Joy + Peace in the Midst of Suffering

 

Joy + Peace in the Midst of Suffering

The first post about my cancer journey can be read here.

My husband and I thought I’d be discharged in the morning. He had already switched shifts two or three times and was slated to work at 1 or 2 that day. We figured he’d drive me home and then drive back to work. Didn’t happen as we expected. My nurse tried her best to get the surgery staff to sign off in the morning, but a trauma rolled in and that obviously trumped a discharge. So, baby sister to the rescue in the afternoon. She even drove me to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription. Yep, the closed-due-to-holiday pharmacy. Oops. The nurse in her wasn’t happy I’d be skipping a dose of antibiotics, but I survived.

The plan on discharge was to meet with a surgeon later in the week and make a definitive plan. That’s exactly what we did. At this point, I had no idea what to expect other than for pathology to confirm the mass in my colon was a form of cancer. This initial meeting with the surgeon was surreal. I had a hard time coming to terms with him blatantly throwing around words like cancer and surgery and scans and chemotherapy. The lab hadn’t sent back “official” pathology reports but he told us that he had seen the CT scan and colonoscopy pictures. He agreed with the GI doctor that pathology was extremely likely to come back malignant. So he sat there and told us his idea of a plan to beat this cancer. His plan was to perform surgery first, then hand me off to an oncologist for chemotherapy. The other option would be chemotherapy first, then surgery. However, based on tumor size and location, he felt surgery first was the best plan for my comfort. I was still alternating ibuprofen and acetaminophen EXACTLY every four hours throughout the day and still experiencing some breakthrough pains. So. Much. Pain.

We were told my case would be presented to a tumor board the next morning, and whatever was agreed upon collectively was how we would move forward. The tumor was pressing on my uterus and an ovary, so this surgeon said he’d like a gynecological-oncologist (that’s such a mouthful!) to be in on the surgery to perform a hysterectomy. Knowing I’m done being pregnant, and that ovaries are a hotspot of sorts for cancer to reappear, this was more than okay with me. Jury’s still out on whether instant menopause is worth never dealing with a menstrual cycle again. These hot flashes are insane!

Eventually, we did remember to ask if our much-awaited family trip to Fort Wilderness Family Camp would need to be canceled. In no uncertain terms we were told, “Yes! Go! Live your life!” About 48 hours later, we were packed up and headed north. Fort Wilderness is an amazing place that we’ve been to a handful of times as a family. It’s a Christian camp in the middle of nowhere...the beautiful Northwoods of Wisconsin.

It takes our family nine to ten hours to drive to this camp. We break it up into two easy driving days, setting up a quick overnight camp at a cheap campground along the way. Our overnight site ended up being a very short walk away from some gorgeous shoreline. The kids had a blast finding shells, rocks, and crawdad claws. A whole lot of these things somehow found their way into the truck. After an easy dinner and an unbelievably decent night of sleep, we headed out to finish the drive to Fort.

If there’s one thing I know about God, it’s that He always gives me what I need, when I need it. Our week at Fort was exactly this. Once we got checked in and settled, I started reading over our little intro packet. The theme for the summer was “joy + peace” and based on this scripture:

Just reading it felt like a great big, squishy hug. I’ve been around the suns enough times to know that I can trust God, and this felt like him nudging me, saying “I got this, kid. Keep on trusting me.” It was and is a reminder that God IS the source of hope, and that my trust in him leads to not just hope, but confident hope. From the moment I first read those words, I have been at peace. I was still in a lot of pain and rather frustrated, but underlying everything else was—and is-- an inexplicable peace.

I spent the majority of our week at Fort in my hammock, sleeping the day (and its pain) away. I did attend the sessions and made it to dinner almost each night. I only skipped out early on the “fancy” dinner because pain was getting the better of me. I had been told by the surgeon to watch my diet. How? I needed to follow a low-fiber or low-resistance diet until surgery. It was torture! Low fiber diet was explained to me as very little fresh veggies, no whole wheat or whole grain breads, and lean meats. Pretty much the opposite of what I enjoy eating, especially in the summer months when we have a big garden in our yard. Fort serves some pretty amazing dinner food, but I wasn’t able to enjoy all of it. I did not starve by any stretch of the imagination, but I will admit to being irritated seeing and smelling delicious foods that were a no-go for me.

