What Have I Really Been Up To?
It's been eight months since I regularly posted to this blog. What have I been up to in all that time? Where have those months gone? Well, let me tell you, it's been a long eight months. It's been a time of discovery and sadness as well as joy and happiness. The kids are growing ever so much. It's hard to believe how much they've changed. We still have our foster boy with us. He's 19 months now. He was just a wee seven weeks when he came to us in April of 2012. But the overarching, dominating theme of the last eight months was knowing someone very dear to me was dying and there was nothing to be done about it.
It's been a blur to me, really. A time that seemed to drag and fly by simultaneously. Aunt Diane had been diagnosed with cancer some time ago. It wasn't a question of "if" but "when." Of course, we all held out for a miracle. Who wouldn't? But she was such a trooper and she underwent treatments to slow the progression down. She visited whenever she could and I relished every minute of those visits. I wanted to bottle them up and keep them forever. I made every effort to see her at least one day when she came out to visit my mom.
After reviewing the family history, Aunt Diane opted to go in for genetic testing. Her sister had passed away at a very young age from ovarian cancer and her mother, my grandmother, had battled breast cancer not once, but twice. Throughout the great-aunts and great-grandmas there were variations of female cancers sprinkled around like confetti. Her genetic test came back positive for the gene mutation. By now, though, it didn't matter. The cancer was bad and we all knew it, but it was easier to pretend it wasn't happening.
In May of this year, I, too, opted to undergo genetic testing. There was a part of me that didn't want to know and part of me that desperately needed to know if I was a carrier, too. When the doctor's office called me to schedule an appointment to go over the test, I knew it was positive. What point would there be to calling me in just to tell me everything was ok? So, it was with no real shock that the doctor revealed my own positive test results. We'd had time to think things over, to pray, to come to a decision in the weeks that we waited for the results. Before I left the office I pretty much knew I'd have surgery, but I went home to talk to Chris and go over the options. It wasn't long before I was back in the doctor's office and had a surgery date scheduled. I texted Aunt Diane the news. She was bummed and warned me that our genes were a fearsome thing.
Ovarian cancer is a biggie in my maternal family. It was not hard to make the decision to have a total hysterectomy. Shortly after the decision was made, though, Angelina Jolie was splashed about the news for her controversial surgery choice and so, for the most part, I kept my own story to myself. A few of the people I had mentioned it to, replied with, "Oh! Like Angelina Jolie!" as though it were some neat thing we had in common, this celebrity and I. We all say things sometimes without thinking and so I didn't say what really entered my mind at that moment. That I'd rather not have a broken gene. That I'd rather not have a surgery to greatly decrease my risk of ovarian cancer. And so I kept it mostly to myself and prepared for a surgery.
On June 28th, Aunt Diane passed away. It was the hardest day I'd had in a long time. I was due to be in Pennsylvania the very next day and I selfishly prayed that she'd hang on and I'd get there to see her one last time. But it was not to be. My Dad called while I was packing to let me know she was gone and I just sat on my bed and sobbed. I was so relieved that her suffering was over, but so ridiculously sad for myself.
It's been a blur to me, really. A time that seemed to drag and fly by simultaneously. Aunt Diane had been diagnosed with cancer some time ago. It wasn't a question of "if" but "when." Of course, we all held out for a miracle. Who wouldn't? But she was such a trooper and she underwent treatments to slow the progression down. She visited whenever she could and I relished every minute of those visits. I wanted to bottle them up and keep them forever. I made every effort to see her at least one day when she came out to visit my mom.
After reviewing the family history, Aunt Diane opted to go in for genetic testing. Her sister had passed away at a very young age from ovarian cancer and her mother, my grandmother, had battled breast cancer not once, but twice. Throughout the great-aunts and great-grandmas there were variations of female cancers sprinkled around like confetti. Her genetic test came back positive for the gene mutation. By now, though, it didn't matter. The cancer was bad and we all knew it, but it was easier to pretend it wasn't happening.
In May of this year, I, too, opted to undergo genetic testing. There was a part of me that didn't want to know and part of me that desperately needed to know if I was a carrier, too. When the doctor's office called me to schedule an appointment to go over the test, I knew it was positive. What point would there be to calling me in just to tell me everything was ok? So, it was with no real shock that the doctor revealed my own positive test results. We'd had time to think things over, to pray, to come to a decision in the weeks that we waited for the results. Before I left the office I pretty much knew I'd have surgery, but I went home to talk to Chris and go over the options. It wasn't long before I was back in the doctor's office and had a surgery date scheduled. I texted Aunt Diane the news. She was bummed and warned me that our genes were a fearsome thing.
Ovarian cancer is a biggie in my maternal family. It was not hard to make the decision to have a total hysterectomy. Shortly after the decision was made, though, Angelina Jolie was splashed about the news for her controversial surgery choice and so, for the most part, I kept my own story to myself. A few of the people I had mentioned it to, replied with, "Oh! Like Angelina Jolie!" as though it were some neat thing we had in common, this celebrity and I. We all say things sometimes without thinking and so I didn't say what really entered my mind at that moment. That I'd rather not have a broken gene. That I'd rather not have a surgery to greatly decrease my risk of ovarian cancer. And so I kept it mostly to myself and prepared for a surgery.
On June 28th, Aunt Diane passed away. It was the hardest day I'd had in a long time. I was due to be in Pennsylvania the very next day and I selfishly prayed that she'd hang on and I'd get there to see her one last time. But it was not to be. My Dad called while I was packing to let me know she was gone and I just sat on my bed and sobbed. I was so relieved that her suffering was over, but so ridiculously sad for myself.
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| Aunt Diane: June 24th, 2013 |
The day after Labor Day, I went in for my hysterectomy. I approached the day with such mixed emotions. It was a textbook surgery and I was home the next day. Chris had taken two weeks off work to help out while I got busy recovering. Let me tell you, that was really hard. It was hard to sit and let others do for me. But, the few people who did know about the surgery brought us dinners and that was such a huge help. We even went back to school at less than one week post-op. It was an exhausting week, but I felt great knowing that we hadn't gotten too late of a start back.
This isn't completely over. I still have a breast cancer risk to assess and decide how to proceed. My options run the gamut from do nothing, to preventative cancer drugs, to double mastectomy. I just can't think about that right now. I'll think about it later. I'm still under a post-op lifting restriction (nothing over a milk jug) and I'm pretty wiped out by afternoon when school is done. The thought of going through another surgery just isn't what I want to think about right now. For now, I'll work on returning to normal (whatever that is) and keeping our schooling up and running.
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