Part 4: What Just Happened to Me?

*Disclaimer - this next part of my story discusses cancer and the raw, emotional experience that we went through as a family. If you are not in a place to read this please skip ahead to other posts, I’ll have a disclaimer prior to any post that includes this topic moving forward. I’ve been in your shoes, it’s ok to protect your heart by not reading every story put out into the world.*

I know I am going to sound delusional at this part. But here goes nothing. I was told to arrive by 10:00 am for my 12:00 outpatient surgery. It was a Wednesday, so I said goodbye to my kids before they went to school and reminded them that if everything goes as planned, I should be home by dinner. (I KNOW, delusional. But remember I was working with facts. I have a cyst that needs to be removed and it does not look like cancer). My husband took me to the hospital. My parents offered to come too, but these were still covid times when you had to wear a mask in hospitals, and I knew they would be more comfortable at home. Jeremy promised to update them as much as possible. I checked in, then after about 20 minutes they called me back. I hugged him as tight as I could and said I’ll see you in a few hours.

I made my way to the pre-operative room, changed into the hospital gown and socks, put on the hair net, and sat on the bed. A nurse came to put in my IV, I was crying again. Fear, worry, anxiety. She offered me happy medicine and I said no thank you, I would be ok in a few minutes. And I was. She struggled to administer the IV. You can’t eat or drink beginning at midnight the night before and she was lecturing me about being so dehydrated she couldn’t find a vein. Ma’am. I do not know what to tell you I have a life sucking cyst name Carl living inside me and you won’t let me drink water. Eventually she got an IV in my forearm, and said the anesthesiologist would be over soon. This was not my first surgery rodeo, in fact it was my 4th. So I knew what to expect. The anesthesiologist did come see me and asked a few questions then he was gone. Then I sat there. I watched doctors walk in, then out, then back in, and back out. I did not have my phone, I did not have a clock in my view. No TV. Just doctors to look at. I was surprised my doctor hadn’t been in yet, but figured she would be soon. Before I knew it the IV nurse was back. She asked me if anyone had been in to talk to me yet. I said just the anesthesiologist. She was appalled. It had been 2 HOURS. I was confused, I should have been in and out of surgery by now. She pulled up the schedule to show me that they moved someone else in front of me, at first I was annoyed but I thought they must have needed it more than me and my surgery can wait. Another good sign that everything is fine, I told myself. But wait! JEREMY! My poor husband had been sitting in the waiting room with zero information, just wondering if they started. He was told that they would send a text when they start and during the surgery to keep him updated but nothing came through. The nurse immediately got him from the waiting room and brought him back so we could be together. We waited together until 4:00, texting family and friends who were wondering what was going on. Finally, the pre-operative room I was in was closing so we had to say our goodbyes again. This time I kept my phone, and I was wheeled up to a new pre-operative room. This one was much newer looking, and much more full. There was a woman speaking Spanish that needed a translator, but a nurse knew Spanish so she stepped in. I got to hear all about one of the anesthesiologists vacations and how he much prefers the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, then went on to list all of the exotic fancy vacations he had been on just that year while the nurse he was talking to nodded along. I had a conversation with another nurse about ice cream, which was absolute torture since I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for 20 hours at this point but I do love talking about ice cream. Finally, at 5:15 my doctor came in. It was time.

“Do you know what procedure you are having today” I was taken aback, because how does she not know. It must have been written all over my face because one of the nurses with her said “its just a consent thing, we need you to tell us so we know you know” Oh. Right. “You are removing my left ovary and Carl, my cyst” they laughed. I am funny. Then I asked “Do you know what time I should be able to go home? My mother is law is watching my kids and we just need to give her an idea of what time we’ll be home” (Hello my name is Anna, the delusional one.) She said “We’ll bring you back at 5:30, surgery is about an hour and a half, then by the time you wake up and come down from the anesthesia I would say by 10:00” Cool.

I text Jeremy

“I’m going back in a few minutes, she said expect to be home by 10 assuming all goes well, can you text parents”

Jeremy: “yeah, love you so much”

“Love you so much”

Jeremy: “goobye carl”

I get wheeled into the operating room, I climb onto the table, and then I’m out.

***

I awoke puking. No surprise to me, going under anesthesia always makes me puke. The nurses rush to help me. Everything is fuzzy and I can barely keep my eyes open. The first words out of my mouth: “What time is it?” The nurse replies “11:30.”

fuuuuuuuuuu….

“So, it’s cancer?” …It’s all I can get out.

“They aren’t sure yet, but they did have to do a full hysterectomy so you’re going to be pretty sore on your tummy”

“Has anyone told my husband? Please tell him he can go home so his mom can leave” …This is not the reaction one imagines having after being told they have NO REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS ANYMORE. But I was clearly incredibly focused on not inconveniencing my mother-in-law (who, for the record, had no issue staying with our kids as long as we needed her to)

“Yes, he’s been kept up to date”

I puke again. I fall asleep. I puke again. I fall asleep.

