Well, it's 1 am, and I'm hurting so badly that I can't sleep. Mike was going to write this post, but I figured maybe writing would get my mind off of the pain.
I'm not the best at almost dying, not really. So before the surgery yesterday I wrapped my hands around Mike's and said a prayer. "Dear God, I've never been overly worried about having surgery, but today I am. I'm normally so tough that no one knows I'm scared about this krap. But, God, I'm terrified. If I die, I'd really like to meet you. And if I get to meet you--in Heaven--I'd really like the extended stay program--with benefits."
"Benefits?" Mike asked, interrupting my prayer. "You want a pool next to your cloud house?" Now, before I go on, let me tell you that Mike is an atheist. And I thought it was so wonderful that he held my hands despite the fact that I pray to a God he doesn't believe in, that I had an IV in one hand, and that I was shaking with fear.
"Yeah, benefits," I replied. "Meaning, I'd get to see ALL of my loved ones who have passed already--especially my son--AND that I could go fishing--near my cloud house."
Mike nodded, then closed his eyes, and that amazing man actually started praying--not because he believes in it, but because I do. "God, please help my wife." Tears came to my eyes. "Help her be okay." There was another pause. "God, I love you."
When I opened up my eyes, and wiped the tears away, I looked up at the ceiling and saw a forest-scene with light coming through the trees. If THAT wasn't terrifying, I don't know what is. Wouldn't it be more straight-forward to just put a tunnel on the ceiling--WITH A LIGHT AT THE END OF IT? If they really think you're gonna die during surgery, there's no need to beat around my bush! Beat around the bush--who comes up with these sayings? Doesn't that sound kinda gross or something? Anyway.... I've lost my train of thought.......... Oh there it is! Back to the surgery.
Everyone was amazing. The nurses and doctors moved through the whole process quite seamlessly. Some of my friends from work stopped by. And I nearly cried when both of the medical providers I work for came to see me--that meant more than words can ever truly say.
And the whole time, despite the fact that I was so scared, I had a little bit of peace, because my in-laws were up here, taking care of the kids. Mike and I just got married in September, and his parents are already stepping up to the plate, driving out of state to help us with the same kids they only met two years ago.
So I got one woman-ball removed (my ovary), and a Fallopian tube. I guess all of that is called a right laparoscopic and salpingo-oopherectomy--which I loved saying after I woke up from the surgery. That isn't surprising given these two pics.
Before painkillers:
AFTER painkillers:
The news that does concern me about the surgery, is that when the doctor removed the tumor that had grown inside of my right ovary, he found not two, but three little, dense growths on my cervix. You just love that I'm writing about all of this, don't you. I'm surprised myself. I never thought I'd write about my cervix on this blog--what a twist of fate!
So the tumor and it's growth babies have been sent to pathology.
And now, I'm hurting so bad that I better go. It's finally time to take more medicine. Yay--for feeling better soon.
I'll find out about the pathology next week. The doctor thinks that either the tumor is benign and the other growths show that I have endometriosis (which means that I'll need a hystorectomy), or that this could be ovarian cancer (in which case I'll be headed to the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Utah so I can get treatment from an oncologist). Who knows where all of this will go.
Sidenote: I know asking God for "the extended stay" may have been a bit dramatic, but thank God I woke up from surgery--it's the little things in life, ya know.
Sincerely,
Elisa
P.S. To borrow a quote from my dad: "You'll be all right, Elisa. You got to go on vacation without ever leaving the farm today." Yep, I guess I did....
You know that crazy ride at the amusement park--the really old one no one wants to ride? It's so rickety that it's not even fun-scary, it's ACTUALLY scary. Hell, a kid died on it last spring--but that fun-fact was hushed by the mob.
Well, I feel like I'm just about to get on that stupid ride, only I don't wanna! *stamping my foot* I'm strapped into the cracked leather seat. The wooden tracks are creaking. I know I'm gonna be okay, but I'm still worried I might die--like that kid last spring.
Okay, so I'm being a tad dramatic, but you see where I'm going with this. I'm a pansy and I know it. P.S. When I wrote that last bit, I was singing I'M A PANSY AND I KNOW IT.
So, my surgery is tomorrow. My blood test came back great, showing no precursors for cancer. And I felt awesome--like a pig in poop--until talking to the pre-surg nurse. The surgery will take a little bit longer than normal since my tumor is growing into my intestine. JUICY.... Yes, if one MUST have a tumor, why not have it attach itself to your intestine--just for funsies. Also, they can't rule out cancer until they send the tumor to the lab.
I signed some paperwork saying if they need to take out more than my tumor and ovary that Mike can give verbal consent. THAT is terrifying. I hope Mike loves me, really I do.
Yesterday I asked Mike, "So if they come out and say the tumor looks cancerous and other things look suspicious, will you tell them to remove whatever looks suspicious?"
