being a ninja

Image: azuzephre//jeff thomas

You know I already mentioned how hard it is to accept good news? Well, it gets easier.

The last few days I seem to have been in a daze – after thinking for weeks [yes, yes, I know it was stupid – assuming things always is] that I was in for a recurrence, now I am in this parallel universe where I am so happy! So. No. Not a daze. A surreal state? You who have followed the blog for ages will know very well that I am not a person who 'does' surreal – I like to be completely in the here and now. I like to be right up there with the facts. But this is something else. It's like a weight has been literally lifted off my shoulders.

Sounds prosaic right? But it's true. I can't think of ANYTHING in my life that has made me happier than knowing the cancer hasn't come back. And to be honest, I have had a LOT of wonderful things happen in my short life. But none of them would have the effect that a return of cancer would have had on me and mine.

The thing is, this isn't just about me. It's about the FH too. And my family; my friends. That is one of the reasons this is so great. I was so worried – imagine them having to go through all this AGAIN because of me. Uff. No thanks. I am tired of pretending that everything is ok. Being Ninja Cancer Girl gets boring after a few years…nice to actually really FEEL ok. And mean it.

So – I am feeling on top of the world!! Mainly for both of us – me and the FH. Because now we have time. There's ALWAYS going to be the worry of a recurrence – but  it doesn't happen like lightning. And to be clear in the first 2 years is very  encouraging.

I appear to be in remission. OMG!! It's the most amazing feeling. At last. Long may it go on!! Ad nauseum if possible? And thank you SO much all of you who have been, and still are, there for me. Your support means the world to me. Thank you.

But thank you most of all to my wonderful, amazing husband. You are the BEST thing that ever happened to me.

biopsy results

GOOD NEWS FOR ME!! Gail called me today with the biopsy results; apparently Renninson was trying to get hold of me all day yesterday but I was at an exhibition with the FH. Pretty cool that he wanted to speak to me himself [that would be because I am his Favourite Patient heh heh – love that].

I suppose it must be a treat for Renninson to have good news to share, as I would imagine he has to make a LOT of really difficult phone calls, telling people bad news. Like the call I had from him in December – which, happily, is now the past. Although I still remember exactly how I felt at that moment. A horrible cold empty feeling. Then a mad rush of emotion; mainly fright and worry. Which we lived with until I had the laparoscopy last Monday. Pretty exhausting to be that worried all that time.

But that doesn't matter now, as the result is: ALL CLEAR, NO CANCER! As Renninson said initially; and I believed him, but this additional reassurance is fantastic.

Apparently he did a peritoneal biopsy, and the suspicious thing was 'pieces of fibroadipose tissue'. Well. Bloody fibroadipose [fibroadipose: fi·bro·ad·i·pose (fī'brō-ād'ə-pōs') adj.Relating to or containing both fibrous and fatty structures.] tissue should just stop with it's BS of looking weird! In fact, it could fuck right off would be good!! Anyway [calm calm] - the biopsy report states: 'pieces of fibroadipose tissue without malignancy'. WITHOUT MALIGNANCY – blessed words for any cancery type.

This is some of that fibroadipose tissue. Looks like a party animal for sure. I am seeing far too much of my innards recently.

I feel so lucky – it COULD have been a recurrence [and my life would have been completely different]; the odd thing is that because I was diagnosed almost exactly 2 years ago in February, and because everything happened again in February [the surgery, results etc], I feel almost 'undiagnosed'. Hard to explain, [and silly superstition] but as ovarian cancer is most likely to recur within the first 2 years, I was almost resigned to a recurrence. And hated February. How stupid am I?

We are just so pleased - we have gone WILD and we're having pizza and wine to celebrate - the FH trundled off to get it :o) And we have a big fire and life is good! Now just to heal properly [still have a belly full of stitches] and get a job!

wahahaha!!

Oh yes – I had to cancel the mammogram last Friday – driving to the RD&E for a procedure TWICE in one week would have just been too much for my teeny brain – but I already have another appointment for April 30th. Efficient eh? But I'll have to change that too, as I have the Target Ovarian Cancer Roadshow! Such a busy little bee…

Ow! This is getting old fast – the bruising on my tummy is coming OUT with a vengeance.

Yesterday I removed the itchy dressings; that made me feel a bit ill. Ugh. The dressings caused some kind of allergic reaction which is normal for me. My skin doesn't like hospital sticky things, no matter where they put them.

The stitches are poking out of the wounds! The one in my navel is the worst one – looks as if it has one vertical cut, then two horizontal ones. Or maybe the horizontal ones are the stitches? Who knows - all I know is it hurts like a bugger! I've stopped taking painkillers, as it's not that bad, but a bruise is a bruise, and I feel like I was kicked by a buffalo. Plus I am a wimp. I keep wondering what it must look like inside? Ugh.

