In 1998 Barenaked Ladies sang ‘One Week’ and in that song, the singer referenced that it had been one week (hence the name) that a nameless lady had looked at him. It has been longer than one week since I wrote my last blog post but trying to make, ‘it’s been nine weeks since I wrote a blog post about my cervical cancer because I’ve been busy and stuff,’ is just a little harder to fit into the tune.
Try and pretend I made it fit and hum along. Video link is here for reference.
The last blog post I wrote was called Pelvic EUA and Lymphadectomy Part One, emphasis on ‘Part One.’ I separated it into two blog posts because I realised I was writing a lot and it would have been War and Peace in one post otherwise. The first part was more about before the procedure and the procedure itself and this second part is about the aftermath.
I stated (ok, alluded to) two things: –
I want you to prepare yourself now. I hated the fucking gas. I mean really hated the fucking gas. In this post it shall not be known as ‘the gas’ but shall henceforth be known as ‘the fucking gas.’ That is how much I hated it.
After I had been discharged from the Surgical Short Stay Unit, I shuffled out the hospital in my pyjamas because the thought of putting on actual, real person clothing was abhorrent to me at that time. Mainly because the idea of having anything resting on this made my eyes water: –
This poor, wretched thing is my tummy. Obviously.
The Da Vinci robot went in on five separate places as indicated above by the bleeding medical plasters. There was also foof related activity but, as open as I am, I’ll be damned before I show you anything related to that.
It was that very evening I decided to write a blog about this whole experience. In fact, I think that very evening was when I wrote my first blog post. I needed a focus and embarrassing myself publicly became it.
I want to state to those who may have similar upcoming surgery – it looks worse than it is. Blood makes everything look much worse than it is, trust me. When I peeled off the plasters I was surprised at how small and neat the incisions were. The worse one is the top one on my left side but it’s now a 2cm scar that I’ve become oddly fond of. I’ve not named it or anything but if I did it would be called Clarence. It looks like a Clarence.
I didn’t get much in the way of drugs to take home, just high strength paracetamol and ibuprofen. However, I got handed Fragmin injections and a demonstration by a nurse on how to inject myself.
Lucky for you I am going to do a future post, one whole post, dedicated to those Fragmin injections. Oh yes. It was an experience, one that I now miss. Not even joking, I got so used to it I could now develop a needle based drug habit with little to no effort.
What I will say now is that it is not fun trying to inject anything into that swollen tum tum. I can’t help but use the words ‘tum tum’ because that is what I say to my cat when she rolls over and shows me her incredibly fluffy Cat Magic tum tum that I am not allowed to pet.
I’m going to now talk about those two previous points: –
There is a potential long-term impact of lymph node removal – Lymphoedema – which can sometimes arise even months after surgery. More information can be found here.
The NHS page does state that cervical cancer is one of the more common cancers where Lymphoedema can occur. I, luckily, haven’t experienced this (so far, touch wood) so can’t comment on what it is like. I do worry still, nine months after surgery, about this happening. I like to think enough time has passed but the one thing that is true about this whole experience is that it doesn’t matter how much time has passed, you’re going to still worry. About everything.
What I did experience was a Lymphocyst or Lymphocele. This is a collection of lymph fluid that gets trapped and builds up in an area where it isn’t supposed to build up. In Part One I mentioned that the lymphatic system was one of the highways of the body. Let me use that analogy to explain.
Essentially the Lymphocyst is one of these: –
All the lymph is trying to travel where it has always travelled, except the road suddenly doesn’t exist anymore. The mega traffic jam of lymph has happened. Eventually it will get used to the fact that the road is permanently out, reverse and find another route. Until that happens, or until it is drained (like I had on my second op) the fluid will sit there.
Yep, part of the swollen tum tum was the fluid equivalent of BMW drivers.
The other part of the swollen tum tum was the fucking gas.
