over, OR choose a surgeon and proceed with surgery ASAP. I chose the latter and they admitted me to the hospital at that point. That was my only real decision. God handled the rest. He provided me with a wonderful, caring gastroenterologist-- who I had just met for the first time that morning. He sent me an awesome surgeon, and a wonderful oncologist. They are my team and are guiding me on this journey.

The hospital stay is becoming more hazy by the day-- thankfully. Ten days total-- 4-5 days of that in ICU. I didn't even realize at the time I was in ICU. But when Charlie (my husband) commented for the 3rd or 4th time on what beautiful flowers I'd received from someone, I got suspicious. I may have been on drugs, but could look around the room and plainly see there were no flowers! Who was he trying to sell here? That's when he told me I was in ICU and the flowers were waiting elsewhere.

So, I survived the surgery. Dr. Roberts, my surgeon, removed 60% of my colon and resected it in 2 places. My gastroenterologist-- Dr. Silver-- was quite surprised that I had had no symptoms. In hindsight, I realize I might have felt bloated pre-surgery, but just chalked it up to being overweight-- I hadn't given it a second thought.

I can't emphasize enough how important it is to have a colonoscopy when you hit the magic age-- 45 or 50. It's yucky, for lack of a more descriptive word, and nobody enjoys it. Heck, nobody even wants to talk about it-- myself included. But I have to emphasize again-- I HAD ZERO SYMPTOMS. This colonoscopy saved my life, I hope. If you're due, please go get one. Do it for your family and the people who love you.

So, here I am almost 3 weeks post-surgery. I'm pretty much off the pain killers-- they do give you some awesome drugs in the hospital-- maybe that's why it's a little hazy... I'm still having trouble sleeping. My oncologist gave me something new yesterday-- Restaril?-- so we'll see how that works. But my surgeon said my sleep cycle would be disrupted for awhile. Sigh... Everything seems much more doable if I can just sleep.

My chemotherapy is scheduled to start week of August 3rd. It will be a 3-day cycle every other week, 12 sessions total-- 6 months. I've been briefed on the possible side effects which seem a little daunting. In the hospital, having survived the surgery, which was pretty big in my world, the prospect of chemotherapy seemed less scary. I sort of figured at the time, I've gotten through the surgery, that has to be the worst of it. Now I'm having second thoughts.

Actually, yesterday when I walked into my oncologist's office for the first time and was confronted with a female patient who was obviously going through chemo (she was bald), I kind of lost it. Since then I've been thinking a lot about the millions of men and women who have preceded me on this journey. We are all surrounded by them. Do we notice them? Do we really see them? I don't think I did before this. Of course, the most obvious visible sign is baldness. But I never really thought about these people before or what they must be going through. I have to admit to maybe even being afraid of them. Like, if I acknowledge them it might make me more vulnerable to this disease. I hope I've been alone in these thoughts and that others are more compassionate than I have been till now. I realize now that hair loss is just a superficial thing-- it almost doesn't even count when you look at the bigger picture of the suffering these people are enduring. And it's daily-- 24/7, especially in the middle of the night. You can't escape it. It's like a cape you're forced to wear and you can't take it off. The best I can hope for is to stand up tall and wear it the best I can-- I won't let it wear me.