The Night Before the Rest of My Life

I’ve been struggling to write a blog post for the last few days.  My difficulty does not stem from a lack of words, but rather an overabundance. So many different things are spinning around in my head, and I can’t seem to wrangle them into any sort of coherent form.  Being OCD – rather than write in a disorganized way, I’ve chosen lately not to write at all.

Here I am, 9 hours from surgery, and my thoughts are as jumbled as ever.  I no longer have the luxury of putting a post off for another day.  So, ready or not, here it comes.

I’m excited. For the last 162 days, I have lived with the reality that I have cancer in my body.  I’m thrilled at the prospect of waking up after surgery tomorrow to a new reality. I know this new reality will be difficult. I will be in the hospital for 5-7 days; I’ll be in pain; I’ll be adjusting to living with an ileostomy; and I’ll have four months of chemotherapy on the horizon. I’m ok with all of this, because with a little luck and the skill of a good surgeon, cancer will no longer live inside of me.

I’m scared.  I know that I am in excellent hands at Hopkins, and this procedure is not particularly risky, but still it was hard to kiss my kids and tuck them in tonight.  We read an extra story together, and when they got out of bed for more hugs and cuddles, my heart melted. My greatest fear is leaving them or causing them any sort of heartache.

I’m grateful.  I have discovered in the last five months how truly blessed I am with family and friends who love and support me.  As I type this, my mother-in-law is asleep downstairs.  She arrived this afternoon, with Gregg’s dad behind her toting a bed in his truck. She’ll be here with us for the next week, taking care of Addie and Gehrig and giving me peace of mind during my hospital stay.  My sister arrived 5 minutes ago.  She’ll stay through the weekend and then return in a week to help me, when mom has to go home. My friends and neighbors here in Maryland have arranged to get Addie to ballet class and Gehrig to soccer practice. When they tell me to call any time for anything, I know their words are not hollow.  I’ve lost count of the calls and messages I’ve received this week.  Each one has buoyed my spirits and touched my heart.

I’m concerned.  Tomorrow will be a very difficult day for the people I love the most.  My part is actually the easiest one.  I’ll be unconscious for the whole thing.  Gregg, mom, my sister and everyone else has to wait it out the hard way.  I pray that the day goes quickly for everyone, with a minimum of anxiety for all. 

On a lighter note, I’m hungry. Forty-eight hours of nothing but clear liquids and Jell-o is a special kind of torture, especially for someone who turns to food for comfort in times of stress.  I have a feeling that it will be a while before I get to chew anything again, though with the narcotics I’ll be on after surgery, I doubt I’ll care. Right now, however, I’m ready to chew my arm off.

That’s all I’ve got for now.  I hope to be writing again in a week or so.  Love to all and thanks for all the wonderful support during my journey.