"Nope," he said, "because I don't know what you'd want. I'd let you decide later."
#1 WHAT!
#2 DOUBLE WHAT?
It's great that we're having this conversation BEFORE the surgery 'cause I don't want anything that looks cancerous to remain housed in my freakin' body--that's what.
Anyway, after work I get to see my father-in-law and mother-in-law. They're AMAZING--coming from another state to help me and everything. I love them, really.
Oh and in other notes, I talked to one of my favorite people ever. I'm going to see her in Missouri in a month. She's concerned that I shouldn't go, so I set that woman straight. "My uterus might not be able to make it, but I'll still be there!"
Peace Out!
I might blog before going to surgery tomorrow, but only if I'm desperate for comfort. Otherwise, Mike will post something (hopefully insanely witty and sweet) to let you know what's what.
-Elisa
Today has been really exhausting. So instead of talking about tumors, blood tests, or health-krap, I thought it would be nice to introduce you to my husband.
This is Mike--the ultimate bachelor who decided to give up his perfect single life to marry me and help me raise my (now OUR) four kids.
I don't know how I found this amazing Italian man, but I'm hanging on for dear life!
Anyway, I'll post a regular post tomorrow, but for today, I just had to show you my wonderful man :)
If you have Facebook--and like Sponge Bob impersonations--I hope you can check this out. (Mike was meant to be a Dad):
https://www.facebook.com/ecwrites/videos/10155835199060487/
Pics from our honeymoon and wedding:
It's amazing how a cancer-scare can really put things in perspective. I've talked to people I haven't talked with in months. I actually went to church--weird, right? I've been telling my kids and husband how much I love them, constantly and they're probably creeped out....
One of the people I've talked to is the wise, the brave--the incredibly kind--Fishducky. (You can check out her hilarious blog HERE.) Anyway, she's one tough broad. I told her about my troubles of late and she simply said, "Listen, kid, you've just got to realize, as long as they don't want to do a headectomy, you're going to be fine."
"A headectomy?" I asked.
"Yeah, a headectomy."
It finally hit me and I laughed so hard.
We talked for a few minutes, and I felt pretty great by the time we hung up.
I keep thinking about what the grand Fishducky said, ya know, anything sounds fine when you compare it to a headectomy. Sure I'm scared for surgery, but at least I'll wake up from the damn thing with my body connected and all.
That whole train of thought got me going on the "glad game." I love that freakin' thing. Have you seen Pollyanna? This damn kid goes around town charming everyone and making even the orneriest schmucks happy. I love that show, 'cause she even won my heart, that's why--even though the show is older than dirt. I'm a sucker for old shows anyway.
So I decided to play the glad game tonight. And maybe I'm being a bit too honest here, but I did think of a couple things that made me smile.
#1 I'm so glad I'm a chick. Really, isn't getting an ovary removed, the equivalent of getting a ball removed for a man? I feel bad for anyone who has to do that, 'cause at least my woman balls are on the inside. Does that even make sense? Well, if it does, that's one thing to be thankful for.... Ya know, balls on the inside.
And #2 I'm also glad I don't have to get a mastectomy--I mean for crying out loud, I finally got these things a couple of years ago! I always said that when God made me, He said, "Oh this'll be fun--let's give this chick an indent where her chest should've been." And it wasn't bad. Except that I looked like a board with two water rings.
TMI? I don't give a shit.
P.S. Apology: I'm trying my hardest, to be kind like the pastor said about the Beatitudes in church today, but all I've ended up being is brutally honest and super glad about stuff.... Se la vie! I'm not a good Christian, but at least that's better than being a hypocrite about it!
Anyway, peace out,
The chick who will only have ONE woman-ball come Thursday....
An Honest Elisa
Today I made the mistake of googling "what tumors look like." Let it be known--they are freakin' gross. If you want to call someone the worst name ever, call them Satan; and if you don't want to call them Satan, call them a tumor.
I've had cysts before--which is bad enough, but now knowing a tumor is inside of me....that makes me feel disgusting.
Last night I talked with one of my neighbors. She said, "Don't worry. They'll take it out, it'll be benign and you'll be fine. Tumors are common."
"Have you ever had a tumor?" I asked.
"Nope." She shook her head. "But if I were you, I wouldn't worry."
Well, she isn't me, not at all. Try BEING the one with a tumor, THEN tell me you wouldn't worry.
But I know she meant well. She's a doll, really. It got me thinking, though; maybe I am being a serious idiot. Maybe I'm worried over nothing, ya know, Elisa the dramatic chick with a tumor? The results could come back just fine after they remove this thing....
I've been strong for the kids. But after everyone is asleep, the last two nights I've cried. I'm just worry about if this is cancer. I mean, shit, there are people in my life who need me.
Anyway, these thoughts have all got to be natural, right?