The middle one is where they stabbed in the air thing – it's rather unnerving to read that they can't see ANYTHING until they have actually put these great big metal things IN. Hence the risk of perforated organs. Hmm…what fun.

As you can no doubt see, my tummy looks worse now than it did when I came home. And actually it feels worse too. But no doubt this time next week it'll be back to normal. Hooray. Can't wait, as I can't do circuit training or anything else much for that matter. And I've already cleaned, dusted and washed just about everything. Such excitement…I say! And actually, I am really looking forward to having no pain – hard to imagine, after having the adhesions for two years.

Today's colourful belly

still thinking

today's been a bit better –it's odd, before the laparoscopy I didn't really think about the after effects other than the obvious ones; did I have a recurrence, didn't I have a recurrence, and the little Brain Rats were going: 'you do, you do!! snigger snigger'. So I was waking up every day and night for weeks and weeks, thinking I probably had a recurrence. But going through the days absolutely positive that I didn't have one. This is the difference between my conscious and my sub-conscious minds. The conscious mind seems to have a far better grasp on How To Stay Sane. Whereas the sub-conscious seems to have no bloody idea and just tries to drive you mad as a hatter.

So I hadn't considered how long I would take to get back to normal [that seems so be a repeating refrain with all cancery types – when am I going to Get Back to Normal??]. Hmm – seems those days are long gone and I now have a new normality. But never mind that – what I mean is, I didn't think about this as being surgery. So I didn't consider the 'getting better' bit much.

Yesterday I finally had a chat with Gail. She said I can take off the dressings as of now, if I want to. Tomorrow they are coming off, as they are starting to ITCH. And she said I need to take it easy for three weeks. THREE WEEKS??  One week is gone almost, so just two left. Not so bad. She pointed out that even though I seem to have 'just' three little holes in me, which will soon heal up, Renninson had a field day rummaging about in there, cutting and prodding things. So there will be bleeding and bruising. Inside. Ugh. So I refuse to carry the Hoover up the  stairs. :o)

Early last night was horrendous – the post surgery wind kicked in and I felt like I was merely two arms, two legs and a head hanging off a torso with a mind of it's own. Shoulder pain, neck pain and a very sore tummy. And feeling quite delirious. So I went to bed full of painkillers for MORE sleep!

Today I only took the painkillers in the morning and I've been ok so far – the bruising is coming out and  still have a bloated painful tummy, but it's a lot less painful that's for sure. Did some housework and pottered about. Another early night for me!

Oh, and I DO wish  could get used to / believe this fabulous news!! It's so surreal – it seems easy to accept bad news, so why can't I accept the good news the same way?  I think the biopsy report will do it. Black and white and all that. But I don't understand why it still hasn't sunk in. Think I'm a bit thick??

day 3 gets scabby

Today I am a bit less sleepy headed. I've cut the painkillers by half [not completely, as last time I did that I got ill plus a resounding ear bashing from all concerned]. So it's all still hurting but it's a 3 on a scale of 1 – 10. Negligible. Like really stiff muscles with the occasional sharp stab for reminding me not to be stupid. The bit that hurts the most is the entry wound in my navel – where they blew me up like a balloon. I shudder to think about what one looks like on the operating table – a beached puffer fish?

Anyway, I am still wondering when I can take these bandages off. I don't really like wounds to be covered up, as they can get up to mischief if you can't see them. Although I am a bit squeamish about my own wounds – don't really like looking at them too much. Whereas if it's someone else's, no problem at all. Odd.

I have actually worked out that they do seem to be waterproof dressings, but one of them has no dressing so what about that one? I wish they'd write instructions on your tummy. Arrow: wash this one. Arrow: leave this one alone. Arrow: no, that's not a wound it's a bit of fluff, put your glasses on fool.

Another thing I have been wondering is if the adhesions will come back. So I sallied forth into cyber space and found an interesting article here, that says "In order to reduce the risk of further adhesion formation, we prefer to operate with a laparoscope and very fine instruments". Good. That's what he's done, so crossed fingers they will remain banished [I rather like 'vaporised' actually].

I was going to put some pictures of Diathermy here, but they made me feel sick, so you're spared that. Gross. BUT I thought I'd share the new scabby bits. As averse to the old scabby bits – actually, for those of you about to be operated on [I think we all worry about the scarring afterward] you can see the original scar here, it's pretty amazing the improvement; and here are the three new perforations…the old scar looks pretty neat right?

