On August 21st, a team of surgeons is going to have themselves a fun little scavenger hunt in my belly. They will be searching through my insides, looking for and removing any visible cancer. They will scoop out the little spot on my liver, resect a good chunk of my colon, chop off the 4 peritoneal metastases, scrape the lining of my abdomen, remove a few lymph nodes, and possibly relieve me of my gallbladder and my ovaries, just for good measure. They will then pour steaming hot chemotherapy directly into my abdominal cavity, letting it work its way into all the nooks and crannies. After that’s been sucked out, they will disconnect my colon from my small intestine and connect the end of my small intestine to a small hole in my belly, which will be attached to an ostomy bag. Then I’ll be stapled up and sent to the ICU.
It’s one hell of a surgery. Its fancy name is Cytoreductive Surgery and HIPEC (hyperthermic intraperitoneal chemotherapy), in case you want to google it. (But do not, I repeat DO NOT do a google image search. You will never sleep again.) The surgery is semi-controversial and surgeons are pretty picky about who is a candidate. I have heard stories about patients with cancers similar to mine (stage IV, incurable, peritoneal mets) who have refused this surgery, preferring to avoid the long recovery and terrible disruption to their families’ lives, even if it means dying several months or even years earlier.
When I was first diagnosed, I was not a candidate for this surgery. My disease was too advanced and too extensive. The cancer has been responding to the chemo, however, and we’ve seen shrinkage of about 40% overall. I suddenly became a candidate for this surgery, and before I knew it, August 21st became the day of reckoning.
Part of me is overjoyed–you know, the part that isn’t terrified. This is my chance to remove all or most evidence of disease. I still will not be cured, and I still will have to be on some form or other of chemo for the rest of my life, but this surgery could give me more time. The question that has been lingering in the back of my brain since my meeting with the surgeon, though, is how much time? It’s a 3 month recovery, at best, with at least one follow-up surgery, and I’ve heard of people who have lasting effects and difficulties, leading to drastically reduced quality of life. Not to mention all the common risks of major surgery–stroke, heart attack, infection, etc. So is it worth the risk? How much time will this buy me? Is it worth the disruption it will cause for my kids, my husband, and the rest of my family? My gut and my heart say yes. My brain is conflicted. Shut up, brain.
Silver lining roll call:
- I get a six week chemo break before the surgery.
- Pity tickets to Harry Potter World in LA!!
- Pickles. Always pickles.
- I’ve been told to gain as much weight as I can before the surgery. Avocados and cheese and olives and potatoes for every meal!
- Now that it’s summer break, I can go to free cancer yoga three times a week.
- The Jewish community, particularly my Yavneh family, is awe-inspiring in its unhesitating love and support.
Looking for an opportunity to help people like me, people hoping for a cure? DONATE TO COLON CANCER ALLIANCE! My brother and I set up a tribute page in honor of my birthday. Every cent helps this awesome organization, the only organization devoted strictly to colorectal cancer.
I am feeling hopeful! Thank you for sharing the journey and offering us an opportunity to give to this most important cause in honor of your healing.
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I echo Amy’s words. Your positive outlook and inner strength are inspiring. ๐๐ช
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Our hopes, prayers and energy go to you! Wishing you an easier recoop than anticipated!
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HIPEC is not a good choice. Push your specialists for other targeted, localized administration options post surgery,
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Issy, can you explain why you don’t believe Jenessa should have the surgery? She has a fairly comprehensive understanding of the risks and benefits involved and has detailed them here, inviting her community to understand too. Why do you suggest otherwise?
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Good to listen to your brain, your gut and your heart. Perhaps you will hear of other alternatives, and concerns about HIPEC and other things. You are a clearly a smart, and beautiful, lady and mom! Listen, learn, believe in yourself…know that your decisions are exactly the right decisions for you!!! Keeping you in our thoughts and prayers. Hugs!
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From what I’ve read they’ve had success curing colon cancer with this procedure. Is that possible with you? Best of luck! You are amazing and strong.
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Thanks Teri! No, a cure isn’t possible, but I could be no evidence of disease (NED) for a time. That is the goal!
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Go get um’ tiger ! It’s a good day to live…. and August 21, is a total solar eclipse. You are ready! with much Love
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I’m so glad you got through this long and tedious procedure today. I wish you nothing but strength in healing. When you are ready to eat, I will bring you some soup and pickles! Sending lots of love your way! Xoโค๏ธ
Susie
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Your body is prepped and ready to continue kicking ass. You’re super strong and have done so well with this, teacher! Gold stars for you ๐๐๐
Tons of wishes for a full recovery.
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I can not thank you enough for your insight. I have lost my mother and a childhood friend to colon cancer and to hear your thoughts, strength and humor are amazing. I wish you all the strength and health we can channel to you during your recovery process. My thoughts are with you in the hope that this brings about a long remission for you and your family. Let there be pickles for many many long years!!! Holly (friend of Susie)
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