25 October 2024

 ‘The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms’ Deuteronomy 33:27

It’s a Yes from SuperProf…

A Yes from SuperSurgeon…

And a Yes from me… (oh help…)

That’s 3 yesses! PurpleSam is through to the next round, the Stick-Her-On-A-Table-And-Cut-Her-Up one!

Have you noticed that for once I have not tormented my readers by burying the key information in a deep pit of rabid ramblings and only vaguely relevant digressions? You’re welcome.

So indeed, Irene has done a sterling job at keeping the Tumour Crew in check, with markers hovering nicely around the same point despite Uncle Avastin’s holibobs (Thanks for the postcard, by the way.  Alright for some.). And for their part the Crew have been on their very best behaviour.  All rather suspicious; I expect they are hankering after some kind of Christmas bonus…but I really am grateful.

So SuperProf the Accountant was happy with the numbers yesterday and agreed that now is the right time for a bit of scalpel action.  He then popped his Risk Manager hat on and conveyed that he felt it would be better not to evict Mr Bowel Tumour, squatters’ rights and all, but mainly because of the increased risk and recovery time for no likely gain. As it is, I will be off chemo for at least 6 weeks in total which is music to my ears but rather scary to any other bit of me… However, not removing the ovarian ladies is scarier; if you are brave enough to research ‘Krukenberg tumours’ online you will be rewarded with Dr. Google at his most dramatic, tossing out assertions such as ‘extremely poor prognosis’, ‘average survival time between 3 and 10 months’.  Well I’ve passed that already, Dr. Doom, but having seen first hand what these sorceresses are capable of it’s definitely a case of Better Out Than In.

This was confirmed at our meeting with JM this morning.  I arrived in the virtual consulting room armed with a list of questions longer than the Bayeaux tapestry: the only one that didn’t make it to the list was ‘So will I be thinner afterwards?’ (The answer to that was actually quite clear once he started talking about starting solid food after 3 days…) I did summon the courage to ask this slightly off piste but oh-so-important-question: ‘Is there any possibility that you could take a picture of the ovarian tumours for my blog?’ I mean, I quite fancied taking them home in a jar as a battle trophy, but maybe a picture would be the next best thing. (Steve actually suggested packaging them up and posting to Count Onc, but let’s not go there…). 

As we talked things through with JM, however, Steve and I both developed a growing sense of this being rather bigger than we thought.  Despite SuperProf, JM and his multi-disciplinary team reaching the unanimous conclusion that the surgery should be as minimal as possible, just removing the ovarian Krukenbergs and anything necessary around them, a lot of daunting information emerged:  ‘a day and night in ICU… 5-10 days hospital stay… 3-4 months for 75 percent recovery…’. And that’s ‘minimal’… no wonder they won’t go near the liver…

So my Belgravia mini-break won’t quite be the jolly I had envisaged, but I will certainly be in excellent hands: ‘As far as safety records go, it’s the best hospital in the country,’ JM asserted.  It’s also practically in the back garden of Buckingham Palace; I hope I get a room with a view and can give a little wave and wan smile to Charlie… 

JM advised us to book a hotel room near the hospital for the night before the op- ah, so Steve and I can spend one last night together wining and dining, wonderful!  But no…the main requirement will not be several Michelin stars but rather a decent porcelain throne as I will be married to that for the night rather than my husband, due to the bowel preparation I will be required to take.  This is a necessary precaution in case they do have to operate on the bowel- there is a chance that it may be stuck in a dodgy embrace with the Krukenberg girls…  I hope Mr Bowel Tumour has more decency than that, but we shall see.  

The Big Day is Monday 4 November, so soon and so much to do!  Aside from the essentials (plan hospital wardrobe, shave legs etc etc), there are lots of logistics to put in place, particularly for Isaac. Our older three will be invaluable here and we are so grateful for them.  But apart from that and a pre-op visit to the hospital, our priority is to enjoy the chemo-free half term; the temptation to jump on a plane somewhere warm was great but it was apparent that this would be neither practical time-wise nor sensible from a medical point of view.  Instead, we have opted for something that I’m very excited about: 3 days in the Peak District for fresh air, walking, spa-ing and a lot of hearty northern food to build me up before the Big Fast.  It will be so welcome; this last chemo cycle was frankly awful with the crash coming way early on day 2 and gifting a whole week of gloom, some of the few rays of light being my teaching (I genuinely don’t know how I did it), wonderful family and very briefly putting on my dancing shoes for a dear friend’s birthday bash:

But there is one ray of light that shines constantly: that of the Word of God, and one friend that never leaves my side, the Lord Jesus Christ.  This is how we can face the fears of the big things to come with calm assurance and a clear hope.

 ‘Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, And a light unto my path.‘ Psalm 119:105

‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call you not servants…but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you.’ John 15:13-15