Officially Kicked Cancer's Ass

My final pathology reports came back today, and I am Grade 1, Stage 1A - the lowest stage, least aggressive cancer possible. I will need no other treatment (no radiation or chemo), just regular checkups for a few years.

As I mentioned in my last post, the surgeon initially thought my stage was slightly more advanced, because she thought it went 50% or more into the muscle wall of the uterus instead of just staying in the lining (which would make me a Stage 1B or 1C). She told me that the final pathology shows that it didn't go through the muscle wall at all, but she thought it did because the growth itself was quite large (she's guessing I've had it for at least a year). This is excellent news, because since it never moved beyond the lining, the likelihood of a recurrence is very small. 

So, I kicked cancer's ass.  
 
I'm a bit over a week out from my robotic hysterectomy, and I'm feeling pretty great.  Digestion/urination has regulated itself from the surgery/catheter. My pain is about a 1-2 out of 10 (I'm not taking anything other than a 600 mg ibuprofen before bed, and I may ditch that soon). The fatigue was kicking my ass HARD earlier this week, but I let myself sleep and take it easy. The last few days, I'm feeling a lot more energetic and normal.  

I'm going to keep updating this blog during my recovery and beyond.  There is a lot about this cancer journey I haven't discussed yet, and I want to keep everyone updated on my checkups.  So keep checking back, and feel free to drop me a line if you have any questions. 

And.....it's Out!

Well, everyone -- my cancer-filled uterus is out of me, and I feel fantastic. It was a six-hour procedure, because my uterus was apparently ginormous (my doctor said it was the size of a pregnancy. Plus I had a big 5 cm fibroid attached.)

The cancer was more advanced than originally predicted -- it went partially through the uterine muscle wall, instead of being just in the uterine lining.  Because of this, she sampled lymph nodes, and I won't have the results of those for a week. She did, however, say that the lymph nodes looked fine, there were no suspicious looking areas elsewhere in the uterus (or outside of it), and even if there are some microscopic cells that pop up somewhere, I can zap them with a little radiation. She also said I'm still Grade 1, which has a pretty low risk of spreading, even with this invasion in the muscle wall. My doctor didn't sound worried, so I'm not either. If something does pop up, I'll deal with it then.

I can't believe how little pain I have, and how good I feel after a major abdominal surgery. I was on oxycontin in the hospital, but honestly, an ibuprofen would have worked just fine (that's what I'm on now).  My pain is pretty minimal -- the type of pain you'd get from doing 200 situps after not working out for awhile. After getting out of the hospital yesterday, I actually went out to dinner with my mom, and was able to sit comfortably in a restaurant chair without a pillow. I'm walking fairly normal, have been able to go up and down the stairs, and  today I can transition from sitting to standing or lying down to standing with only mild discomfort. Honestly, the most painful thing for me was when they removed the vaginal packing (the gauze inside). I had a strong "burning" sensation, but once it was out, no pain. For some women, this is painless.  I think it was only painful for me, because they had to make a pretty large tear at the top of the vaginal canal to get the uterus out. They had to do this partially because my uterus was enlarged and partially because I've never had children.

I've read some terrible (and some amazing) stories about the Davinci procedure, and while every woman is different and some complications just can't be predicted, I think a great deal has to do with the skill of the doctor.  This is still a relatively new procedure, yet my surgeon has done about 500 of them. I credit her and her team's skill for my minimal discomfort post surgery, even with the complications of my uterus size (my surgery was predicted to be about 3 hours. It ran almost double.) I will forever be grateful for my surgeon's skill, her bedside manner, and her proactive attitude. Whatever the results of the pathology report say, I've taken a huge step back toward good health.

Pre-Surgery Zen Achieved

My daVinici hysterectomy surgery to rid my body of my cancerous uterus is on Tuesday.  I keep waiting for my brain to start freaking out about it, but it hasn't yet. In fact, despite the fact that this is major surgery, I'll probably be feeling crappy for a good while, and I won't even know how progressed my cancer is until I wake up in recovery, I'm feeling a calm I haven't felt since before my symptoms began. Part of this zen comes from the fact that odds are in my favor (the grade of cancer I have is typically found in an early stage and has a favorable prognosis). But most of it comes from the fact that there is simply no point in worrying. At this point, whatever is down there is down there, and whether surgery is my cure or additional treatment is needed, Tuesday is my first step toward recovery.
 
This journey toward Zen has not been easy, and there is absolutely no way I could have gotten through it without my incredible support system, so in this final pre-surgery post, I want to send out some Thank Yous.

1. Mom and Dad.  Since my diagnosis, Mom has called me every single day to check in. (I usually talk to her weekly). She's received the brunt of my panic, has heard every unsavory symptom, and has reassured me every step of the way.  She's coming up to be with me during the surgery, and my only worry is her anxiety as she waits for the results. Dad has been a rock throughout this. Both he and I are the "suffer in silence" types, so I know he is far more worried than he's letting on. But, sometimes I need a rock, so I'm eternally grateful that he's willing to step up to the plate.

2. My brother. Mostly for helping me keep perspective with his dry, hilarious turn of phrase. When I told him my diagnosis, the prediction, and the treatment, he responded, "Well, Jenn, a star in the galaxy could  go supernova tomorrow, and then you won't have to worry about it."  And, really, who can argue with that? 

