Same same

I always enjoy seeing my surgeon, but I hope I never see him again. He expressed the same sentiment when I saw him today for my surgery follow-up visit.

The big news of the day was what I expected to hear, but had held out a little hope that I would not hear. The pathology report from this latest tumor was the same bad kind of stuff he had removed in Feb. 2009, just not as big. Officially, it was recurrent leiomyosarcoma, or what I will designate as Cancer 2.1.

I would like to quit counting now. I would like to not ever have to number another cancer. One breast cancer and two sarcomas is plenty.

Sarcomas tend to come back, but they don't have to. If prayers and positive support can keep a recurrence at bay, this sarcoma doesn't have a chance!

Pillow talk

In most things I'm easy to please. I don't send food back in a restaurant. I prefer coffee with cream but can drink it black. I can listen to all kinds of music, I like watching all kinds of sports, and just about any wine is fine with me.

But when it comes to my pillow, I'm ridiculously particular. It's got to be fairly flat and fluff-able. Foam is a no-no. Firm pillows or pillows with too much stuffing give me a headache. I have been known to put a pillowcase on a hotel bath towel rather than use the fat pillows on the bed.

And I have no warm feelings for a pillow that has absorbed too much body heat. I am constantly flipping my pillow over in search of its cool side.

For my recent hospital stay, I was thrilled when the nurses told me it was OK to ask my husband to bring my pillow from home. The pain medicine helped me sleep that first night, but for the rest of my hospital stay, having my own pillow was a bigger comfort.

I was starting to think maybe it's time for me to grow up and improve my pillow tolerance, but then my older sister came to visit for a few days. I couldn't help but smile when she carried in her pillow from home along with her suitcase. Some comfort items are just worth hanging onto.

Rejuvenating

For reasons maybe more psychological than I might admit, I felt compelled the day before my surgery to sharply cut back my out-of-control wave petunias. They had grown way out of their containers on my deck, losing some of their beauty as they turned too long and leggy.

I approached the petunias with pruners and faith. I knew from past experience they would grow back, even if they looked ugly for a little while. I pruned with zeal, and silently prayed that my surgeon would exercise more wisdom and restraint in his work the next morning.

In my first days back home from the hospital, my petunias and I were in similar states of recuperation. The promise of better health was there, but we were still feeling the effects of sharp blades.

Our progress continues to track each other. I am feeling stronger, and "normal" doesn't feel so distant. And my petunias, while not as robust as they once were, are definitely gaining strength as well.

Impatient

I'm not very good at recuperation.

I do fine at sleeping in, but then I fight with myself the rest of the day. It is so foreign for me to take it easy that I naturally default to doing too much -- either by being on my feet longer than I should or even sitting at the computer too long. Then I wonder why I am achy and tired by afternoon.

And when I do finally make myself lie down again, I take guilt to bed with me. Ought I really be resting? Should I push through the aches to get stronger? Must I get back to the office, or even to the gym?

Then I try to remind myself: It's only been two weeks since I had major abdominal surgery!

I was blessed with being in good shape going into my surgery, and I have been blessed with a good recovery so far. Now all I need is a little patience to let the healing continue.

Naval attack!

The doctors are usually pretty good about documenting every little thing they've done in the surgeries I've had, but they missed something this last time. In addition to cutting out a tumor and snipping out a little of my small intestine, they forgot to mention they had also performed a belly button removal!

I didn't even know my belly button was missing until I removed the steri-strip bandages across my incision today. Maybe the doctors didn't realize either, but it is nowhere to be seen.

Not that it ever got to be seen much anyway. Most of my belly-button-baring in recent years has been restricted to sunbathing by myself at home, or in trips to Buckeye Lake and Las Vegas. As for future sunbathing, I figure a naval-less tummy won't be the wierdest thing to be seen either at Buckeye Lake or in Las Vegas.

I might need a good story for the grandkids, though. Kids tend to be fascinated with belly buttons anyway. I keep picturing some future boat trip when I'll decide it's OK to wear a two-piece bathing suit because it's just family. And suddenly little Dodge or Logan will fix eyes on my belly and say, "Grandma, what happened to your beeboo?"

My answer will be simple. "I had some really great doctors who wanted to make sure I was here with you!"

The Dow what?

I'm starting to feel singularly responsible for the nation's economy. How else do you explain the dramatic downturns that have accompanied my last two health crises?

In the fall of 2008, I remember a fog of scary newspaper headlines while I was preoccupied with my own bad news -- a nasty tumor that appeared suddenly in my gut and grew quickly. The economy contintued to struggle for months while I dealt with chemo and surgery. I felt bad for the ecomony, but I didn't have the energy or desire to indulge my usual joy of shopping.

Gradually we both returned to better health, the economy and I, and things were looking brighter until earlier this summer. Then, as economists and bond raters furrowed their brows at the growing U.S. debt and Congressional inaction, doctors frowned at my latest CT results. Nobody liked what they saw.

This week's market plunge coincided with my hospital stay, but hopefully the worst is over. I'm slowly regaining my strength, and the markets are trying to work their way back to health.

Now I'm more than curious: what was the state of the economy during my breast cancer battle in 1996-97? Either way, let's get on with a sustained recovery!

Back home again!

I dreamed last night that I lived in an amazing house with the most wonderful amenities and immense comfort. And I woke up in that same mindset. My home hadn't changed during five days in the hospital, but my appreciation was much keener. I received great care in the hospital, but nothing beats being back home.

My surgery went well and the doctors said it was a best-case scenario. The tumor they removed was fully encapsulated, with no dreaded tendrils sneaking away to cause trouble elsewhere. No hysterectormy was necessary afterall, and I sacrificed just a bit of small intestine to which the tumor was attached. Everything else they could see in my innards looked clean, including lymph nodes.

The prayers that preceded me into the hospital and have followed me home are much appreciated. As I work through recuperation, my daily mantra is this: I am very blessed!

Cheers!

I'm toasting to good friends. I'm toasting to good times. I'm toasting to good food. I'm toasting to toast. I'm toasting to anything I can think of to try to get this gallon jug emptied.

It's surgery prep day, and that means I am supposed to drink this awful stuff to clean up my innards, but I'm not very good at it.

I started right on time -- set the alarm clock for 6:45 so I could begin my cocktails at 7 a.m. And I have been drinking a glass every 15 minutes as directed -- but apparently my glass wasn't big enough. Instead of finishing the jug in two hours, it's been four hours now and I'm still not finished.

So here come more toasts -- to rainy mornings that I don't have to go to work, to emails letting me know I'm in the prayers of lots of people, to nearby bathrooms, to finally emptying the jug. Here's to you!