Bravery, Carcinoid tumor, Health vs. Beauty, ovarian cancer, Women

Bravery: Not Always Pretty.

After the elective ovary-fallopian tube removal surgery that filled my abdomen with air, then sliced, diced, washed and scrutinized everything that could be examined in my abdomen — along the way my appendix didn’t look good, so the surgeon nipped that out too — the bloating had finally reduced enough on day four so that I could see my feet. In disbelief I howled my first complete sentence into the shower steam;

“WHO THE F DID THEY GIVE THE RAZOR TO?”

That was when I got my first laugh, bent over the sink holding a towel to my sutured belly. I needed that laugh. My belly was a mountain range of peeling steri-strips, yellow bruising up and down and around, my belly button full of stitches.

Thanks to two friends in the medical profession I had been linked up with a first class surgeon. April 20, 2017, was her first available surgery slot — a completely random date, for a straightforward elective preventative surgery  — which turned out to be more crucial than anyone knew. Two weeks into recovery, pathology reported that my female bits were all fine. But I only got half a victory lap. The appendix was filled with tumor.

The road back from this surgery initially required patience, sleep and helping hands. But most importantly, this one required, and still requires, bravery.

I am healing from round one and my work isn’t done. I have been overwhelmed and full of fear since the pathology report, the kind that makes your knees weak and your head disconnected, a paralysis that had me knocking things over when I bothered to even get off the couch. I did not know this fear, a bleak, dark, exhausting swamp that mired me day and night, that arrested my healing, my appetite and my sleep. I didn’t want to be alone, and then cringed when anyone saw me. This was ugly. This was not brave.

And then, last week, I went back to Mass General Hospital and met with my GI Oncologist and the next surgeon for round two. As we talked, I felt the anxiety rise out of me. Like a palpable, visible mist right off my shoulders. I suddenly realized I chose trust. As these two men looked me in the eye and laid out our game plan, I understood that after a life of being in control I could recognize when to give it away. I didn’t google, or argue, or faint. I asked questions and listened carefully. I brought a note taker.

The next day I received an email from a fellow writer and cancer survivor. She wrote me: You have to be a fighter. And I would add, to be a fighter, you need to chose your team to go to battle with you. And when I chose, and accepted, I got my first good night’s sleep.

As I move forward, this life changing surgery — now referred to as surgery #1 —  leads me in a few weeks to surgery #2. I choose to count my blessing; if I had postponed the first surgery until after my daughter’s wedding in September the situation would have been immeasurably worse. I will have deeper scars and take longer to heal. I have to ask friends and family to re-boot meals and help and support all over again (thank you). I will most likely marvel if not laugh over the new mountain range of scars and the price of spanxx.

Bravery isn’t pretty, but I am upright.

Though frankly, the guy in surgery #1 with the razor (had to be a guy) might have tried to do something about those stretch marks while he was down there.

To be continued.

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Nurse Olive never left my side.

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14 thoughts on “Bravery: Not Always Pretty.”

  1. Harle says:

    Alex – I’m so, so sorry you have another battle to wage, but also so, so happy that you were proactive in discovering the cancer in your appendix! You are one of the strongest women I know – a true warrior – and you will beat this too! Good thoughts going your way. Xoxo Harle

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  2. Lisa says:

    So happy you found such great doctors that allowed you to let go, knowing you that was probably not easy. Can’t wait to see those warrior scars. Wish I was there to cook you a good meal. Funny times, can’t wait till I can really chuckle about all of this.

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  4. Dear Cousin,
    While I love reading your blog, this one was disheartening…but only for a moment. Having a team you rely on is critical, and having the faith to trust takes great courage and strength. You’ve got this! Rest. Call on friends and family (including me). Keep the faith. ♡

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  5. Sally says:

    OMG …. I thought our visits to the East coast were all related to wedding planning.
    So glad you are on top of this….You are strong and can do this! Our thoughts and love are with you 💙

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  9. Jane Comstock says:

    I feel I know you through my daughter, Emily. Holding you up in spirit, and may the love that surrounds you give you strength as you conquer this.

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  10. Andrea says:

    Shocked, dismayed, disbelief. In all my years of medicine I have never heard of carcinoma of the appendix. It brings me right back to that little chemo room where you, your mother and I shared conversations on life, planning our weddings and and what the future holds. I am SO SO thankful that you took a pro active approach to your healthcare and now we can look forward to growing old together and enjoy the blessings of this life. I am there for you dear friend!

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  11. Merrill says:

    Oh I know so we’ll the standard surgery 1 leading to what happened but the relief at rhe find that otherwise might not have been and now on to surgery 2 and the trust hand off. I get the frustration of no control and the need to find someone who gets that- holler oif f I’m needed on your team. I am now, finally, back mostly upright in the saddle able to help others . Love you

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  12. Denise says:

    Hi Alex,

    I have always looked forward to your musings, but I never expected this. The words, that in a not so distant past, had been said to others, now being heard by you. The thoughts racing through your brain. Take all the help you need..from all who love you and those of us who know you in this format, to take this battle on…you got this and we got you!

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