Lighting a candle

For me, and for too many of my friends and family, the darkness starts with the letter C. Cancer. Even the word itself conjures up helplessness, fear, anger, in the face of this tyrant that consumes everything in its path.

As we all get older, we know more and more people who have it, and the monster gets closer and closer to home. Or it has already touched us. It is a horrible, hateful disease in whatever form it takes. 

There was a time - years ago - when the very word was a death sentence every time. That was when it was detected too late and it had already morphed into another beast: metastatic cancer (cancer cells that were in one place in the body, and traveled to another place, like a horde of evil missionaries, to continue their dastardly mission). Today, with more early detection, cancer need not be a death sentence.  But the oldest ones among us usually think of it that way.

Time is both friend and enemy with this thing. Early detection is our friend; a delay in treatment is not. Waiting - especially with no indication of how fast the cells are growing - is torturous. Add to that any other pressure: financial, family, work, school, or community (whether that means neighborhood or church involvement) and molehills become mountains pretty quickly. 

The darkness does not need to win. All it takes is one candle to push back the darkness. The people most likely to recover (regardless of the type of cancer) seem to be the ones with the most positive, and peaceful, attitudes. One man I know has a rare form of non-Hodgkins lymphoma - aggressive and dangerous - and from the moment he found out he had cancer, his attitude has been nothing short of inspiring. Today he is fighting infection (which happens 70% of the time after the kind of treatment he just had) and is feeling weak - but he is fighting. And he is peaceful, and happy. 

Another lady I know had breast cancer about 5 years ago. She had surgery, chemo, and the recovery process was long ... but she beat it! Throughout it all, her sweet temperament and thankful spirit came through. Still another lady went through this process not long ago - with four surgeries and treatments that made her feel sick and weak, she still never lost her positive attitude, and she made sure that she looked after herself. 

Fear is (of course) inevitable. But it is the enemy. I know the enemy. But it doesn't have to win.

Recently, my family doctor referred me for a biopsy for an abnormal pap smear. While I was at the gynecologist's office, I mentioned some unexplained spotting, since I was in menopause,  The gynecologist said, "That shouldn't be happening." And so when I was under general anesthetic for the cervical biopsy, he also took cells from the lining of my uterus.  It turned out that I have "pre-cancerous" cells in my uterus... and although this type of thing usually takes a long time to develop into cancer in that area, it's like there is this ticking time bomb in my womb - and so he told me that my uterus and my ovaries had to come out. I am waiting for a surgery date and I expect the hospital will call me soon with one.

The same day I found out about this problem, I got a call from a very close friend who informed me that my brother was in the hospital.  Over the course of the next week, through testing and so forth, doctors discovered that he had stage 1 colon cancer.

Photo "Candle" courtesy of phanlop88 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

The monster didn't win.

We both lit a candle in the darkness. 

Fear has far less power in the light. 

Each of us is looking forward to his or her respective surgery, and grateful that the doctors caught the problem early. My brother is thankful for the excruciating abdominal pain that first caused him to seek medical attention, and for the excellent care and attention that he has received since he went to the hospital to get checked out. They saved his life!  In much the same way, I am so grateful for the lady that put me onto my new family doctor's patient list just this past spring, as well as for the people involved in my care - my doctor, plus my gynecologist, and all of the medical staff on his team. They pretty much saved my life.

A few things about lighting a candle in the dark ... yes, you can see to find your way, but ... your attention is more drawn to the candle flame, and to what it illuminates, than it is to the farthest corners where the darkness still hides. You learn to go slowly, because going too fast would damage the flame or put it out. You learn to stay away from people who would bluster and blow more fear into your situation. Their negativity is something that you don't need or want in your life, ever! You learn to see their reaction as "cursing the darkness." You light your candle, you protect it, and you cherish it.  And you look for other candles to light from your own flame.

That's what I'm doing today. You - if you need to and want to - can light your candle from mine.

Absorbing it all

There has been a lot of stuff in the last six months that I have had to absorb. Some of it has been really good - like counselling practice that I got in July 2016, team leading opportunities I have had in August and then again starting in early October (which is still ongoing). I have had to absorb a lot of knowledge in a relatively short amount of time. But it's all been good, and good for me.

