Field Journal
70/30
Published August 5, 2024
“Well, then that makes it 70/30 towards open surgery instead of 50/50.”
Two weeks of medical tests, spikes of PTSD plus anxiety wrapped in a history of hope, and three anxiety-induced high blood pressure readings taken late July in the new surgeon’s office, were bringing us to the next step. I would be having surgery in August 2024 to remove a grapefruit-sized ovarian cyst. A mid-July CT scan confirmed the cyst, and showed an additional 1.3 cm something behind or at the edge of the cyst that needed to be identified. Thankfully, every other test came back with no indications of cancer. No tumor markers, no issues in my colon like fourteen years before. No necrotic lymph nodes shutting down a kidney like twelve years before.
So what was this new thing? Scar tissue from radiation was the most hopeful option ringing the bell in my corner. Can we just run with that? Across my mental boxing ring pranced the real possibility of a new cancer. Surgery would determine the winner.
The surgeon continued reviewing my history. We negotiated to 50/50 on whether he would find cancer or not, and 50/50 on whether he could do the surgery laparoscopic or not.
I mentioned that I’ve had radiation not once, but twice. He turned.
“Then your previous radiation and scar tissue from abdominal surgeries changes the odds. Chances for an open surgery are more like 70/30.” I blanched. More high blood pressure.
“Do you have to do open surgery?”
I had tried to bargain with my first oncologist on whether I really got cancer for a lack of chemo in my body. Any other options? At all?
The surgeon looked me straight in the eye. Fair and direct.
“If I get in there and need to do open surgery, it is because open surgery will help protect you from needing a colostomy or from possible damage to other organs.”
Let’s not do a colostomy again, please. We’ll do it however you determine when you get in there, sir.
“I understand.”
Tom and I left the office. He drove. I began making a mental list of everything I would begin doing to help my body prepare. Can we dissolve a 10 cm cyst in four weeks and clear a 1.3 cm something? Is that a thing? God did it before. Sharon, He also used medical treatment to help. “Lord?” Fine. You’ve pointed us in this direction. Surgery prep it is. Let’s go.
If you’ve read this far, hello and thank you.
My family and I have had a few weeks to move from, “This sounds horribly like dejavu – a benign appearing cyst that turns out to be cancer,” to, “Ok, this is a different thing; lots of women have ovarian cysts… we know what this is and where it is … and many women need surgery… maybe they haven’t all had radiation twice but who’s counting… and perhaps God is taking care of this thing now and getting it removed so you keep moving forward with living and healing and embracing the hope that has carried us all the past fourteen years.”
I’ve pondered about what and how to share. I mean, I had an entire blog filled with writing that helped me cope with cancer. I revamped, removed, and finally recently put this blog back together wondering what, in the world, I should blog about (ha). I’ve kept key things from previous blogs here because sometimes people will ask me and really want to know what I did that helped my own 2010-2013 cancer healing journey. There are things the cancer journey taught me – losses, wins, and truces – that I never want to forget. I also never want to go through it again. I dread another major surgery.
Does this new thing need to be shared with the world? Not sure. My emotions are complicated. Do I need and appreciate prayer? For sure. Does writing about it help me? Oh yes. What would God like through this? I don’t know, but my eyes are on Him.
Today a friend texted me to ask how I was doing. She did not know I was thinking about whether I should be writing down this latest challenge that, by all appearances, could turn out fine. A bump in the road. However the last three weeks have reminded me and my sweet family that bumps, benign or not, are capable of pulling us back to the anxiety, stress, discouragement, and reality that disease can be life changing. But so can hope be life giving. God has not changed. His love, care, and mighty help will not change. I and my family have a peace about this situation. I want others to know the God who can give peace in turmoil.
Does a new chapter about hope ever get old?
My friend, a masterful writer of encouraging posts herself, texted, “Here’s an encouragement… Only you (and the Lord) can say when it’s time if it’s time to share. If God is doing a new thing with your old story … don’t feel bad about sharing it … if you want. Someone will hear it for the first time.”
What has God given you to share about hope? Someone may need to hear it! (Including me.)
Remember your word to your servant, for you have given me hope. My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life.
