Tag Archives: Courage

‘Tis the season…for a healthy colon…Part 1

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The Fall semester of school is finally coming to a close! You know what that means, more time for blogging! Yippee!

I’ve missed blogging and tracking the progress of everything going on in my life. As I continue to make transformational changes emotionally and physically, moving forward, I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be…blessings are everywhere, in everyday moments and I am so undeniably thankful.

Yesterday was a huge milestone for me. It was my first colonoscopy, post-diagnosis. My official one year cancerversary isn’t until Dec. 20, 2014 but who’s counting right? (Ah yeah, that would be this girl over here!)

This week also happened to be finals week on campus, having time to worry about my upcoming procedure wasn’t really a thought. Between chauffeuring my son to basketball practice and martial arts training, working on final projects for school, and trying to plan out next semester’s course load; my mind was already running on overdrive. Then my son brought home a respiratory virus, that has since been passed along to my daughter. Add in the two of them taking turns with who can’t sleep through the night, well, you get the idea. It’s been a week of relatively organized chaos for sure!

It wasn’t until yesterday morning rolled around that I began thinking about the gravity of how this colonoscopy could potentially affect my life. If it went one way, I would be deemed “cancer free” and wouldn’t have to have another colonoscopy for another year, at least. But if there was something there; a polyp, another tumor, a growth, unhealthy tissue–I honestly couldn’t even fathom what that would mean.

Everything went as scheduled. I arrived a few minutes late for my 7:55 a.m. check in, got changed into a hospital gown and followed the medical assistant to my hospital bed. There I met with several lovely people who would be part of my procedure that morning; the anesthesiologist, the nurse who would be monitoring my vitals, another nurse who administered the IV into my port (“That is one prominent port you have there! That’s wonderful!” she said) and another woman who I believe was also part of the anesthesia team.

As I spoke with the nurses, we laughed and made jokes with one another using jargon that only cancer patients and their medical team understand. “Now do you typically use Emla?,” one of the nurses asked. I told her through chemotherapy I swore by it. (Emla is a numbing cream used by some patients to numb the site of their port prior about an hour or so prior to it being accessed. Otherwise you get a little bee-sting type feeling when the needle goes into your port. We discussed the type of chemotherapy I was given, “5FU, Leucovorin and Oxaliplatin?” “Yup, that’s the one! With a 48-hour take home pump.”

She went on to tell me that her husband had experienced his own cancer journey. One morning on their way to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, her hubby nearly had a meltdown at the thought of having forgotten to put Emla cream on his port. I can’t say I’d be in disagreement with him. Emla is the best thing since sliced bread! Especially since it makes being turned into a human pin-cushion far more bearable.

One of the nurses and one of the anesthesiologists whisked me away to the procedure room, gurney and all. They positioned me on my left side in the bed, as the Gastroenterologist (Dr. S, I’ll call her), came into the room.

If you haven’t read any of my previous posts about Dr. S, let me tell you, I absolutely LOVE this woman’s energy! From the moment I met with her, prior to my cancer diagnosis, I was sold. She has this way of talking to patients that puts you at ease. She’s always upbeat, full of good energy, and extremely down to earth.

The anesthesiologist counted some deep breaths with me, slowly, in and out. Before I knew it, I woke up in the recovery room. My vision was still hazy as I came to but I overheard Dr. S speaking to my mother. There was a smile in her voice as she said “Everything looks great! Nothing but good news to report, she did extremely well and everything is healthy and normal looking.”

My mom was overjoyed. I couldn’t see her yet but I could hear the happiness in her voice, I would have hugged her if I wasn’t so out of it.

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