The Date

We have a date. It is September 7. That is when I will have my “debulking” surgery, known as the Mother Of All Surgeries (MOAS).  I saw the nurse list it on a form as “exploratory/hysterectomy.” I’ve been calling it the hysterectomy+.

I love my surgeon. After the serious fiasco of my surgery plan falling apart two weeks before I was scheduled to get surgery (for that story, read the second half of this post ), I met with my new surgeon on Tuesday (August 16). August 16 was the date I was supposed to have my actual surgery at Mayo.

This was a hard appointment. Going over the details of the surgery was tough– the main point which is that cancer cells are microscopic and she would get what she could see, where she could see it, but at Stage IV she would inevitably not get it all. The incision will go from my diaphram/breast bone down to my lower abdomen (though she will go around the belly button). This was actually reassuring to me– she can get more places with an incision like that.

She explained the bowel situation– the cancer nodules can become like plaque. They start in the lining but can become patches that anchor into the bowel wall. If that has happened, she will do a bowel resection, cutting out part of the bowel and resecting it. That might not happen in my case, but on the worst case scenario side, there may be too much “plaque” to remove and still have a functioning bowel.

For this surgery, depending on what she finds, it is a balance between removing the cancer and cancer-damaged tissue, and preserving quality of life and life itself through maintaining functioning organs.

My surgeon is fantastic. She is a superstar. I just loved everything she said, even as it was very difficult to take in and process. Her approach, her passion, her willingness to bond with me, a woman who has come to her office at the 12th hour, was inspiring. And I am grateful.

The date was initially scary– nine weeks out. When in my mind I had 3-6 weeks as the optimal window. But my surgeon was confident, she said really the only problem was the anxiety, the mental game, for me. That anything that was there was not brightly lighting up the scan, that my scan results were “exceptional.” That whatever was there, if it was growing at all, would only be easier to “get” in the surgery. That going to nine weeks, in my case, did not change the surgical plan at all.

And so, I have processed much of this information. And amazingly, as I have throughout, I feel quite at peace. If anything, these three weeks are too few to do all I want to do. I want to write, and I made a start of that yesterday. I want to can tomatoes, and I will do that hopefully this weekend.

I told Steve, after a dinner of scallops on Tuesday night, that the gourmet food would now slow down! There is time. Time for some “healthy, feeling good” living before the surgery. The surgery followed probably by two more rounds of chemotherapy, to kill every microscopic cancer cell we can manage to kill. Which will take me to the end of 2016. And I will say goodbye to this year, and march into 2017 with hopes for a long remission. Hope. And Faith.

Again I return to my first night’s prayer. Surrender. Falling into this. Trusting in God and surgeon. Trusting in what will be. And so many people have responded with the words of Julian of Norwich: “All will be well.” Simple and powerful.