We have been in New York City since last Friday. The pre-op tests and review were done on Friday. I am physically fit for the surgery tomorrow. It has felt like the universe is screwing with me. The nurse practitioner who was sent to discuss pre-op preparations with me was pregnant and kept on rubbing her belly. Ouch. We agree that MSKCC could be more sensitive and not assign pregnant staff to work with young women who have to get hysterectomy.
Yesterday we boarded the Staten Island Ferry to get a view of the Statue of Liberty only to be turned back to the terminal after a few minutes. We asked someone what was going on. A pregnant woman's water broke just as we left the terminal. I thought that was bizarre. Why am I surrounded by pregnant women all of a sudden?
It's hard to believe the big day is tomorrow. I am not quite ready. Logistically speaking I am ready. The house is set up for recovery. The freezer was stuffed full. I have my hospital backpack ready with important necessities. Am I emotionally ready? I'm not sure. I have been keeping myself very busy with preparations and working long hours to finish up a couple of projects at work before being out for two weeks. And I finished at 1 AM last night. Being busy helped take my mind off it. I was becoming very aware of the day approaching yesterday because it was the last day I could eat solids. I certainly enjoyed the yummy food the Little Italy had to offer! Today I am drinking clear liquids: water, hot tea, clear juices, broth. I am hungry! The sight and smell of food are driving me crazy. I will get through today! What has helped a lot is getting some money from a friend to help with travel costs from home to New York. We decided to use some money to get a hotel room at a very good deal. It's a good place to be before my surgery to relax and lock myself away from all the smells of food. It's a mile from the hospital. My surgery is scheduled for 9 AM tomorrow morning. I check in at 7 AM to be prepped. I told Mike I wanted to walk from the hotel to the hospital. The walk itself would calm my nerves. I am stressed out at this moment but am forcing myself to chill out this evening. I will need to disconnect myself from Facebook and my phone until after the surgery so I don't get more nervous with all the well wishes coming my way. And I will capitalize on my last baths for six to eight weeks by reading some magazines and watching a movie on my iPad while bathing.
I remember reading somewhere recently about how the oncologist and the patient have different mindsets. The oncologist is focused on saving lives and surgeries like the one I will have tomorrow is a way to save my life. It means a success story for the oncologist. The patient does not focus on that 'success' but becomes concerned about how his/her own body will be different after the surgery. That's what has been on my mind the past few weeks. I spoke with women who had hysterectomy and they said that if I keep my ovaries, the change is more in the 'mind' rather than physical. Let's hope I do not overthink this change because I need to quickly adapt to the life without my uterus, cervix, and tubes.
One thing that was recommended that I do before the surgery is to write a letter to my uterus. I have been avoiding this until today. This letter was written as my feelings came out. There were no edits.
Dear Uterus,
A month ago, I was really pissed off that you gave up and let the cancer cells take control. You let the cancer line up in my endometrium. Today, I actually feel sorry for you. I feel sorry that you couldn't stay strong for me. I am sad that you did not fight hard enough to ensure I could have a shot at being pregnant at least once. But hey, thanks for giving me some warning signs that there was something wrong by making me go into pain and losing blood. I just hope that the cancer was caught early enough.
You have been with me since I was born. You were there when I got my first period when I was 12. You surprised me when I was not ready to be a woman. But I rolled with your timeline. Some of the cramps you gave me were awful so I am not going to miss you for that part. You scared me by not menstruating some months throughout the years. I learned that I had other medical issues that just stopped you from functioning. Now this cancer thing. I knew that you have paid your dues and it is time for you to go.
I hoped that the hormone therapy would have helped you get better. The hormone therapy, unfortunately, did not make me feel good. I stopped last Tuesday night, wondering what kind of effects that would have on you. I was happy that the nosebleeds stopped the day after my last dosage. Yesterday, I had spotting which tells me that the hormone therapy did not get rid of the cancer. The spotting told me that the cancer acted up. I felt sorry for your pain.
Now I am almost 39 years old and it is time to say goodbye to you. I am sorry you will be yanked out of my body and sent to a cold, clinical lab where a pathologist will examine you closely to determine how much damage the cancer has created. This will tell me the stage of my cancer. Then they will store you in a refrigerator for a while until they are satisfied that no further tests would be needed. I guess you will be disposed of at that point.
For what it was worth, thank you for being a part of my life. I bid thee farewell.
Naomi
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