So my gall bladder is gone and my body is recovering from the surgery and adjusting to my new gall-bladderless life.
I'm healing.
As reported earlier, I felt considerably worse after I got home from the surgery than I did in the hospital. A quick, downward slide on the "How-are-you-feeling?" graph. Then a day or two at the bottom of that graph and then a remarkably swift return to health. Almost every day recently, there have been things I could do easily in the afternoon that I could not do at all that morning. And there was pain in the morning that was greatly lessened or completly gone in the afternoon. It's been a wonderful chance to witness and experience the miraculous healing power inherent in the human body.
And it's given me a chance to think about healing. I'm healing now from a surgery, but when I think about it, it seems like I'm always healing from something. And, by extension, maybe all of us are always healing from something:
-- you smash your finger in a car door or catch it in a rapidly closing drawer.
-- you twist an ankle while turning too fast.
-- you strain your back picking up something that's heavier than you thought it would be.
-- you get a paper cut while paying bills.
-- you stayed up too late last night or drank more than you should have.
-- you get angry at something you read in the newspaper.
-- you feel neglected when your Significant Other forgets an important occasion.
-- your golf game falls apart. Again.
-- you get a bad haircut.
You get the idea. And one of the things that these healing experiences all (or at least most) have in common is that they don't require conscious intervention on your part. Even your golf game is likely to come back on its own, if you just don't fret about it. (Trust me on this one!)
One of the things that most (if not all) religious disciplines share is the notion that you are taken care of by a force or entity that exists 'way beyond your understanding. And for me, this morning, the whole idea of constantly being in a state of healing resonates happily with this idea.
And it feels like there are times when it is -- in an expanded sense of awareness -- a Good Thing to get dinged up a bit, just so you can experience the wonders of healing.
And be reminded of the miracle this healing business truly is.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A Longer Leash -- and the "C" Word
Deb and I just got back from a check-up visit to our E/N/T doc, the guy who initially diagnosed my cancer and did the major surgery on my neck. Great guy, and we feel extremely fortunate to have him on the "team."
And what he did today was exactly what the radiation doc and the chemo doc have done in the last month. Which is to set our next appointment for six months instead of three. I don't think you can get a clearer signal that these guys are feeling better and better about my prognosis.
What I noticed during the visit is what seems to be a reluctance to use the word "cancer" on the part of my docs. This is something I understand a little, as I avoid the word myself. (I find myself using terms like "my illness" and "my treatments" to avoid the "c" word.) What triggered this thought was that the E/N/T doc today said something along the lines of: "Well, that experience is fairly common among folks like you who've had... had a malignancy."
And thinking back over the last several years of doc visits, I think I recognize the pattern: we simply don't want to use the "c" word unless it's absolutely necessary. In addition to "malignancy," they also seem to prefer using the word "tumor." So I understand that we do this avoiding thing, I just don't understand why.
On the other side of the equation, I don't think I've ever heard any of my docs use the other "c" word -- that is "cured" unless it's carefully couched in tentative terms.
Maybe if I start hearing my docs use the word "cured" when describing me, I will be able to start using the word "cancer" without flinching.
And what he did today was exactly what the radiation doc and the chemo doc have done in the last month. Which is to set our next appointment for six months instead of three. I don't think you can get a clearer signal that these guys are feeling better and better about my prognosis.
What I noticed during the visit is what seems to be a reluctance to use the word "cancer" on the part of my docs. This is something I understand a little, as I avoid the word myself. (I find myself using terms like "my illness" and "my treatments" to avoid the "c" word.) What triggered this thought was that the E/N/T doc today said something along the lines of: "Well, that experience is fairly common among folks like you who've had... had a malignancy."
And thinking back over the last several years of doc visits, I think I recognize the pattern: we simply don't want to use the "c" word unless it's absolutely necessary. In addition to "malignancy," they also seem to prefer using the word "tumor." So I understand that we do this avoiding thing, I just don't understand why.
On the other side of the equation, I don't think I've ever heard any of my docs use the other "c" word -- that is "cured" unless it's carefully couched in tentative terms.
Maybe if I start hearing my docs use the word "cured" when describing me, I will be able to start using the word "cancer" without flinching.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Somewhat Naive
I had my gall bladder removed last Thursday, August 26th.
Months ago, I had a severe pain in my lower right abdomen which I was sure was appendicitis. And my family doc agreed it likely was, but before someone went merrily slashing away at my tummy, she thought it would make sense to get a CT scan of the area first. Turns out that my appendix was perfectly fine, thank you, but the scan showed there was some "sludge" located in my gall bladder. As I understand it, this sludge is like having a bunch of tiny gallstones.
The pain went away, but my surgeon told me that sooner or later, the gall bladder would have to be removed. And while he was working in that area, he said he could repair the hernia located just under my ribcage. (I was tempted to ask him if he could change the oil and check the sparkplugs while he was in there, but decided not to...)
He said there was no immediate need to have the surgery, since the pain had completely gone, but that having the sludge discharge into the rest of the digestive tract (which was likely to happen sooner or later) would complicate the medical picture considerably.