I talked with one of my best friends last night. She's like pure Heaven, sweet and extraordinary. I swear she's ALWAYS been there for me, since we were teenagers and everything. She started crying on the phone. "I wish we lived closer," she said. "Right now...waiting for results and knowing you'll be having a surgery--it's scary."
"Don't cry," I said. And she probably didn't know it, but I was on the verge of tears too. "In ten years, people are going to wonder how the zombie virus started. I want you to tell them, it started in Elisa's right ovary."
"What?"
"That's right. Maybe I'm turning right now, from the inside out."
Laughter burst through her previously choked-up voice. "You're ridiculous."
"Oh my gosh," I gasped, "this could be a book!"
"Of course you'd think of that."
"Well, it COULD be awesome!"
Anyway, I'm sure my blood tests will be fine. And when they remove the tumor next Thursday, those lab tests will come back fine too. But like my buddy said, it's just scary waiting.
If anything, I'm thankful this whole situation has gotten me writing again.
Sincerely,
Elisa (The girl who thinks everything could make a good book. "Well, it COULD be awesome!")
Sometimes people suck.
So I decided to start writing on my blog again....
Late last night, someone who I hadn't hung out with in a few months sent me an email. It said:
"I'm very upset that you didn't tell me you might have a tumor before you posted it all over social media. I thought we were friends."
Dear Friend,
Not everything in MY life is about you. You are not my freakin' nanny.
Her email went on to say:
"Please know that this is simply a constructive criticism, but your voice in your latest post could use some work. You sounded like an uneducated Republican hick."
Once again, Dear "Friend,"
Thank you for taking this exact moment to edit my writing. My voice may sound uneducated, but that's far better than sounding like a pompous b*tch.
*stepping off of my soapbox now*
I saw the gyno today. He confirmed that I have an ovarian tumor--still the size of an orange.
He didn't realize I'd already looked over the results with a friend of mine who knows medicine and krap. He tried softening the blow. "I don't know how you feel about surgery," he said, "but I don't feel like a tumor this size will ever go away."
Ya think? I remained quiet, listening.
"I can try to save your right ovary, but I might not be able to. It's your choice. Just know that I could get in there and have to take it anyway. And even if I do save it, more tumors could grow."
So...that was some psychological shit. I don't think there's any way you can save an ovary with a tumor that's grown INSIDE of it, and is now the size of Kansas! But he was giving ME the choice, which actually did feel a little empowering.
I played his game. "I always hated the right ovary anyway. Go ahead and take it out. God gave me two, and using both of them seems greedy."
He stared at me and simply blinked before saying, "I also need to tell you you're young"--cool, I hadn't heard that in years--"and I'd be surprised if you have cancer at this age. But this IS a tumor, so we should do a blood test before the surgery. After the surgery we'll send the tumor to the lab to be tested as well."
I had my blood drawn a few minutes later by a saint of a woman who's practically a magician at drawing blood. She talked so much I hardly even felt the needle.
By the time I left, they had me all scheduled for surgery; it'll be a couple of days after they get the blood test results back. They're going to remove my zombie ovary and the connecting tube.
Waiting for that test is driving me crazy. If waiting doesn't kill me, who knows what will.
Sincerely,
A kinda spicy Elisa
P.S. I mean it. I really hated that ovary anyway.
That moment when you're soooo tired, you feel like you're gonna melt into a pool of slush on the floor...
I thought I was doing better, until my two oldest daughters, Ruby and Sky, got super upset with each other. Then my two youngest, Trey and Indy started battling each other--Spartacus-style. At least they get my mind off of things....
Today a friend of mine from the medical industry helped me looked at the results from my ER visit.
"I think these comments from the doctor speak volumes," she said.
She'd referred to his his final comments at the bottom of the print-out: "Highly concerning mass." "Patient to seek immediate assistance from gynecologist."
Do you get gynos? Who would even want to be one? That would flip my krap--ya know, being around naked people especially when they are chicks, or worse WHEN they're pregnant... I don't know. More power to them, but I think seeing naked people all day is gross.
So I'm seeing a gyno tomorrow. I looked him up online. I guess he's been interviewed on TV and krap. But that doesn't mean anything. I mean, hell, I'VE been interviewed on TV. They'll let anyone on TV these days ;) (HERE is my 5 mins. of fame.) My brother says everyone gets fifteen minutes of fame in their lifetime--I guess I finally used up five of mine.
Anyway, this gyno was interviewed on TV--and he got way more than fifteen minutes! It was a very Dr.-Phil-looking set. Good thing the gyno didn't appear to be the one telling HIS problems--about how he wished he was a podiatrist or something. What's worse, feet or chick parts? I seriously don't know.
