Losing Weight

Well, hello. Long time no talk. Nothing too incredibly noteworthy has been going on and we’ve all just been doing our best to survive the last 9-10 months since I posted, I’m guessing. Word is out to some that I’m having surgery tomorrow (today by the time you get this, I believe), so I thought I would do a little update.

The ol’ ovaries are finally coming out. Postponed by COVID like so many things. A little recap: my cancer was estrogen-fed. Ovaries = estrogen, so I’ve been getting a monthly shot for years no to shut them off. No periods! Yay! Expensive, uber painful “shot” in my abdomen every month. Boo! I had one a few months back was horrible. It’s not a liquid shot — it’s actually a hollow tube that injects a little bead that dissolves over 28 days (I’m sure I’ve explained this before… sorry for the repeat). Well, the nurse administering it hit a vein and it created a huge, painful, ugly hematoma. It took weeks to resolve. That’s when I hit my breaking point and decided it was time.

They said I had to schedule an annual exam and do another consult re: the surgery before I could schedule it. I was finally able to do that a couple of weeks ago and to my surprise they scheduled the surgery very quickly. I thought I would have a few weeks to figure out my schedule, set money aside for time off, etc. So, rent’s going to be late this month, but it really was the best time to get it over with when I looked at my schedule. So, oh, well. I’m happy to report that my doula partner for Detroit Doulas are getting quite busy! So, this way I just have to miss one meeting with a mama, which my partner will do alone on Wednesday, vs. having to make her be on call for multiple births, etc. at any point in the future. We have multiple clients every month, with the next one due on April 16.

I recently started cooking primarily out of a commercial kitchen — stacking three clients on Mondays and doing two in-home clients on Tuesdays (both have severe allergies, so I’ll do it in their homes). Those days are/will be intense, but it has enabled me to stay home with James on Wednesdays (she gets out of school at 10:30 a.m. — whacky, right?) and be available on the other days to do the work that happens behind the scenes — paper work, menu planning, scheduling appointments and responding to doula clients. And be on call for births without having to cancel chef clients. My house has never been more chaotic and cluttered as I’ve barely been home for months. My dining room is the central hub of both businesses and where everything gets dropped upon entering the house, but the rest of the house isn’t so bad. I’ve done what I can to prepare recuperate in a peaceful and clean home and will just close my eyes when I walk through the dining room.

Daniel has been picking up James after school (11:30ish until recently) all year and keeping her at his house until I’m done with work every day, so this way, he doesn’t have to do that anymore and can get his work done in peace — especially Wednesdays when she’s home most of the day. She’s still figuring out that even though I’m not on a call, etc. I am still working and a Wednesday at home isn’t the same as a Saturday. But we’ll figure it out. I continue to be grateful for the coparenting relationship Daniel and I have. He and I took the girls to an igloo at a Ferndale restaurant for James’s 7th birthday and we all had a great time.

A little update on Claire too — this incredible almost-18-year-old has college acceptance letters coming at her left and right, finished high school early and has been invaluable in watching her sister every Friday while I’m at work and pretty much every time one of us asks. She is so responsible, smart, funny and beautiful and I just couldn’t be more proud of her. James is already lamenting her leaving for college in the fall and so am I.

ANYWAY, the title of this post is a little wink at the fact that I’ll be losing my ovaries — will it reflect on the scale?!?! (Fun facts: they are almond-shaped and roughly 1.6” x .8” and weight approximately .3 oz each). Also, I think or maybe hope some of the weight that is present every month when I walk through that chemo room to get my shot lifts. This surgery is a tough one, mentally and emotionally. It should be the easiest physically. But every surgery takes me back to the beginning. Those early days of shock and a firehose of information coming at us. Sitting in my oncologist’s office for the first time, discussing whether to harvest eggs before chemo. Mourning the second child I would never birth. And not being able to breastfeed even if I were to. All of these decisions were made for me. And, yes, this one was too. Of course I could NOT get them out. Let my useless ovaries hang out in there and keep getting a $150 bill each month for the shot’s co-pay until I naturally go through menopause. But what kind of choice is that?

