The Evolution of My Ass Part 4

It was time to start preparing for surgery. I met with a couple of surgeons and found one I really liked in Memphis. He also arranged for me to meet two other surgeons who would be assisting on the surgery, a gynecological surgeon and a plastic surgeon. I really liked all of them. It’s funny how we stereotype people with certain careers. For example, prior to this, whenever someone mentioned a plastic surgeon my mind automatically conjured up an image of the guys from Nip/Tuck - arrogant, womanizing, assholes who imagined themselves as almost Godlike. My plastic surgeon was nothing like that. He is an older gentlemen with the friendliest smile who hugs my neck every single time I go in to see him for a follow up appointment, and always asks how my mom is doing. He calls himself the fender and bumper guy of the surgical world. ;) 

Not long after I finished radiation I was playing on Google and came across some medical info about side effects that basically stated how my ovaries were most likely fried from the radiation. I asked my radiation oncologist about it, and he very nonchalantly said, “Well, yeah, so?” I’m like, um, you might could have told me that beforehand. His response was that it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have changed anything. This was what had to be done. Okay, maybe so, but I would rather not find out my potential baby birthing days are over on Google. But there it was. My ovaries were nothing but raisins now. That, combined with the potential of the cancer spreading to my female organs, the determination to have a full hysterectomy in addition to the colon resection and tumor removal was made. Although let’s be honest, I didn’t have much choice. As a woman, this was a hard pill to swallow. I’ve never been one to just really, really want kids, as is obvious by the fact I’m in my late 30’s with no children, and have had plenty of opportunities if I had so chosen. But to have that choice stripped from you, well, that’s a whole other ballgame. It definitely led to some depression and a feeling of not being in control of my life anymore. Men may not understand this, but I can guarantee most of the women reading this will know exactly what I am talking about. 

So I signed the dotted line giving them permission to not only repair the sewage disposal but remove the plumbing too. 

A date was set: Monday, January 26, 2015. D-Day. For me anyway. To say I was scared out of my mind is a slight understatement. This was a big surgery. A huge surgery. Not to over exaggerate, but about as major a surgery as one can get. So yeah, I was scared. But after meeting the surgical team, I knew I was in the best hands possible. 

Sunday, January 25, 2015. My parents and I checked into the Hilton Homewood Suites in Germantown and began the waiting game. I had to do yet another colon cleanse. Get those pipes all squeaky clean. There it was in the hotel bathroom that I shat for the last time. Or at least as normal shatting goes. No doubt it was one for the record books. I believe I briefly touched on just how terrible the colon cleansing process is, and this was no different. Let’s just say I managed to somehow get poo on me, the shower, the shower curtain and even the walls of the bathroom. I did try my best to clean up after myself but really there’s only so much you can do while spraying liquid poop in all directions. I left a nice tip for the maid.

5:00 am, Monday: We check into the Germantown Methodist Hospital. This is how I know I have the best friends in the world - because they were all there. There were so many people there for me, I looked like a rap star with my entourage. There were some tears, and praying and hand holding. Finally, the moment came. The surgeon greeted us with final words about the procedure and a nurse wheeled me back - floodgates opened, and I cried most of the way back. Once I got back to the pre-surgery holding room, I calmed down. They got me ready for an epidural (not just for pregnant women apparently). Good stuff. The nurse was really nice and asked if I wanted to listen to any music. I requested “Southern Cross” by Crosby, Stills and Nash. She downloaded it and gave me her iPhone to hold so I could listen to it. The last thing I remember is singing along (probably loudly) while they wheeled me back to the operating room, just smiling and singing to everyone in the room. It was a packed house. I asked the nurse to please let my Dad know I was going under to one of his favorite songs. And from what I hear, she did just that. And then, I went to sleep.