As you have probably noticed, I have not been able to keep up the writing pace and provide regular journals for you. Sometimes I could not even think about writing. Sometimes I could not even get up and walk to my laptop. Had no interest and felt very poorly.
This has been one hell-of-a-year for me (and husband Charles). But I hinted occasionally that I would share what has been going on with me. (Even knowing I did not want to share my sick stuff.)
So let me give you a rundown of how my year has been. Not for sympathy (well, maybe a little) but so you understand what I’ve experienced.
You may or may not know that three years ago (2019), I had two, open-heart surgeries. It entailed life support and two months in Ohio State University Heart Hospital. So, it took a very long time to recover from that, especially since the pandemic occurred shortly after my return home.
By early this year (2022) I was finally feeling good, after two years of recovery. I had more energy than before, was stronger physically and I was going for regular walks. It felt good to be more like myself. That is when I started writing with Substack (A Mystic’s Journal).
In late March (2022) I felt very weak and shaky. My doctor did some tests and I had Covid! I was prescribed Novavax for recovery. That made me much worse. And the fatigue and weakness never went away. (Have I mentioned that many medications are too strong for me?)
Shaking, near-passing -out, Charles took me to the doctor’s office. This was in April/May. I ended up in the hospital with very low hemoglobin readings. Every test you can imagine. No one could figure out where my blood was going! Was sent to gastroenterologist for a colonoscopy. Before the scope was even complete, the doctor went out in the waiting room and told Charles that I had a very large mass (tumor) in the cecum and needed to be removed surgically immediately.
By June, I was prepping for colon cancer surgery. Yes, I said cancer. It was Stage 3. That word does not roll off my lips easily. My father died of cancer in 1980. It tore up his body first. Tests and appointments and lab work all during June. Finally, the surgery was July 5. I guess I thought that was all there was to it. But it was just the beginning of more misery to come.
I was sent home after two days in the hospital. I probably should have been there a few more days. I was really worn down and recovery was not complete when they told me I needed to have a Port placed in my chest (another surgery) to receive chemotherapy.
Well, I started crying. I really did not want chemotherapy, and certainly did not want another surgery. But it was scheduled the next month (August 2). This was a one-day surgery, in and out. It seemed to go well.
But on the way home, we were in a car accident. (Insult to injury). We were pretty shaken up and achy. Went to emergency just to make sure the Port had not gotten dislodged. It was fine, but our nerves were shot, and totaled the car.
So, I thought I’d have some time to recover from all that, but they scheduled the chemo for September. ugh. They called it preventative chemo, since the surgery took the tumor. But there were two lymph nodes that tested positive, so they were being cautious about cancer coming back.
The chemo treatments were set up every other week. First week in September and third week. One treatment consisted of a three-hour infusion of one type of chemo. Then I was hooked up to a pump with five different chemicals. I had to carry that pump around for 48 hours.
The first treatment was horrid. I was so weak from nausea, vomiting and diarrhea that I could barely get to the bathroom and back to the couch. I called regularly to tell the staff how bad I felt. They kept calling in different medications. But nothing really helped.
The oncologist realized how bad this first treatment was on my body, so she lowered the strength by 20%. She said if that was still too strong, I could try the oral chemo tablets.
Well, the second treatment was just as bad. I made the decision to stop the chemo treatments. When I talked to the doctor in October, my heart rate was up at 180. She thought I must be dehydrated, so ordered three days straight of fluid infusions. On the last day, my blood work came back that I may have blood clots. And the heart rate worried her too. She sent me to the cardiologist.
After more tests, etc., I was sent to the hospital (OSU heart again) to resolve the atrial fibrillation and tachycardia. Then to address the clots. Five days later, I went home on blood thinners and more medicines. My cardiologist said the chemo was the problem, he’d seen it many times.
That clinched it. No more chemo.
So I am working on other alternative treatments.
Not more than a week I had been home that Charles and I both got Covid! (Yeah, my second bout.) This probably was early November. Three weeks of Covid and its aftermath. Pretty much, the whole month is gone.
The follow up at the cardiologist and he said no physical therapy for November and December. Just rest and recover.
So, here I am. Finished with this year for good. Been looking for ways to accept the past illnesses and be alright with them. To make sense of the physical pain and mental anguish I dealt with. Trying to make it right in the scheme of things.
So that has been my year. And I am done with it.
It took a very long time for me to feel joy or happiness. But I am now looking forward to the new year. To make plans. To write more journals! I can only imagine that this past year has brought about a stronger spirit in me.
I hope you also have a strong spirit and prepare yourself for the New Year!
Special Blessings and A Sweet Holiday Season.
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Wow, what a rough year you've had. Lots of love to you both xo.
Oh my. You have been through the ringer. Good wishes for a bright 2023.