Then, while on our dinosaur-hunting trip recently, the pain came back and refused to go away. So the surgeon and I decided it was time to give the gall bladder the old heave-ho. And fix the hernia.
(Dear reader, does this sound like I'm whining? Sick all the time? Complaining about my misfortune? I certainly hope not. Because I consider myself to be extremely fortunate -- to be as healthy as I am, to have such excellent docs to look after me, and most importantly to have a spouse who takes such loving care of me when I can't look after myself.)
Now here is where the naivete comes in: having survived (successfully, it would seem...) a battery of treatments for a potentially lethal cancer, I assumed that a single operation to correct a non-life-threatening condition would be a piece of cake. Just one operation? Geez, let's schedule a volleyball game next day! Overnight stay? Okay, if you insist.
The hospital overnight stay was a breeze. I managed somehow to rate a single room in the hospital. No idea how that happened. And during the night, if the nurses came in to take my blood pressure and pulse -- but saw I was sleeping soundly -- they left me alone! When I got up in the middle of the night, which I had to do several times, I made this up to the nurses by walking up to their station and having my pressure and pulse taken there. They seemed to appreciate that. And I had been told that walking was good for me.
The next day, Deb drove me home.
Oh boy. I managed to completely ignore the available documents about not driving a car for a week afterwards, staying out of work for a similar amount of time, no heavy lifting, and on and on. And while I was in the hospital, the nurses kept asking me if I wanted some pain medication. (Hmmpf. Got a lot of sissies around here, I guess...)
Since I got home, I've done essentially doodly squat except sleeping and reading. The pain for doing almost anything was really tough -- and I didn't know whether doing anything would jeopardize the healing process. On the Friday and Saturday, I couldn't bend at the waist, couldn't open or close a window, couldn't pick something up off the floor, had no interest in food, and it took considerable time for me to lie down in bed or roll over or sit back up. Deb found several websites that described how one normally feels after gall bladder surgery, and it was all there in black-and-white: this is normal and you should have expected this.
On Sunday, as the wind and rain from Hurricane Irene gradually faded, the pain gradually decreased as well. I'm much better -- but that volleyball game is going to have to wait.
Months ago, I had a severe pain in my lower right abdomen which I was sure was appendicitis. And my family doc agreed it likely was, but before someone went merrily slashing away at my tummy, she thought it would make sense to get a CT scan of the area first. Turns out that my appendix was perfectly fine, thank you, but the scan showed there was some "sludge" located in my gall bladder. As I understand it, this sludge is like having a bunch of tiny gallstones.
The pain went away, but my surgeon told me that sooner or later, the gall bladder would have to be removed. And while he was working in that area, he said he could repair the hernia located just under my ribcage. (I was tempted to ask him if he could change the oil and check the sparkplugs while he was in there, but decided not to...)
He said there was no immediate need to have the surgery, since the pain had completely gone, but that having the sludge discharge into the rest of the digestive tract (which was likely to happen sooner or later) would complicate the medical picture considerably.
Then, while on our dinosaur-hunting trip recently, the pain came back and refused to go away. So the surgeon and I decided it was time to give the gall bladder the old heave-ho. And fix the hernia.
(Dear reader, does this sound like I'm whining? Sick all the time? Complaining about my misfortune? I certainly hope not. Because I consider myself to be extremely fortunate -- to be as healthy as I am, to have such excellent docs to look after me, and most importantly to have a spouse who takes such loving care of me when I can't look after myself.)
Now here is where the naivete comes in: having survived (successfully, it would seem...) a battery of treatments for a potentially lethal cancer, I assumed that a single operation to correct a non-life-threatening condition would be a piece of cake. Just one operation? Geez, let's schedule a volleyball game next day! Overnight stay? Okay, if you insist.
The hospital overnight stay was a breeze. I managed somehow to rate a single room in the hospital. No idea how that happened. And during the night, if the nurses came in to take my blood pressure and pulse -- but saw I was sleeping soundly -- they left me alone! When I got up in the middle of the night, which I had to do several times, I made this up to the nurses by walking up to their station and having my pressure and pulse taken there. They seemed to appreciate that. And I had been told that walking was good for me.
The next day, Deb drove me home.
Oh boy. I managed to completely ignore the available documents about not driving a car for a week afterwards, staying out of work for a similar amount of time, no heavy lifting, and on and on. And while I was in the hospital, the nurses kept asking me if I wanted some pain medication. (Hmmpf. Got a lot of sissies around here, I guess...)
Since I got home, I've done essentially doodly squat except sleeping and reading. The pain for doing almost anything was really tough -- and I didn't know whether doing anything would jeopardize the healing process. On the Friday and Saturday, I couldn't bend at the waist, couldn't open or close a window, couldn't pick something up off the floor, had no interest in food, and it took considerable time for me to lie down in bed or roll over or sit back up. Deb found several websites that described how one normally feels after gall bladder surgery, and it was all there in black-and-white: this is normal and you should have expected this.
On Sunday, as the wind and rain from Hurricane Irene gradually faded, the pain gradually decreased as well. I'm much better -- but that volleyball game is going to have to wait.
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