See what I mean about the one at the bottom though? No dressing. And it looks like some boy scout took his Handy Craft Knife and carved 'x' marks the spot! Quite hilarious taking pictures of your own stomach I might add…plus you can see everything a lot better on the computer screen. Is this a good thing I wonder??

today is Rockwell's birthday

Like yesterday, today I mostly slept all day. I still have lots of pain in my tummy, so I am just doing stuff around the house at a steady pace, doing a bit of stretching and scribbling on here. Oh, and did I mention sleeping?

Called Gail at the RD&E today to find out when I can remove the dressings from the wounds, as Grumpy Nurse didn't say. I don't like the thought of them mouldering away under there and I am not sure what the story is with the glue. One of the wounds has no dressing at all, and is just a bloody hole on my existing scar? Yuck. It seems to have been glued...but who knows? I'll find out tomorrow.

Useless factoid of the day: today was Norman Rockwell's birthday. Rockwell was a 20th century American painter and illustrator. I love his illustrations.

In the United States, Rockwell is most famous for the cover illustrations of everyday life scenarios he created for The Saturday Evening Post magazine.

Norman thought of himself first and foremost a commercial illustrator. Hesitant to consider it art, he harboured deep insecurities about his work. What is unmistakable, however, is that Rockwell tapped into the nostalgia of a people for a time that was kinder and simpler. Norman Rockwell's now nostalgic paintings and illustrations continue to live on in American history, depicting decades of pleasantry and pain.

Couldn't resist!

update part 01

First thing is, it's GOOD news! Second; this will probably be a bit fragmented. I am still full of anaesthetic and pain killers. So I will write between sleeping. I have to walk about a bit, as much as I'd like to stay in bed all day so trundling up and downstairs to my office seems good exercise. Just have to go slowly. So many people have asked for an update, and here is the easiest place to tell everyone all in one go. Between nodding off!

Yesterday. We arrived at the hospital at 8.00. My surgery was scheduled for 3.00. No eating after 7.30, no drinking after 11.00. The Ward Nurses were not happy; I could have gone in at 11.00, as it was I sat in the waiting room for 4 hours before they could put me in the Day Ward. Then another 3 hours in there. Happily I met a lovely woman and we chatted all morning, so the time went quite quickly. She was on the same schedule as me, except her surgery was at 1.30.

Yawn. Time for a kip.

In the Day Ward we got into our hospital gowns [a new, sort of oriental design that covers your butt – thoughtful!] and the snazzy white DVT knee socks. There were 10 of us all sitting next to our beds. It seemed confusing as there were two women supposedly first on the list. Hmm – then a major frenzy occurred at about 12.30. Anaesthetists and surgeons descended upon us like locusts! TWO surgeons. Good. Two lists. I was third on Mr Renninson's, and my time moved from 3.00 to 3.30.

I saw the Anaesthetist, Dr John Saddler, first. As usual, a wit. Seems to me Anaesthetists are always pretty chuckalicious chaps. Then I saw Mr Renninson, my surgeon. He ran through the procedure, we discussed the book I am reading as he is reading it too, he got me to sign the release forms and told me he would come and tell me what he saw as soon as I was coming round. He said if he didn't see anything cancerous, he wouldn't bother with a biopsy. Aaargh! What? So I asked him to PLEASE just do it anyway, as he would be in there rooting about, so why not have that extra assurance? He said he'd see, and he also said I am his favourite patient!! That was nice of him. He is for SURE my favourite surgeon!

Sorry, I am not getting far fast with this – I started at 8.30 and it's now 12.00. I keep wandering off. I have managed to sleep a bit and do some washing in between. And eat more painkillers. And I am now going for more sleep!

Right – where was I? Oh yes. So, off I went to surgery, actually at 3.15 – managed to see the FH, who popped back, but only for a minute. I came round about 40 minutes later, and I am sure it was 2 minutes after that that Renninson shot into the room, beaming his little head off and informed me he couldn't see ANY CANCER!!! Then he rushed off again with the promise he would see me later. Whoosh!

He had a Noddy hat on?! A red and blue striped beany. I will never forget it.

I couldn't believe it. I burst into tears which promptly threatened to drown me, as I still had the oxygen mask on. And that is the best news we have had for what seems like forever. I just wanted to rip the mask off, find the FH and tell him. I did manage to give him the thumbs up as they wheeled me past him on the way to recuperate in the Day Ward. His little face was a picture – I'll never forget that either.

More details later. He had to do a bit of chopping and slicing. I have pictures!! And stitches. Ugh.

I will still be a LITTLE worried until I get the biopsy results in a few weeks, but Mr R is pretty reassuring. If he says no cancer, well…I am 98% there. More sleep now, as everything is rather hurting. But I am The Bomb!! No cancer??…woo hoo!

step 13: Thursday brings some foolish remarks

Thursday 6th March:
Great - when Mum arrived today I could totter out to the patients dining room. I had breakfast there. Called her from the dining room at 7.00, as I had been awake since 6.00 and was gasping for a coffee. That's a great inspiration to walk I can assure you!