So, I found myself on my kitchen floor one night last week. Having an ugly cry. Feeling very alone. And that life isn’t fair. I grew up hearing “That’s life in the Marine Corps.” I never want to hear that again, to be honest. (Sorry, family.). It’s Ok for me to be sad. For me to acknowledge that life’s not fair and not have a tough upper lip as that phrase would suggest. Yes, so many things in life aren’t fair for anyone and everyone. And I know I’m supposed to be happy to be alive — AND I AM. But this — all of this — the stuff that comes AFTER chemo, after your scars heal on the outside. All of THIS has been the hardest part. And sometimes I still get angry about it. And want to have a tantrum like a child and shout that it’s not fair.

So, although I have come to terms with not having another baby and wouldn’t want to have another one right now even if I could, it still takes me back to that pain. To that overwhelming feeling of loss. And to the feeling that I have no control over my life. And my body. And how not a single person on the planet could understand how this feels even if they have gone through the same thing. So, it’s lonely. Even when you have a huge family and the most incredible friends.

And it’s nobody’s fault that it’s lonely — it just is what it is. And I think I’m a pretty strong person. “I’m fine” is generally the truth most days. Nobody probably pictures me sobbing on my kitchen floor. And I don’t know if this is “normal.” ARE people just happy to be alive? Or do they still get sad or mad or angry? I have aches and pains every day. Play “pulled muscle or bone cancer” on the reg, which can lead to an MRI which can lead to another medical bill, which can lead to taking the wind out of my sails when I thought I was finally, FINALLY getting ahead of these bills. So, no, it’s not fair.

It’s weird — especially in a pandemic — to not have a person — your person, who you know will be the one to take you to surgery, sit there all day, take you home and take care of you. To not have to think about that or worry about that would be a gift. I don’t have a person. And everyone is so busy and stressed right now and I know it. And with so few people knowing about the surgery and therefore nobody offering to help, I hated having to ask anyone to take time out of their days to help me. Who do I want to inconvenience who also won’t make me feel like I’m inconveniencing them? Because I just can’t deal with that right now. I asked the hospital if I could just Uber. Theys said no.

For once I don’t have to go at the crack of dawn. I reached out to two good friends and they are tag-teaming the day. So, I’ll head there around noon with my friend Melissa. Surgery is at 2 and should take about an hour. I suspect I’ll be home around dinner time. My friend Erin is going to come to the house to sit with me and bring me dinner. Another good friend set up a Meal Train and put it on Facebook, so I have dinner coming to me every day for a few days after surgery. I bought some fruit and veggies and other snacks and too many beverages of all kinds. I have a stack of magazines and books ready to go and we’ll see if I actually read them.

Physically, I think this could be the easiest surgery I’ve ever had. It’s laparoscopic and outpatient. Three incisions. Two tiny ones and one ovary-sized where they will actually come out. I guess they usually use your belly button but years ago I had an umbilical hernia and there’s mesh there, so she said it will be somewhere else. I’m supposed to lay low for 7-14 days. I haven’t canceled my cook day in the kitchen for Monday, April 6 and I’m hoping after six days I’ll feel well enough to do it. But we’ll see. I’m not going to risk anything either, despite my need to work. The hernia surgery — my only other laparoscopic procedure ever — was a real doozy, but I think this one will be much easier than that. After 24 hours or so I’m hoping I won’t be in too, too much pain.

So, I’ll rest up for the week. This is my first surgery that doesn’t involve my chest, so I’m hoping I might even be able to do some knitting. I borrowed some things from Melissa a couple of months ago to teach myself how to crochet so maybe I’ll finally have the time. Or maybe I’ll get my taxes together. Or maybe I’ll watch movies and sleep and play Scrabble on my phone.

It will be hard to lay around and not take care of the piles in the dining room. Or the tower of recycling on the porch. Please don’t judge, those of you dropping off food. Or do. Then grab some recycling on your way out!

Happy Spring everyone,
Kirsten

P.S. Just as we did with Valentine’s Day, James and I picked up everything we needed to make Easter cards about a month ago. We managed to make three and who knows if they will go out before Easter. A package for Gigi is sitting here on my dining room table that I believe contains her valentine. Thank yous for birthdays and Christmas have yet to go out. We love you, we thank you, we’re doing our best over here. <3