Feeling Sad

Today's feeling is sadness, just general sadness about my current state and the things I've lost over this last year. Today is the one year anniversary of my diagnosis for gallbladder cancer, and I'm remembering my innocence going into the surgery that revealed the cancer. The doctors explained to me the many things that could be causing my bile duct to be blocked, but I never attached to cancer, or tumors, and I never saw that as my path. That left me feeling even more blindsided by the diagnosis, and by what the surgeon found when he opened me up.

I went into surgery around 2:00 p.m., and it was expected to last a few hours. When I woke up in the recovery room, the lights were dim,, it was mostly shut down, and I could see by the clock on the wall that it was almost 11:00. The recovery room nurse was cranky with me, and refused to answer my questions. I knew something had gone terribly wrong because the surgery lasted so long. All she was allowed to tell me was that the surgery was successful and they had relieved the blockage, and the surgeon would talk to me in the morning. Apparently everyone thought I'd be knocked out all night from the anesthesia. Instead, I spent the night awake a lot of the time, moving in and out of dozing, feeling incredibly anxious, and deducing that whatever they had discovered, it was really bad. I don't remember my exact thoughts, but I know that I couldn't wait to talk with Patty and find out what she knew. I knew that the doctor would have talked with her after the surgery, although it turned out they talked by phone because she had headed home when the surgery took so long. I had my cell phone in my room, but decided not to call her until morning.

At 6:00 a.m., I called and Nathaniel, the early bird in our house, answered. He got Patty on the phone, and I told her she HAD to tell me what the doctor had said. "He wants to talk with both of us in your room this morning," she said. "I've been awake all night speculating on the worst. Nothing you can tell me can be worse than that," I responded. And so she told me that I had cancer, either of the bile duct or gallbladder (the doctors wouldn't know which until the pathology report was back). I was stunned, but still knew that it was better to know than to not know.

That night was my "dark night of the soul," when I had to face my worst fears and realize they were undoubtedly true. After my speculation, alone in my hospital bed, knowing was better, but the news was still incredibly painful.

So today is one year past that dark, painful, unexpected day. I feel sad, remembering. I am amazed on many levels that I'm still alive to write this, and to remember, and I'm sad that I'm so sick at this point that I'm not able to enjoy life with any sort of normal energy. Outside my house, it is the most beautiful time of the year, with all of the spring bulbs and early perennials I've planted over the years producing their colorful blooms; red tulips, pink and white bleeding heart, my yellow water iris in the water garden, purple columbine, white ground phlox, many colors and textures. I am grateful to see them appear with so little effort on my part this spring, and I'm painfully aware that this will be my last spring of soaking in their beauty. And I am sad.