Now, I didn’t feel great after the surgery but I didn’t feel awful. At least I didn’t, not until I suffered from the fucking gas pains which no one even told me was a thing. I don’t think this is a guaranteed side effect but sadly it was one I experienced. I say sadly because I think at one point I begged my partner to put a pillow over my face to end my misery.
Drama queen? Moi?
Because they need to have a good ol’ root around during the surgery all the relevant internal organs need to be inflated. The incision that went into my belly button housed the – fucking gas nozzle? I’m guessing… I don’t know, I wasn’t awake.
You are now filled with so much fucking gas Phileas Fog could begin his travels. What happened next was this: –
The last one isn’t so much a part of the process as just how you’ll feel.
Here is a highly medical diagram: –
Huw then got to experience something wonderful. What it was like having both a screaming toddler and an old woman occupy the body of a 31-year-old woman.
I became quite a wretched creature.
(actual picture)
I was not having a fun time on any front. Because I’d just experienced some invasive gynaecological actions, sanitary towels had become my best friend. That was a pain in the arse. Except not arse…
The Fragmin injections were a novelty that wore off quickly. At first, I just lied back and let my partner inject me with a little prick… (Sorry!! Ha! Sorry!!*)
…but because I was experiencing stomach swelling from both a Lymphocyst and the fucking gas it meant those stomach injections got significantly less comfortable. The swelling had also started to push against my incisions. This was also not fun.
So, when the phrenic nerve pain started I was… well I was angry. Furious. And then I cried a whole bunch because that is clearly how I cope with everything.
When it doubt, cry it out.
I would like the above on a t-shirt please.
Pain doesn’t make people pretty and it wasn’t my finest of moments in this whole journey. I was angry at myself for having gotten into this situation, or at least for the portion of it I could blame on myself, I was angry that cancer existed in this world in the first place and I was damn angry at everyone who kept telling me to be positive.
Earlier I had said this: –
Huw then got to experience something wonderful. What it was like having both a screaming toddler and an old woman occupy the body of a 31-year-old woman.
My body turned into one of a 90-year-old woman. I couldn’t lift my legs properly because of the surgery and I couldn’t move my arms because of the nerve pain so I had to have assistance in and out of the shower (totally now see why old people have doors on baths by the way), followed by assistance dressing and walking up and down the stairs.
Getting out of bed also proved to be a task worthy of the Krypton Factor, or Crystal Maze – select where appropriate based on your age.
Yes, I was an old woman. At least, until I had my temper tantrum. Then I threw ‘toddler’ into the mix.
There was one day when I simply did not wear my big girl face. I’ve seen toddlers have full on sobbing tantrums and I’m telling you friends with small children, I can outshine them all.
There was whining, crying, hysterical sobbing, swearing and my favourite – flailing. I am an expert flailer. That’s not even a word, you say. Well tough. It is now.
When I calmed down I was faced with a very concerned and quite bewildered partner. I had essentially thrown myself down on the bed, Disney Princess style, but then tried to murder said bed Game of Thrones style with my fists.
Next time sometime sees Huw, give him a hug. He deserves one.
Because I don’t want to be the storm cloud on someone’s silver lining let me reassure you that there are things you can do to make yourself feel better.
Gerry’s Tips
With all these tips, from me, Gerry, a clearly qualified person, how wrong can it go? **
Since my last blog post, I have had a MRI and have an upcoming Colposcopy in the next week. Roll on the good times. Next week I hope to do a post on the MRI. It will be significantly less novel length than this one!
*not sorry
** wrong. It has the potential to go very wrong but in all honesty, I wouldn’t recommend anything if I didn’t feel it would help. Try and avoid having a temper tantrum though. Not only will it not help but you’re an adult who will only end up embarrassing themselves in front of their stuffed animals. Not cool.
https://atyourcervixuk.wordpress.com/2017/10/15/cervical-cancer-blog-thirteen-aka-pelvic-eua-and-lymphadectomy-part-two/
