If you’re going to get cervical cancer, this is the way to do it. Non-invasive, cervical pre-cancer, stage 0. As far as a trip to cancerland goes, I’m really only in the exurbs. Cancer patient with an asterisk, like the best kind of wind-aided PR. The luckiest of the unlucky.
I used to feel like a total badass if I did a distance double at a track meet. A 5,000m race followed up by a 3,000m a few hours later and I’d feel like a hero. Who knew that was just the set-up for the ultimate double? Two surgeries in two weeks: I feel like I’m owed some sort of frequent flyer status at Swedish Hospital.
Surgery #2 happened last week, a simple hysterectomy with a 12-week recovery estimate. “Badass” is not exactly how I would describe my feelings at the moment. Barely-able-to-string-together-two-coherent-sentences would be a much more accurate description. Movement right now takes the form of a precarious shuffle. Though my surgeon said I could do simple day-to-day tasks, I think he’s on crack. Either that or he’s NEVER ONCE IN HIS LIFE DONE THE GROCERY SHOPPING.
Yet despite all that, we’re doing just fine. As long as the pathology comes back the way they think it will, this is it for treatment. I have never felt as lucky as I do right now. Our friends have rallied around us in a way that I do not deserve. Words cannot express how much I appreciate the notes, texts, calls, flowers and food we have received.
Above all else, I hope everyone takes this as a reminder to get your routine screenings. 20 years of normal results can turn on a dime. And if you do find yourself in the precarious world of cancerland, know that there can be unforeseen bright spots that might surprise you.