So, I’m poking my head in the door. It doesn’t mean I’m back to my daily routine just yet, but I thought I’d let you know how things are going. I’ve shared (over-shared, I’m sure!) about my cancer journey so far, and I don’t intend to change that. The emails from online friends out there who have loved ones or who have or are going down this road have been moving.

Anyways, back to the subject.

I had surgery on April 1st. April Fool’s Day. My old wedding anniversary. My ex-hubby laughed at the date and said, “Ah then, everything is going to be fine, because we didn’t turn out so bad.” I have to agree, as odd as that sounds I’m sure to some of you since we’re divorced, but we’re still great friends, still sharing phone calls and birthday wishes. April 1st is a lucky day for me.

The doctor had thought he’d be taking out more than he did. First, he went after the omentum—it’s an apron of tissue that protects your internal organs. When he eye-balled it, he saw no living cancer on it although the omentum had lit up like a Christmas tree on my first PET scan all those months ago. Then he removed all my girlie parts, noting that he saw very little remaining cancer there. Mostly just slimy bits of dead remnants of cancer (I’m interpreting his notes, maybe embellishing a bit—can’t help myself).

He was going to take my lymph nodes down there. But other than some dead slime (more embellishment), he found them pink and healthy-looking so did not remove them. He hunted around my liver, gallbladder, intenstines, etc. He had said he’d remove anything he found infected (if he could), but found nothing else of concern. When he spoke with me later that afternoon, he told me my chemo had done an excellent job of knocking back the cancer. He was pretty sure he’d gotten everything he could.

Are you wondering why I included a picture of a zipper at the start of this post? Well, they closed with a long line of staples (27 in all) and my belly looked like they installed a zipper in it. (My attempt at humor.)

My sister, Elle James, stayed with me in the hospital for the two days and nights that followed.  She was a huge help. You need an advocate, someone to stomp down the hall to ask for pain meds. BTW, Dilaudid is fabulous. Opioids definitely have their place. It hits fast and only lingers a couple of hours, but when you need something fast… In a hospital setting… Mm-hmm. Highly recommend.

I went home on Wednesday with a soft pillow clutched against my sore belly and one last dose of Dilaudid to hold me until I got home an hour away.

Sis left soon after. Storms were brewing, and she still had a four-hour drive. Then I was left in my daughter’s gentle care.

When I’d been away, my SIL moved the reclining lift chair he’d purchased for me from my living area to the living room. Now, every time I need to get to my feet to move around (exercise is key to recovery), the chair stands me on my feet with little to no intervention from anyone and no straining of my belly. As the days have passed, that’s been very important to my independence.

Everything was moving along well. I was convinced I was going to have the easiest recovery known to womankind, but then…my temperature started climbing and my wee-wee-hole (no, that’s not the technical term, so don’t quote me) began to hurt. In fact, my entire pelvic floor area began to ache every time I attempted to relieve myself. I suspected a UTI and Dr. Google agreed, so I called my surgeon’s office and asked if I could have the urine sample taken at my local doctor’s office rather than head back to the city to pee into a bottle). He approved, and I was quickly put on antibiotics for a UTI. Not just any UTI, but one caused by an emerging super-bug with a very pretty name: Morganella Morganii. M. morganii turned my pee into the most brilliantly colored sunset orange I’ve ever seen. You know I’m going to be mixing colors to try to match it—Indian yellow, cadmium red, a touch of magenta or fuchsia…

I was headed to the surgeon’s office the next day (last Thursday) anyway, where an RN with the nickname of Buffy (it was just meant to be), removed all my staples. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but maybe I’m just a big baby. 27 little needle-y pinches took my breath away.

I’m finally able to sit up for longer periods in my chair. I’m taking naps during the day on a bed with many pillows. My daughter has to help me up, but she was CNA-trained, so she knows how to get me up without causing any pain at all. My discomfort from my UTI is fading. My temperature is back to normal.

This coming Thursday, I’ll be back in Little Rock to see my surgeon. He’ll let me know his official findings and hopefully let me know when he recommends I continue my immunotherapy. (And more importantly to me—when I can jump into the swimming pool.) This journey isn’t over, but so far, I’m tolerating the treatments.

And that’s all I’ve got. I hope everyone out there is feeling well, loving the changing seasons. I didn’t even mention the huge flood we had right after I got home from the hospital, but yeah, the local river rose its highest since 1969. We were cut off from town for a couple of days there. Life’s just so interesting like that.

This picture was taken just down the hill from where we live and over a mile from the river.