3.. My Comedy buddies. I am a mostly recovered stand-up comedian and an active comedy filmmaker/writer, so I have no shortage of hilarious people around me. Cancer has a way of changing how people perceive you, and some people treat you differently because you're "The Cancer Chick." Not once during this past month has any of my comedy buddies treated me as "Jenn+Cancer," because the tendency among comedians to laugh and poke fun at things 24/7 -- regardless how inappropriate -- trumps whatever personal disaster you're dealing with at the time. For instance, just because I have cancer doesn't mean I'm too busy to have this texted to me at 1:00 a.m.:

So thanks to all my comedy friends who've kept the hilarious texts, emails, and whatnot flowing without interruption since my uterus went haywire. 

3. My Lost Lullaby pals.  I am currently in production of a film called Lost Lullaby, and my crew has been amazing throughout my diagnosis.  My associate producer drove an hour out of her way just to have lunch with me after my surgeon's appointment. Our DP did the same after a day of shooting that I was too ill to attend, just so he could catch me up on the production and check in on me. During my Edgar Allan Poe funk a few weeks ago, the director texted me back and forth until 2:00 a.m, even though she had work the next day, and not a week goes by that I don't hear from or see my pal Jenn, even though she has chronic health issues of her own.  To all of you-- your support means everything to me.

4. The "rest." To the rest of my pals who defy a category, but have shown overwhelming support in the form of texts, FB messages, and (most importantly) late-night online requests to play the Wii.  Thank you, all.

Mom is arriving tomorrow for a few days of pre-surgery fun, so I'll likely not post again until after surgery.  See you all on the other side of my reproductive years. 

Bon Voyage, Uterus

My friends Charlie and Kyle threw me a Bon Voyage, Uterus party this weekend.  This was present.

I can't bring myself to fill it with candy and smash it, so I think I'll just decorate it for various holidays.  I can't wait for the Easter Bunny ears and the Uncle Sam beard.

A Day of Poking, Prodding, and Cancerhead

Today was a fun-filled day at the hospital for pre-op tests and an ultrasound.

I've been feeling good since my bleeding episode a few weeks ago. In fact, I pretty much feel normal and for the first time in months, I've actually been able to exercise without bleeding. So, I went into the ultrasound mostly relaxed. (For ladies who haven't had one yet-- it's a virtually painless procedure, despite the fact that there is a camera up your hoo-hoo). And I stayed relaxed until the ultrasound technician brought the radiologist  in the room, and he asked me,

"Have you had a CT scan or an MRI?"

A perfectly reasonable question. However, to a cancer patient, "cancerhead" thinking obscures a rational response.

"CT scans and a MRI?! They must have found something suspicious. Has the cancer metastasized? They must have found something or else they wouldn't be asking me that, What did they find?! Do I have 24 hours to live?"

All of those thoughts ran through my head before I answered "No, not yet."

What did they actually find?

• two simple cysts on my ovaries (no concern, not cancer)
• A big-ass fibroid that is attached to my uterus like a conjoined twin.  

What did they not find?

• Evidence that I'm dying tomorrow 

An important reminder -- just because you've been diagnosed with cancer, doesn't mean that cancerhead is right. 

Update on the Skin Biopsy

The mole my oncologist/gyno found on Friday is not cancer, but they did find a few atypia cells, so they are going to remove it during the surgery. Most of these moles are benign, but in some cases they can turn cancerous, so it's best to just get rid of it.

She recommended that I go see a dermatologist for annual checkups, since I do have a heightened risk for atypia skin cells. I suppose that's the price to pay when your Cover Girl skin foundation is the same color as Elmer's Glue.

The Game Plan

I met with my surgeon today.  August 12th I will be parting from my uterus. 

Good riddance, I say.

The surgeon (gynecological oncologist) was just as awesome as the OB/GYN who found my cancer.  She was compassionate, answered all my questions, and was incredibly thorough. She's going to perform a robotic hysterectomy, which is far less invasive than the old "C-section/abdominal" surgery. I will only need to stay overnight, and she says I'll likely be back to driving in about a week (though I can't lift anything heavy and generally need to take it easy for 6 weeks). My doctor has done over 500 of these procedures.
 
Good news:

• My PAP was normal. Negative for HPV, no abnormal endometrial cells.
• The initial biopsy turned up normal for Lynch Syndrome -- a genetic predisposition for endometrial cancer, ovarian cancer, and colon cancer. Testing positive would mean that I have a much higher risk of getting these cancers in my life. They will retest after the surgery just to be certain.
• I lost 5 pounds since my last visit. 30 pounds total this year.

During my pelvic exam, she did found a suspicious pigmented area on my skin and did a punch biopsy to rule out skin cancer. It's very possibly it's a scar from something that didn't heal or something benign. She says it doesn't look like melanoma, but it could be something like basal cell carcinoma (a type of skin cancer that usually doesn't spread or metastasize).  If it is, she can remove it during the surgery.

In 2 weeks I have an ultrasound, a meeting with the anesthesiologist, and an EKG. And then -- bye, bye uterus. 

If any of you Boston ladies are looking for OB/.GYN care, I highly recommend Tufts Medical Center, Women's Health.  I've been extremely satisfied with my care so far. They have a South Shore office as well.