Day: December 8, 2008

#*&$@!

There is absolutely no creativity today just pain. The painkillers aren’t kicking in quick enough to stop pain from the surgery. I am trying to type to think of something, anything else, but there is no concentrating on anything else.

Deep, even breathing isn’t helping at all. Lying down doesn’t help, sitting up makes it burn. I just do not understand why today the pain is worse. I am getting ready to go lie back down and hope that it will ease some, as if it doesn’t I am going to have to call my doctor’s office, and hope they’ll have a suggestion.

Healing

Healing. Such a simple word. “the natural process by which the body repairs itself”

Even an easier concept, it seems, until it is your stomach sliced from breastbone into your bellybutton, your skin pulled taut with a line of staples holding it back together. When I pull my shirt up and look down all I can see is a line of shiny metal holding my insides from spilling out. Now, I thought I was prepared for all this, I had plenty of time to prepare for this.

From the start of September until December 1st, the only thing I could concentrate on was having the cancerous tumor removed from inside of me. Now, that I am not even a week into this process I was woefully under prepared for it. Don’t get me wrong, I am healing, every day I feel better, it is a bit easier to move, I can cough without wanting to cry.

Yet, mentally, this is getting no easier. I still have the thought of having such a large cancerous tumor inside me. That mass grew inside of me for possibly years, and would have continued to grow for years were it not for some oddball cellulitis infection in my stomach, and a doctor that pushed for a CT scan.

Now, I’ll know more within the next week, the staging of the cancer, the statistics going forward from here, my chances of living a long life. I also know how I already ‘beat’ the statistics by being a 33 year old woman with renal cell cancer, as women my age don’t get kidney cancer.

I’m not healed, nor will I be even when I know the staging of my tumor, nor in a couple months when my incision line is scar tissue and I can lift up my nephews again. I don’t know when I will be healed from this. I don’t know if I will be healed from this. All I can do is hope, which is just another four letter word, only one that has such a greater mouth feel.

Hope. Hope, that if was a low grade tumor, that they got all of the cancer cells, that it will not recur. Hope that I will heal, physically from the surgery, the cancer, the disease, then mentally from that huge word that has more power than any six letter word ever should have.