Back in May 2016 - some six months ago now - I got a new family doctor. After years of not going to my old family doctor and finally getting fed up enough to switch, this new guy made up for lost time - and scheduled me for all kinds of testing: blood, pap, other stuff. The result of all of it was a diagnosis of type 2 diabetes (and I am now taking medication to bring down my sugars ... and they are under control - he and his team literally saved my life), a referral for a mammogram (another story for another time) and a referral to a gynecologist due to some abnormal cells on a pap smear. 

During my initial consult with him, when we mutually decided that it would be better for me to go under a general anesthetic to do a cervical biopsy rather than try to do it in the office, I happened to mention to him a little thing I'd been noticing for a few months ... I had stopped having periods a year previous, but I was noticing some spotting on a pretty regular basis. He therefore decided to add a second procedure to the surgery, one that he had not planned on doing but he thought it best to include it "just to be safe" - a dilation and curettage (also known as a D-and-C). He would then biopsy the uterine lining that the D-and-C would give him. I underwent this procedure on October 12. 

Today, just a few hours ago in fact, I sat in his office and he told me the results of the biopsies, in detail. I won't go into as much detail as he did.  But basically my cervix is fine.  However, the D-and-C biopsy showed "pre-cancerous" cells. Since there is no way to monitor the interior of the uterus, he informed me that "we have to whip it out." It took me a minute to grasp what he meant... a hysterectomy - a removal of the uterus and of the ovaries. 

I was floored.  It took me a couple of minutes to absorb that information. I was frankly not expecting the news - I knew that some of the results might be "off" but ... I never made the connection between pre-cancer and the removal of my uterus. It had just never occurred to me. So ... that was a lot to take in at once.

"We want to do it sooner rather than later.  Weeks, not months away."  Again, a powerful reminder that this is serious stuff. More stuff to absorb!

He answered every question I had. Every. Single. One. And I had a LOT of them. He told me that he was hoping to be able to do it via laparascopy. That is, to have a small incision just under the belly button, and two similar incisions (one on each flank where the ovaries are). Failing that, he would go in through my old Caesarian section scar and do it that way. Depending on the technique, I would spend two to three days in hospital. 

When I told my boss/mentor about it later (she's a nurse), she told me that I would be recovering at home between three and six weeks after the operation, and would be off work during that time. (WEEKS? I have fifteen MINUTES of sick leave left!) We discussed my options - she set my mind at rest for the most part, and told me to ask for the "worst case scenario" for sick leave, and if it was shorter, it would be less time to pay back. ... and that the important thing was my health.

So today has been an "absorbing" day. I'm still sort of getting my head around it. And what do I do when I am trying to make sense of things? 

I write. (Aren't you lucky!) 😀

I have also been absorbing some pretty amazing things about my situation that I have been (and still am) very grateful for.

First, I am grateful that I am such a wimp about pain.  It's because I couldn't handle the discomfort of the initial office procedure (and the gynecologist was unwilling for me to be in pain) that I opted for it to be done under a general. 

Second, I am grateful that, as my gynecologist and I were discussing the procedure that he would do under the general anesthetic, and he mentioned post-op bleeding, that I thought to mention the spotting I'd been having.  If I had not, he would never have done the D-and-C. And I would be oblivious to the fact that I had pre-cancerous cells in my uterus. And ... it might have been too late by the time I DID find out.

Photo "Doctor In Surgery" by taoto at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Third, I am grateful that the hysterectomy will not only completely remove all chance of uterine cancer (well, um, the uterus will be gone!), but removing the ovaries will also reduce my estrogen production down to zero - and with that, any chance of causing cervical OR breast cancer. 

Fourth, I know this man's work from personal and recent experience; he's excellent and I have absolutely NO worries about his skill or the skill of those on his team. I am in good hands with him and with everyone on his surgical team (including the anesthetist). And I am so grateful for that.

And fifth, I am so very grateful that "we" caught this early, before those cells had a chance to become something life-threatening.

And that is just the medical stuff that I'm thankful for.  There is so much more - it's taking me a while to absorb all of that too.  What I mean is the phenomenal support and the love of my family and friends, their positive vibes, their prayers, their words of encouragement. I'm blown away by all of that. I am so blessed. SO blessed.