Sept 10th, 2022 – “Well, that was Unexpected.” Plus Surgery and Recovery Update

Hello, dear friends and family…and friends of friends and family! 
 
I usually have a good idea of how I’m going to approach and communicate my updates but SO much has happened over the past three weeks that this might be all over the place – so bear with me. 
 
On Monday, August 22nd I had been noticing my digestion system had been sounding like a cross between a human dishwasher and a musical-plumber-convention. It was weird and mostly painless but I was more uncomfortable leading up to Monday night. I had a nice lunch with Austin and decided I would switch to a liquid diet the rest of the day to go easy on my body. 
 
*One thing I’ve been trying to do during this season is listen to my body.*
 
Little did I know what was about to transpire through the rest of the evening. The intense pain came marching in around 8pm and reached a full crescendo around midnight. Being who I am (e.g., I let my appendix reach bursting point in college before going to the ER), I waited a few more hours before waking Austin to say, “I need to go to the hospital.” The pain was the worst I’ve possibly ever experienced. I wanted to punch something and scream at the top of my lungs while weeping uncontrollably. Not a fun time. 
 
The ER admitted me almost immediately. They did a CT scan that determined I had a nearly 100% blockage in my colon at my tumor site. My local oncology team was notified, as well as MD Anderson, to decide how to proceed. The local team wanted to operate and take out the majority of my colon. It was hard to know what the MD Anderson team wanted to do because they were talking with each another and the local medical team and I would often be like, “What is going on?” One thing I made abundantly clear:  I did NOT want to operate in Fayetteville – I wanted to be released and have the surgery done in Houston. The main reason being that I had been off chemo all of August to get ready for the liver surgery and if they operated locally I would not be eligible for surgery the following week in Houston as planned. 
 
After 36 hours, I was off pain medication and had been receiving IV nutrition and fluids around the clock. I was released Thursday with a stern warning to go to Houston ASAP as I was still in a medically unstable position (not life threatening but unresolved). We started off to Texas that same day (after I said goodbye to the kids – leaving them for even longer than we had planned was so heartbreaking). We arrived at Houston early Friday afternoon and I went straight to MDA to have a rescan. The Lord’s kindness in all of this, despite the twists and turns, was very much felt. My colorectal surgeon reviewed the images and determined that I fell into a 1-2% category where the primary colon tumor had shrunk so much that it had folded in on itself and had created this very painful blockage. The only way forward was to do a colostomy procedure at the time of the liver surgery to create a way for my body to rid itself of stool while not adding too much trauma to my body (removing ALL of the cancer in one go increases my risk of infection and isn’t wise for my long-term prognosis).
 
So, I went August 22nd – August 30th without solid foods. And I went into a major liver surgery with the unexpected addition of having an ostomy/colostomy procedure. Originally, the colorectal surgeon made it sound like I could have a “bag for life” but later made it seem like he wouldn’t know for sure until he was able to see my colon with his “own eyes.” As of now, the ostomy bag is a temporary situation. (If you’re curious about what this all means a quick google search will help you.)
 
The surgery was eight hours long and went well. Complications after the surgery included extremely blurry vision for two days, a big drop in my hemoglobin levels resulting in a blood transfusion, and some of my other blood levels having trouble rebounding. Some of the unexpected beautiful things that happened while recovering included having the finest nurses who went above and beyond helping me (all had at least 25 years of experience), my mom and sister were able to come help support me and Austin, my liver surgeon was so compassionate and personal – she literally came every day to check on me and walk with me around the nurses station (she’s continued to be one of the best doctors I’ve ever met), and also noteworthy was I COULD FINALLY EAT AGAIN (I surprising lost almost no weight the week I couldn’t eat). 
 
I then was required to stay in the hospital for five days.  Although I was receiving the best care, hospital environments, in general, are hard on the human spirit. I’ve cried a lot. It was/is hard to get used to my new normal. The best way I can describe it is feeling like I was over-drafted physically, mentally and emotionally. It’s the first time I’ve thought to myself, “I’m living in a nightmare.” And I think the icing on the cake was the hard reality that I’m just at the halfway mark with treatment (and that is best-case scenario). 
 
There is a holy tension that I’ve been not just contemplating but living out that sounds like this:
 
We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. 
We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. 
We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. 
We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.

That is why we never give up.

Though our bodies are dying, 

Our spirits are being renewed every day. 

(2 Corinthians 4:8-9, 16) 

Aka:

Life is very, very hard. 

And yet – we endure. 

And keep a place for HOPE to live in our

hearts. 

I was already an easy crier (coming from a long line of easy criers) but now I weep like I breathe. I tell God, “This is so very hard, please let me live.”

And I also say to Him nearly daily, “There is nothing in this life that will make me love you any less.” I know Christ understands my humanity. I know Christ asked God in the garden, “Is there another way?” and still submitted himself to the painful road of death – because of his great love for us. But knowing all these things, and even believing them to my core, does not make the pain less painful. 

I have heard it said “you are so strong” but I want you to know – I am not. I am weak and fragile and just so very human. 

Thank you for loving me through this season. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for your words. Thank you for your great kindness and compassion. 

I love you all too. 

To wrap up this update: I am home now with my beautiful kids and my wonderful husband and I couldn’t be happier. Home feels even more special and sacred these days. 

I’ll share more of what’s coming next soon.