So since my appointment isn't until tomorrow, I've been practically dying from anxiousness. But I did learn a few important things today after talking with my medical friend and really reading through my report. I don't have a cyst. I was hurting to death on Sunday because a cyst burst. Thing thing on my ovary that's still there--this orange-sized thing, well, it's solid. And instead of it growing ON my ovary, it's inside of it. My ovary has now transformed into a zombie-thing, on steroids.
Can I just say I'm scared? This means surgery for sure. But...on the bright side, I needed a vacation?
Dear God,
When I prayed for a break, I had something else in mind. Can my next vaca please be for fun? Oh, and I'd like for you to save my chick parts. But if you can't, that's cool. I just don't wanna feel like less of a woman. Is getting an ovary removed, like getting a ball removed if you're a dude? If that's true, what would a hysterectomy be like for a guy? Oh krap.... But maybe getting a hysterectomy means I can finally have an attitude--with a hormone-related excuse--my husband would think I'm EXTRA special if that happens to him. BAM! What. A. Deal.
Amen.
Sincerely,
A droopy-tired, Elisa
Do you ever feel like you're walking down the road of life, completely enjoying yourself, when suddenly you get hit by a bus?! Well, that's how I feel right now.... But let me give you some background first. Mmmmm, k!
Maybe God doesn't give us what we can handle. Maybe He gives us what we need to grow. Well right now, I'm freakin' sick of growing.
I don't mean to complain, not really. My life is pretty amazing. I have four wonderful, albeit wild, kids. Five months ago I married the perfect man for me. He's given up having his own bio kids to help me raise mine--how selfless can someone be? He'll drop everything for those kids--to fix their krap (yes with a "k"). Mike makes sure they don't have ANYTHING to cry about. My fourteen-year-old even started calling him "dad," and if that doesn't tell you something, you're an idiot--and you need to be admitted. But anyway....
My husband loves those kids, and I guess he also likes me a little, too. Last week we were sitting in bed when he started gushing about how Valentine's Day was coming. Apparently he got me a big gift. That flipped me out. "Valentine's Day IS NOT a big deal to me," I said.
"Well, it's more important to me than a birthday," he replied.
I should've known I was screwed then. I mean, this was our first V-Day together as a married couple.... I wanted it to be special for him. So I decided to wake up early that morning to do something nice for him. But the second I woke up, I knew something was wrong.
This crazy-bad pain seared through my stomach. (And V-Day wasn't the first time this happened.) I'd actually gone to a few doctors, telling them my stomach hurt; but they all treated me like I was nuts. So, I dealt with the pain--honestly thinking, for the last several months, that it might be in my head. Or maybe it could be massively random cramps, ya know, God's punishment for Eve's dumbass eating that forbidden apple and everything.
So, on V-Day my poor, candy-heart lovin' man took me to the ER, and after a few hours, we waited for ultrasound results.
As we sat there, he read some of my own writing to me: a story based on how we met. (You can find that HERE.) It's some of the sappiest krap ever, but I freakin' love it--'cause Mike is all gravy. I treasured falling in love with that man: The first time we really talked. The first time I dared to kiss him. How we got stuck in a damn avalanche and he didn't try to kill me or nothin'. It's great being with someone who likes that I'm alive.
Back to my point.... I'm up super late because on V-Day, my ultrasound showed a growth on my right ovary. I'm so done with this shit--at least, thank God, I'm not really crazy.
I guess the growth is the size of an orange.
I love oranges, don't get me wrong, just not when one's on my chick part.
Have you ever had a doctor look you in the face and tell you that you might have cancer? I bet you have--it's practically in their damn job description--you know, being the bearer of bad freakin' news.
Anyway, I wasn't an inmate at the ER long. They released me for being freakin' adorable.
As I type this, it's February 16th. I'm up because my stomach feels like there's an alien in it. Everywhere I roll. It. Hurts. I'm feeling so damn bad for myself; I just want to cry, but I cried enough earlier.
Ruby, my fourteen-year-old, thought she was helping by showing me youtube videos of ovarian surgeries. So if cancer doesn't kill me, those videos might. But I'm getting ahead of myself; this might not be cancer. Even though I have nine out of ten freakin' signs of having ovarian cancer--like my mother-in-law said, "I don't need to bother trouble until it's time."
I'm going to the OB in two days and we'll find out what kind of an orange this is.... That's what.
This is Elisa. The chick who got hit by a bus of life...again.
My personal goal? When my son died...I never stopped loving God. When my dad had cancer...I never stopped loving God. When my first marriage failed...I stilled loved God.
GOAL: Never stop loving God--'cause Job (from the Bible) had it right!
Sincerely,
A recently traumatized Elisa
BAM!
P.S. This blog is no longer taking comments at this time. I'm currently dealing with a lot right now and don't have time to respond or take in any more advice. You're welcome to read this if you like, but it's just my online journal right now, simply a way to help me cope.
Wishing you all the best on your own journeys!
