June 30, 2012
A year ago I was blissfully naïve; I didn’t know what a PICC line or a port was, I thought cancer only happened to others and that I was too healthy to ever get it. I was foolish about what it is like for people to deal with major medical problems. I thought they were built differently or possessed some type of divine ability to handle what they’ve been given. I never thought about how mother, pushing a stroller with a huge child who flails out of control, feels. Albeit I have been kind and considerate to those in need, I never stopped to think about how people dealing with huge disabilities encounter unmet expectations.
June 22, 2012
I was convinced my final surgery would be a “no-brainer”, especially compared to the four hour colorectal removal I had nine months earlier. How bad could my ostomy reversal really be? I did my clear liquid fast (which I sincerely hate), put on a surgery cap and inhaled my anesthesia with no problem, but that’s where the easy part ended. Three hours later, I woke up, dry heaving and slipping in and out of consciousness, which unfortunately made my (not too professional) recovery-nurse nervous. However, compared to my previous surgery, where I had said a serious goodbye to everyone I knew, had meaningful pictures made with each of my children and woke up with no feeling whatsoever in any of my extremities, this was a breeze.