When I found out a few weeks ago that the cancer had either not been removed successfully, or it had returned with a vengeance, I couldn't believe it. Everything happens for a reason, right? So, I got cervical cancer for a reason and I found out what that reason was. Why am I being faced with this again? I learned my lesson. I don't need more practice! But, that's only my opinion...
Walking in to an oncology office was surreal. There was coffee, and a tea station, and Jolly Ranchers. Walking back to the bathroom, you see people sitting in leather recliners receiving chemo. The bathroom is gorgeous. And none of it makes up for the fact that you have to be there in the first place. In the beautiful lobby, people are sharing cancer stories, and you think, "I don't belong here." But, you're here for a reason. And you are about to find out why.
Waiting to see an oncologist is a very scary thing. Attempting to live in the present, I pretty much denied it until the day of. But, really, it was like having mail at your house, addressed to you, with your fate inside....and you can't touch it for weeks. And when you finally arrive, you are surrounded by something that is so much larger than you. I sat there, waiting, for two hours. I got smaller and smaller as the time went on. As I got smaller, I also got hungrier and no one seemed to understand the severity of that situation. If you know me, you understand that we might be dealing with a larger problem, but hunger will not help. In order to occupy myself, I turned on Pandora and would you believe the song that came on? Bob Marley, Three Little Birds. "Singin' don't worry, about a thing. 'Cause every little thing's gonna be alright." Jeff and I looked at each other in disbelief.
I'm getting used to meeting doctors with no pants on. You'd think it's not normal, but it's becoming a pretty standard practice for me. Basically, keeping all the technicalities aside, I go in for another surgery on July 17th. The oncologist will use a more specialized, tricky and advanced technique in an attempt to remove it all, for good, this time. She will also do more biopsies to see if it has spread. And if it has, well, then it's time for a hysterectomy. But for now, I got the best news possible. No chemo, no radiation, no hysterectomy(yet). The doctor doesn't want me to do anything for two weeks. After three, she said I can go back to my "normal" training. Funny thing, that when you are training for an Ironman, you have to really specify what your training routine is like. So, here I am, no pants on, and I'm asking when I can return to my normal workout routine. "At the END of three weeks." "So, by 'normal' I mean working out like 4 hours a day. Is that okay?" And you can tell she was thinking, "Why would anyone want to do that?" But instead she politely responded with, "As long as you are feeling up to it, then yes." I almost gave her a hug. She also complimented me on my legs, which almost made it worth it that I had to have them off. Again.
I keep getting asked the same questions, so I will address them here. How am I feeling? I don't know. I feel frustrated sometimes, but mostly I feel like here I am again. And I can't tell you why, and even if I could it wouldn't matter, would it? What am I going to do now? Well, now, I am going in for surgery on Wednesday and then I will focus on recovering. Day by day. I will do what my body tells me. If I can go back to work in a week, then I would love to. If I can start walking, hiking and cycling within a couple weeks, I will. If I am in pain, I will slow it down. I will listen to my body. The biggest question is...Will I still do Ironman? Hey, your guess is as good as mine! I'm going to have to see how my recovery goes. I hope that Ironman is still in the cards for me. It's going to be a struggle any way at this point. I will have lost at least three weeks of crucial training time. Ironman isn't a race you just "suck it up" at. See, for Ironman you need the training AND the "suck it up." And I don't need to hear anything about, "Don't give up! You still have to do Ironman!" If it's meant to be, and doesn't affect my recovery, then I will. But, at this point, my focus has to shift from an endurance event I've dreamed of doing, to my health. My future. And as much as I love my dream of Ironman, I learned after my last diagnosis that I have to come first. And it doesn't pay off to have one foot out the door during recovery. You have to be all in.
I spent most of my life battling. I lived my life as if I was battling the ocean. Going the way I thought I was supposed to go. Just fighting. And now, well, I learned to surf...if you will. You give me a wave and I'll ride it. I go with the flow. If I'm pulled under, I'm calm. I know I will breathe again. And through this all, the best I can do is go with the flow, and enjoy the ride. I can't control a lot of this. But I can control how I choose to handle this. And I choose to handle it with grace, love and patience. Perspective. Perspective.
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