Unfortunately, another no-go appeared to be happening at home. My sister had been at the initial consultation with the surgeon and volunteered to be the messenger between me and my family. We made sure to put her down as someone that could get my test results and schedule things for me. Well, she tried to schedule my surgery. She tried repeatedly. Eventually she was told that I’d need an appointment with the second doctor before they were willing to coordinate a double surgery. Stinkin’ red tape. I’m still not sure if it was a surgeon’s office or an insurance requirement, but either way it just felt like an unnecessary obstacle to climb. There was absolutely zero doubt I needed surgery and needed it soon!

We finished out the week at Fort and headed home. The travel was much more uncomfortable for me going home. We did end up driving the ENTIRE way home because the thought of sleeping in a tent for one more night brought me to tears and the hotels we checked at about 3 hours from home were asking $350 or more for the night. Nah. I went with the attitude of “suck it up, buttercup!”, and we made it home after stopping for a pizza.

At home, my physical symptoms began to worsen. I felt more unwell in general, and the pain was enough to make me vomit on occasion. We decided it was enough to warrant an ER trip. We used a different hospital system this time because we were frustrated with the whole still-not-having-surgery-scheduled thing. Ugh! We waited for hours on July 20 before we were finally taken to a bed in a hallway. Eventually this [young, resident] doctor sent me home with Norco and instructions to make an appointment with my surgeon. What did she think we’d been trying to do for almost two weeks at this point? My husband took me home around 2 or 3 in the morning.

The next day, July 21, I was back in the ER waiting room. The Norco wasn’t even touching the pain. I was fairly certain it wasn’t my body rejecting or not being compatible with it because that’s what I successfully used for pain management when I broke my ankle in January 2020. While we were waiting, we finally got a call and an appointment time with the second doctor for my surgery. We first said “No thanks,” but shortly after decided to call back and keep the appointment just in case we needed it.

We had been talking with my sister and she just happens to know one of the doctors at this particular hospital. (Thanks, God!) She had been talking to him about my situation and he felt comfortable telling her that he felt he could get me admitted and move things along quickly—or at least quicker than they had been moving! We waited until he was on shift at the hospital, but still had to wait to get back to an ER bed (in the hall, again). The doctor I saw this time seemed to be a little more compassionate. I’m sure I also looked perfectly terrible and anxious. I was given oxycodone in lieu of Norco, I think, and before long I heard this doctor calling the surgeon’s office to see what was what and why surgery hadn’t been scheduled yet. It was also explained to me that she was fairly certain that the pain was coming from a large amount of stool being caught up behind the mass that was unable to move through the small unobstructed area of my colon.

She prescribed a laxative and something other than Zofran for the nausea, and we did end up talking to my sister’s doctor friend with this ER doctor. He felt that, now that we had an appointment with the second doctor, staying with that route would be better than admitting me at this hospital. It basically would have been starting at ground zero again with new scans and a new tumor board, etc. I was told to go home, take more oxycodone as needed, and to take the prescribed laxative twice a day until it started working. I was also given a different anti-nausea medicine since the Zofran wasn’t cutting it for me.

On July 22 (yep, the day after my 2 ER visits in less than 24 hours) we saw the second doctor. I liked him. He seemed to be pretty old-school and was just as miffed as we were at the lack of scheduling. I think I even remember him saying something along the lines of, “Why are you here? This is ridiculous”. We talked with him for a while and it was basically “Yep. You need surgery and that mass is REALLY close to gynecologic organs.” Okay, visit done.

It was still about a week out from there before I was able to schedule surgery. And when I did get the surgery scheduled, it still felt like it was too far away. August 9^th could not come soon enough!