They give me Benadryl to help with the nausea and the next thing I know they are wheeling me to a room at 1:30am. The door opens, I’m being rolled in backwards and everything is still foggy. The nurses say “Ohhhh look who is here, it’s your family” The first thought that enters my mind is “who is here at 1:30 in the morning and how many of them are there, I am in no state to socialize”

They turn me around and there’s Jeremy, he wouldn’t leave without seeing me to know I was ok. The nurses leave and we have some sort of conversation about what just happened, but I have no recollection of what it was. He leaves and I pass out.

It’s 6:00 am and I’m awake, alert, and in pain. The anesthesia fog has lifted.

Holy shit what just happened to me.

I recall what I thought was happening. “I went in for a surgery at 5:30pm and should have been out by 7pm, so why was it 11:30 when I woke up. I know they took everything. But they don’t know if it’s cancer? How? Wasn’t the pathologist in the room going to test it and we would know right away? How am I waking up not knowing if it was cancer?” I grab my phone.

There are many texts, mostly from friends that Jeremy didn’t have phone numbers for. They are wondering if I’m ok and why they haven’t heard from me after my surgery that should have been done by 3pm at the latest. But that’s not the text I’m worried about. It’s the one I received at 8:59 pm. When I was still in surgery. It’s from Jeremy and it just says “Love You” I start crying.

What the fuck just happened to me?

I text him “good morning” he responds almost immediately. He had to get up to get the kids to school. I wish I took a screenshot of what he sent to me, it was an abridged version of what he had experienced. He lets me know he will be there after the kids are dropped off.

When he gets there, I get all the juicy details. Ok they aren’t juicy. Honestly this part is heartbreaking. I hate that he had to be put in this position with no one to lean on. He received a text that surgery began. He finds a lounge chair by the windows and noodles around on his phone. I think he left to grab dinner and came back? This part is foggy because it doesn’t matter. Around 7 the doctor comes out to talk to him. He didn’t get a text it was done, he was surprised to see her. He is sitting in the open lobby / hallway of the hospital. There is nothing private about where he is sitting with my doctor. So, when she lays on him what she’s about to lay on him you have to imagine the surprise he felt. No warning, no “can we talk in private” to know that something serious is going down. She gets right into it “We have removed the ovary and cyst, but the cyst looks pretty bad. We don’t know if it’s cancer yet and have to send it to the lab to check. We’ve cut her open to inspect her other organs and they all look ok, so if it is cancer we don’t think it’s spread. But you need to decide if we should do the full hysterectomy and remove the other ovary, fallopian tubes, cervix, and uterus or keep them in. If it comes back that it is cancer, we would have to do another surgery to remove them”

He asks questions, “what’s the likelihood it is cancer?”

Doctor: “I’d say 70% chance it’s cancer”

He’s thinking. 30% chance it’s not cancer is still a pretty good chance. But I know she wouldn’t want to do another surgery. And worst case, it’s not cancer and we took everything out. But she was ok with removing everything if it is cancer.

The question we always get asked is “wait, didn’t you guys talk about this?” Yes. Kinda. We were told there were two scenarios – either it’s not cancer and they take out Carl and the left Ovary OR it is cancer, and everything goes. Never, not once were we told that a third possibility was that the pathologist wouldn’t be able to tell if its cancer and someone needs to make a call on what to do based on a 70/30 chance.

Ultimately, he made the right choice, and I am so grateful he did. But then surgery went on until 10pm. And he had to sit there. Alone. With the knowledge that there’s a 70% chance that his wife has ovarian cancer. Knowing at the very least that it doesn’t look like it spread and is in an early stage. But not knowing which type of ovarian cancer or what is going to happen next. He told me he was googling to learn more about it. All the variations, outcomes, treatments. I imagine how scary that must have been for him and I feel so horrible that I couldn’t be there with him. Which is insane because I was asleep on an operating table with my stomach cut open and organs being removed and lifted and biopsied. Now when I look at the screenshot of the text he sent at 8:59 pm that just said “Love you” I lose it every time. He told me he just wanted to make sure that was the first thing I saw when I looked at my phone. But all I can think about is that he was alone texting the only person that he wanted to be there with him to help him through it. And I couldn’t be there.

If you were to talk to me about this face to face I would say “I had ovarian cancer, but I’m fine”, I downplay it like I got a little splinter. “I had a splinter, but I got it out, I’m fine.” “I had a Carl but he was removed and it wasn’t the radiologists husband, I’m fine” But when I allow myself to feel it, this was a heavy fucking day. Like, remember the day I woke up and found out I was missing 5 organs and might have cancer? That’s not normal.

I guess its my normal.

…to be continued