What happens to your brain while you are in hospital? I think the anaesthetic does some very odd things to one’s head. Lots of gaps in my memory, and some things I 'remember' didn’t happen at all or they happened at a totally different time to when I think they did. Oh well - all good entertainment!

My crazy friends in South Africa texting me to see if I am still alive made me feel very important and made me chuckle - not a good idea! Chuckling. Have to try to be a grump, in order not to disturb the stitches. This isn’t because they hurt, it just feels peculiar. Plus I am imagining the whole thing just popping open [the curse of an artist is the overactive imagination]. Feeling quite happy about everything now, as I know every day I am closer to going home [ah, sleep! bliss - I keep dreaming that my bed is calling me] and also every day is another step closer to being recovered from this whole thing.

The food in here is pretty good, you fill in a little menu the day before, then you can trundle along to the patients dining area if it’s possible, or the nurses bring it to your room if not. This is better than a hotel! The nurses come and call you for lunch, dinner etc. and everyone is in their dressing gowns, it looks like a midnight feast at boarding school. Quite good to get up, as I stopped feeling like there was ‘just me’, and remembered that thinking too much is foolish. Better to get out and about and talk to other people - the other advantage of this is that it totally tires you out! Walk, eat, drink water and sleep. Excellent.

The ‘other’ surgeon popped in again today [still can’t remember the poor chaps name] and asked if I’d like to go home! I must have looked exactly how I felt – as in: ARE YOU INSANE?? So, I refused. Still hadn’t been to the loo properly so I decided it would be better to stay in until that event had occurred. Silly man – he also informed me that ‘in his opinion’ I would definitely be having chemo. Now, this is all well and good, BUT Renninson told me in no uncertain terms, that we couldn’t know that until we had the biopsy results. So I was very upset by this chap, as it was I was still just getting over the surgery, and honestly did not need to hear that right then. I’m all for straight talking, but that was a bit much - plus it was uninformed. The results weren’t back. That was the first time since I’d arrived that I wanted to have a cigarette. And wanted to whack him.

Had a shower with Aj's help. WHAT a nightmare - I was so stressed about getting the bandage wet that I was almost in tears, AND I felt so ugly with this horrible stomach [there is still a lot of swelling] plus it's exhausting. Decided never to have a shower again. But I did feel better after - but showers are not good for this type of wound. A shallow bath would've been more useful. Roll on home time!

Poor Aj had to suffer my tantrum about that Doctors remarks, but as always he was brilliant and helped me get my head together before he left.

step 12: planning my escape...

Wednesday 5th March:
Discovered today that he removed both ovaries, the womb, the tubes and the omentum. The cyst had leaked onto the bowel and into the omentum, so out it came. Good. Bye bye. Luckily it hadn’t gone INTO the bowel or anywhere else that they could see. According to the anaesthetist & the other surgeon [can’t recall his name – he worked with Mr Renninson], it looked quite horrible. Well, it can look how it likes now, as I am shot of it. He didn’t need to remove the lymph nodes either.

Of course, as I was drinking all this water and eating things [still can’t remember what things! I know Mum brought lovely grapes and had a very nice bag with her], that meant I could take pain meds orally, so I got shot of the epidural - it appears to have been stuck onto my back with tape. The tape left an amusing itchy rash - yay, please, I need more aggravation! Bah. Anyway, that was minor. Got it out, and that was great. IV out too! Both the cannulas in my hand had to remain. Yuck. But too bad. The nurses [perpetually cheery lot that they are] decided I could have a bed bath. I decided that I would have no such thing, and was allowed to wash myself after they hauled me out of bed and into a chair. I had a go at washing, but decided that it was all a bit much, and it was a bit cursory to say the least. But I did feel better for it. Hauled back into bed - you start to feel like a bag of potatoes after a bit.

Hooray, a day full of achievements - I was feeling quite chuffed with myself until I tried to walk.

Aj arrived for visiting hours, and I tried to trundle along behind him, hanging onto his back pockets - I made about a metre and felt delirious. Back to bed, feeling rather hot and exhausted. Thankfully Jackie [the other Clinical Nurse Specialist] was with us at the time, and she told me to just try again in an hours time. So I did, and viola!! Managed to remain upright, and go forwards a little on my own. By the time Aj was going to have to leave, I’d had the catheter removed and could totter to the toilet and back with the aid of the walls, door handles and the handily placed basin. Marvellous. Progress. Slept much better that night, though still woke up every few hours. Hospital is not a place to sleep that’s for sure.