When I finally talked with the Doctor on Tuesday afternoon, she told me that she was going to work me in, in between surgeries on Monday for a Cone Procedure. A Cone Procedure is where the doctor takes a cone shaped, large sample of your cervix. For me, it would be a little different. Her plan is to go in and remove 2 half dollar sized samples, or biopsies, one from the outside going in, and one from the inside going out. This will give her a definitive understanding of how aggressive of a cancer we’re looking at, and she can officially give it a stage number when we’re done.
I asked why we couldn’t just do a hysterectomy. Her answer was that cancer is like thousands of little capsules of poison. When the capsules are in place, while deadly, they are contained. You slice through a capsule of poison, and well…you have poison all over the place. So, she needs to run the gamut of testing before we can actually work on removal of the cancer as a whole.
My first thought was, “Huh. That soon. Ok. Good. We’re taking this seriously, and she is working hard on my behalf to get this taken care of.”
My second thought was, “Shit. This must be bad if she’s sliding me in with 4 business day’s notice into her surgery schedule.”
My third thought was, “ Ok. Well, this is progressive. I’m all for progress, so if I’m going to get my ass kicked, let’s get er’ over with. Bring on the scalpels.”
So here I sit, on Monday morning, awaiting my cone procedure. I have to be there at 3pm EST, and she said I may have to wait a little bit, but she will definitely get me in today to do it.
They sent me a little pamphlet on this procedure. It talks about how the procedure is meant to remove the affected cells. It says nothing about how this is a testing measure, and that the cone can’t possibly get it all – it’s meant to make you feel secure in what they are doing. The problem I have with it is that she told me that my entire cervix is covered with bad cells. A cone, according to this document is supposed to take one sample, not two, and it’s meant to control mild to severe dysplasia. They should create a 2nd pamphlet for people like me that says “This isn’t going to get it all…this will be a test. Only a test. One of many, and we know it sucks, and we’re sorry.”
My research for the colposcopy told me that it would be mildly uncomfortable, that I may have some minor cramping for a day or two, and that I could expect bleeding for 2-3 days. The truth is that if felt like the aforementioned rabid raccoon attacking my who-ha from the inside. And the cramps and bleeding, and pain, were ridiculous. I was very tired, I was very sick, and it didn’t help that I was in pain while coping with the fact that my ability to mentally out-maneuver any given issue at hand would not help me here.
So, knowing how suckily I dealt with the colposcopy, suffice it to say that I’m not particularly looking forward to today’s procedure. What I am looking forward to is the test results.
These test results will tell me:
- GYN or Oncologist: Who’s my docta?
- What stage of Cancer is the worst one that I have?
- How aggressive is this? Am I looking at radiation? Chemo? Other organs being affected?
- Can I have the hysterectomy now or now what?
- When’s my laparoscopy? Let’s get that figured out like yesterday.
I also plan to talk to her more about my ovarian symptoms while I’m there, preferably before she’s wrist deep. It’s a little unsettling to discuss your fate while someone has cold shiny objects there. During the biopsy, we talked about cancer, cancer, cancer then I couldn’t take it anymore and I was all “So….have you read the Twilight books?” Oh yeah. I totally had a conversation about Twilight (my happy place right now) while she was tearing out my stuffing.
So, yeah. I’m spooked about today. What I can promise you, dear reader is that I will tell you how it is. No sugar coating it from me. I’ll relay the information as accurately as I can, while I’m coherent enough to type it. I’m working today until 2:00 EST, and then off to the butcher I go.
***Personal note: Butcher is not a derogatory term for my doctor. Anything I say (as of now) that may seem a bit snarky towards the doctor is not me being evil to my doctor. I trust her implicitly, and I feel that I am in very good hands. She’s calm, kind and very, very smart. And she honestly seems to care about me as a patient. When I make remarks like butcher, it’s my way of coping with this situation as a whole. If I can’t remain a smart ass through this, I may as well let the cancer take me.
