A shift in focus - Part 2

I now have a surgery date - June 17.

Yesterday, I lamented a sense of loss now that the ovarian cancer run is over. My blog discussed the need to shift my focus. Obviously, I now have that new focus.

My stomach clenched in worry when I heard the date yesterday morning. I knew surgery was inevitable, but to have a concrete date in the not-so-distant future initially filled me with dread. But as the day wore on and the shock wore off, I could feel myself mentally preparing.

I reminded myself of the benefits of the surgery - the removal of the nasty tumours, and my uterus, ovaries and fallopian tubes (the culprits in producing the mutant cells). My surgeon will also remove a portion of the omentum (that fatty layer in the abdomen that typically protects organs) - something I feel I have way too much of anyway. I keep dreaming it'll be like a tummy tuck, but I suspect I'll be sorely dissapointed.

The surgery will also allow my oncologist to assess the extent of the cancer, examine the tumours and confirm my staging.

But that's what scares me too. What if he can't remove it all? What if he discovers when he opens me up, the cancer has spread to other organs? What if my tumours aren't the type that respond well to the treatment I'm undergoing? I'm worried my situation will be worse than we originally thought.

Right now, I live in blissful ignorance (that may be an overexaggeration) that the chemotherapy is working for me. Theoretically, it's now shrinking the cancer cells, which will make the surgery easier to tolerate.

I'm also scared because it's going to be invasive surgery. I've been saying, much to the chagrin of others, they're going to gut me like a trout. They'll make a huge t-incision down my abdomen and across my pelvis to open me up and remove the offending organs and disease - and whatever else they find that looks suspect. Then they'll wash the empty cavity and collect the cells to examine in the labs. When they're done, they'll sew me back up.

I'll wake to some pretty incredible pain and a huge scar. Good thing, the hospitals have strong narcotics for the pain. I have a feeling drugs are going to be my new best friend right after the operation.

Apparently, I'll be in the hospital for three to five days. When I go home, I'll have to take it easy and won't be able to lift anything heavier than 10 lbs. or stretch to reach anything. Sounds pretty limiting.

While I'm scared of the surgery and all it entails, I'm really am happy to have a date. The prospect of the operation lurked in the back of my mind since my diagnosis. The surgery removes the cancer (or most of it) and the chemotherapy will clean up what remains. It's moving forward. It's one step closer to recovery.

So I'm gearing up for the next stage of the battle. I will be strong mentally and physically for June 17. This cancer can't beat me.

Your friend,
Tina