This year I finally had a chance to read my surgery report, the one my oncologist referred to as "vague" (I had been interning in DC when I went to the ER/had surgery and didn't get referred to an oncologist until I went home for recovery). One thing that was specific in the surgery report and related papers was the size of my tumor. Casually, a doctor had said it was the size of a small watermelon. Turns out, I think they were quite right. It was 2650 gms and measured 36x19x12 cm. For those of you looking for a translation: that's about 5.8 lbs and 14x7.5x4.7 inches. That explains why if you zoom in on the photo of me on the left in my post you can see quite the distension of my abdomen (though it was much larger by when I went in).
All that to say. I was 19. With a watermelon friend growing in me. And the type of cancer I had was so aggressive and my test results were so abnormal that I started chemo just 3.5 weeks after major abdominal surgery, not exactly ideal for healing but critical to make sure the cancer didn't rear its head again.
I've been thinking about how absolutely terrifying it was to be at the ER alone when I was 19. How much I hated going to doctors and only went because I was in pretty horrible pain. How my brother drove to the ER after I unconvincingly said, "I'm fine" while sobbing when I called him. How my dad booked a last minute flight when I told him they said I probably needed surgery. How he drove to the airport and hopped on a plane and made his way to us, only for me to be quickly wheeled to surgery. I still remember my dad asking: "When do you think she'll have surgery?" They said, "Well, now that she's signed the forms, we were thinking now." And we quickly asked my friends to leave and off to surgery I went.
I remember how when we finally found out I had cancer, my dad took me to chemo for 9 weeks. I turned 20 while I went through chemo. Throughout it all, I was technically an adult. And as I keep thinking about all this, I wonder if I would have gone to the hospital in time if it had happened in 2020.
I wonder if I would have been allowed to have anyone with me. And what I would have even done when I was in different cities than all my family members. Would my dad have driven? In a pandemic, would he have even been able to see my mom that winter since she was in a nursing home?
I wonder if I'd still be here.
I am so extraordinarily lucky to be here. I sometimes worry that I'm getting too used to being here. Being healthy. Being alive. Being loved. I never want to take it for granted.
Most people at some point may have heard me say (or read an email or text or message from me in which I say): I'm thankful for you. I'm so grateful you are in my life. Thank you for being you.
And I mean it. And I say it because I know, despite how much it pains me to think about it, that it's possible I might not get another chance to say it to you. Weird crazy things happen all the time, and there is no way to know how much time I have. It's actually very very hard for me to look too far in to the future without giving myself the gentle reminder, it's not a given. Don't take it for granted.
So all this rambling aside, as 14 years arrives tomorrow, I'm thankful for you. I'm so grateful you are in my life. Thank you for being you. I know there's a lot of people who aren't still here. And though I am quite imperfect at it, I'm trying my best to never take for granted what a gift life is, even when it's tough, because if I'm given it, well, I ought to try to do something with it.
♥️
a
P.S. Tomorrow, part of that something I'll do with my life is most likely ordering a cupcake and champagne, but I am open to recommendations...
No comments:
Post a Comment