Major Surgery & the Road to Recovery

Life After Cancer: A Fender Bender

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I know, I know, I’m supposed to be off of the Internet for a month. Well I interrupt this regularly scheduled experiment with a (quite literal) bump in the road.

We were in fender bender this morning, well yesterday morning by now. It was a minor accident, we were hit from behind at a red light. But because I have a titanium mesh plate in my head, had a blood clot in my brain after that surgery, a TIA from that blood clot and have had multiple skin grafts and 32 radiation treatments I decided a trip to the ER was warranted when I could not get my neurosurgeon on the phone and he was not in his office. I was scared to death the jarring from the accident could have caused damage to the plate.

No airbags were deployed and I didn’t hit my head or anything like that but I didn’t know if the force of the accident could possibly move or jar the plate. I knew I felt fine but there have been so many set backs and so many unexpected twists have popped up during this journey that I didn’t really know how to feel and I didn’t want to take any chances. As someone else who has experienced and lived with cancer said, minor doesn’t really mean anything when you’ve found yourself on the wrong side of the odds. I was terrified they’d find something wrong and I’d end up back in the hospital again for something I thought was minor.

Thanks be to God, I didn’t need a CAT scan or MRI. All of my neurological tests/reflexes were fine and we were out of the ER in less than 2 hours, which has to be some sort of land speed record for ER visits.

We are both fine, I’m sure we’ll be sore later but for tonight I find myself fighting anxiety and feeling blessed that the accident was minor.

Because I Promised I’d Always Openly Share My Truths

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I’m feeling a little raw tonight. When I ended the 365 Days of Carol Anne blog on December 31, 2011 I decided not to write about my health and/or assorted medical hijinks. I suppose I was a little delusional that with that declaration that the cancer journey would slow down or come to a close. When I started writing about my surgeries and my cancer I promised I’d always share my real and honest truth so tonight I share with you my real truth at the 2 year, 8 month, and 2 week mark. Things are not perfect and I’m feeling tired and a little ugly.

It’s been 2 years, 8 months, and 2 weeks since I walked into the ER on October 11, 2010. It’s been 2 years, 8 months, and 12 days since my first surgery. Since October 11, 2010 I’ve spent 20 1/2 days in the hospital and 4 1/2 days in a rehab (aka nursing home), I’ve had had 6 surgeries, 32 radiation treatments, I’ve lost count on the total of MRIs, blood work, and doctor appointments I’ve had since that day.

I’m tired, tired of feeling like I live in doctors’ offices, tired of scheduling my life around doctor appointments and medical tests, tired of being bald, tired of not being able to wear a wig and sad that my hair will never grow back. It’s been 2 years, 8 months, and 12 days and after 3 skin grafts and 1 muscle flap surgery that leaves me with limited use of my left arm there are still 2 spots on my head where the skin has yet to fully grow back. I saw the plastic surgeon on Monday and the advice is always the same, just keep babying it along, it will get better, blah, blah, blah.

I’m so grateful to be alive and to be cancer-free, but there are days when hope for better days isn’t enough. It’s hard to keep fighting, it’s hard to keep trying to be positive, and it’s hard not to feel ugly or disfigured.

On Faith & Divine Mercy

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Sunset after mass, Sunday, April 7, 2013

Today is Divine Mercy Sunday. The priest said in his sermon tonight that God meets us where we are. I’ll add that to the thoughts that have been running through my head this week.

I’ve been struggling with the deaths of several people I grew up with/went to school with, all of whom were of similar ages. In the last three years I’ve survived two major surgeries, four minor surgeries, and 32 radiation treatments. I’m a little more than one-year cancer-free and I know that it could have been me. I could have been any one of the three who died. I’m grieving for the loss of the cocoon of invincibility that youth and good health provide.

Tonight by the grace of God’s divine mercy and the power of prayer I’m alive and well and grateful for my life. I’ll work the rest out as I go.

Perspective … I haz it

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I went to bed tired last night. I missed a party and/or a trip to Cape May to get things done ahead of time. I woke up with a sore back this morning. I’ve never been happier or more grateful for hard work and a sore back. Two years ago today I was waking up at home for the first time since October 11. In the days and weeks and months following I couldn’t help with much and couldn’t do much. Chuck and I are partners, we always have been. I don’t let him drop me off outside a restaurant or mall because it’s raining, if he gets rained on, I get rained on. If we are working around the house, we both work. It’s how our relationship works and it was incredibly difficult not to be able to be the partner I’ve always been. Yesterday for the first time in two years I was a partner again; I washed the bird feeders down and brought them in and swept up the birdseed that had fallen all over the back patio. I raked leaves and helped bag them all up. We’re all set for the storm and I helped make that happen.

It’s been a very long time since I felt whole. I’m not sure I feel entirely whole just yet but yesterday was huge step forward in wholeness and healing. You guys, I’m alive and well and well on my way toward feeling whole again. Thank you, you brought me here with your love and your prayers. I love you all.