Pre-op Thoughts from this morning...

This morning, we travel north for the removal of the device that kicked this journey off, 2 years and one month ago. The second week of October, just a week after my 33rd birthday, I underwent my very first, (ever) surgery. I remember going into it, telling everyone, ‘I’ve not so much as had a broken bone my entire life…let alone had a surgery.’ Lord knows I’m a far cry from that circumstance, now, ha! Funny what time does. How FAST things can change. 

I went from surgery-virgin to human-pin-cushion/infusion-expert/pro-drug-popper and yes, in the process MORE than lost my surgery-virginity, too.

Some people are surprised to hear that I haven’t had my port out until now. Then again, some people forgot that I even received one. I certainly can’t blame either party, as it’s not their body… their life… or personal experience. But I do find myself processing those comments like I do most cancer-related things. Yes, it’s there still. Why? 

A: I had to finish Herceptin infusions before it could come out. 

B: I had to get the ok from my oncologist in Chicago at this last visit, in October. 

C: I had to find a surgeon that would/could do it…as my plastic surgeon went and had a baby and never returned. The search for a new plastic surgeon, that is currently underway, will be another blog entry. But for now—no, I’m not going to take a steak knife and remove it myself, folks—so I am somewhat relieved that I have someone back at OHSU whose willing to do it. 

I have been asked: ‘Are you excited to get it out?’ I gotta be honest, I’m at a bit of a loss to know just exactly how to respond to that question, as the feelings are mixed. Am I going to be happy to not have an occasionally itchy foreign device that my youngest smacks with his beautiful but bulbous head against too often, laying under my upper-chest area skin? MOST DEFINITELY! Am I ‘excited’ for another surgery—albeit a fast one? NOT EVEN SLIGHTLY. 

I don’t like needles. I don’t like knives. I don’t even like hospitals. Unfortunately, NONE of these fears bode well with cancer-treatment/management scenarios. Needles, knives and hospitals, in general, become a regular thing once you’ve had cancer. But regardless, this particular needle/knife/hospital scenario is still a symbol. It’s a symbol of time, passed. The last time I was in the Multnomah building on the 4th floor standing at the surgical check-in desk, life was concretely fragile…and my head—my thoughts—were fighting with my heart. A head FILLED TO THE BRIM with fear-driven thoughts. A heart FILLED TO THE BRIM with God-driven love and support. Tomorrow, while the fearful thoughts and the Godly heart conversations are swarming around and bickering with one another, I anticipate less fear—knowing that 

A: This surgery, compared to my double-mastectomy, is NOTHING. 

B: My awesome hubby is able to be at my side this time! 

C: This scenario, while I still do and will always hate being in it—is less unknown. The familiarity of dressing-down, sterilization procedures, etc, is there. And that is oddly comforting.

Perhaps above all else, however, is the fact that tomorrow is a symbol of health. I get to have my port OUT because—Lord willing—threatening-cancer is behind me. Even if just for a while. No, my life is not rid of cancer. That will NEVER be the case. But perhaps it’s time that I start looking at the POSITIVE marks that cancer has left on my life, versus being so blinded by all the negative that it is responsible for. 

If my life were rid of cancer completely, I will not lie, many things would be better—and less difficult. But with less challenge comes naivety and stagnancy. As I was just telling a student yesterday about the importance of a challenging piece in growth as a pianist, I too need to begin seeing that this challenge is my growth as a person and a Christ-child! 

So while I’m not ‘excited’ to get this port out, I am ready..and GRATEFUL for the current health I possess that makes it even a possibility.