Cancer Detour

 Now I can talk about this, but I couldn't even a month ago.  On August 14th, I was told that I had cancer in my uterus.  This sent me down a rabbit hole that included major surgery, a temporary pause button to my normal life activities, and rampant anexity paired with out-of-control googling.  

Leaving out the many things over a long period of time that eventually led to it's discovery, my abiding obsession upon diagnosis was two-fold: first, to keep my mother from knowing and second, to keep news away from anyone who might make comparisons between myself and the wife of Paul's predecessor in his current job.   This woman died of this very cancer just a few years ago.  

After this obsession, my secondary concern was finding information.  Because uterine cancer isn't normally staged until everything is taken out and sliced up in the lab, I had no idea if it was going to require more treatment after surgery, if it had spread or if this would be all that was necessary.  I did not have an answer to that question for almost 2 months. In fact, October 15th - 2 months and one day - was when the doctor finally said that no further treatment would be needed.  I had finally gotten a pathology report with the words "Stage 1" one week before this, but according to google, this could mean many things about what is next.  I had been strongly warned not to read the pathology report that showed up in the online portal, or if I did, not to jump to conclusions before talking with the doctor.    

There are so many excruciating things about this time.   

Waiting:  

Waiting three weeks from being told it was cancer to having an appointment with an oncologist.  Waiting four more weeks for surgery, but then being slotted in for a cancellation one week earlier.  Waiting at home for some news about something, anything from the doctors for over 2 weeks.  

Secrecy and Cancer Everywhere:

There was driving to Wisconsin to visit my uncle two days after I was told it was cancer, and not mentioning this because of the possible ripple effect.  Going out to watch a morning of Dragon Boat Racing and discovering that along with teams from local businesses and drinking establishments, there is an entire division of cancer survivor boat racers.  Having my uncle then tell me unsolicited things I never knew about my grandmother's ovarian cancer and my grandfather's leukemia.  Going to a baseball game, trying to relax and take my mind off the waiting, and having it be some sort of cancer survivor's day.  

Uncertainty:

Trying to make music plans and start off my piano studio for the year not knowing when everything was just going to stop.  Running more and more because I knew I wouldn't be able to for a while.  Trying to do fucking everything because I didn't know what was coming next.  Buying different styles of underwear because I didn't know what would be comfortable.  Buying loose stretchy pants.  

Losing a friend:

Hearing that a dear friend in California had committed suicide.  We drifted apart when I left LA, and I hadn't spoken to her in over a year.  She also leaves behind a 10 year old son.  Everything else suddenly felt not so important.

There was also grace.  In the weeks before the procedure that showed cancer, two people I knew told me out of the blue about their good experiences dealing with cancer at the same place I was going.  The person I asked to take over my choir for me, said yes without even asking any questions.  Just yes. Then there was one of my oldest friends who dropped everything to come out for the surgery to help out. The night I spent in the hospital, there was the nurse and his aid who were so patient and kind as I got in and out of bed what felt like a million times trying to restart bodily functions and bled all over with an opened incision.  

The hardest part was when my friend left, and I was left feeling so openly and rawly how isolated Paul and I are here.  

The good news continues to be that what they took out was Stage 1A, not requiring further treatment.  It couldn't be better news.  I am not quite to the 4 week point.  My stomach is perforated in many places, with one place being noticably less healed than the others.  Inside is healing slowly, and I am surprised by how much time can elapse with my really doing nothing.  Instead of running, I am walking.  I've made the short walk a few times to the noonday meditation at the Unity Temple.  I've always wanted to learn to meditate, and practicing is easier with others.  I've been playing the piano and singing a bit.  Despite a wicked sore throat for a week, my voice was immediately fine.  My breath was a bit wobbly at first, but it seems to be ok, too.  The plan is to return to work mid-next week.  One day of teaching and then two without before a normal Sunday and full week of teaching.

Beyond that I honestly don't know what is next.  I'm left wondering what it means.  I am very grateful for the outcome.  It could have gone many ways, but why this detour?