I was diagnosed with a cancer called mesothelioma in November 2005, just months after giving birth.
After my diagnosis, I made up my mind to do whatever I could to recover. I knew I had to be there for my newborn baby. This is the story of my mesothelioma treatment process.
Getting My Mesothelioma Surgery in Boston
We arrived in Boston on January 30th. I had two days’ worth of preoperative (pre-op) appointments ahead of me before my surgery. They started bright and early the next morning and included:
The list goes on and on. By the end of the day, I felt like a human pin cushion and was exhausted. On February 1st, I checked into the hospital late in the day to prepare for surgery the next morning.
As I got settled into my room for the long night ahead, I sent my husband Cam back to the rental home to get some rest. I knew that the next day would be long and nerve-wracking for him.
The Day of My Surgery
They came to my room at 6:00 am to wheel me down to the pre-op area. I was so nervous and I hadn’t gotten much sleep. I had a constant conversation with God going on in my head, praying that the surgery would be successful.
The pre-op staging area is a big room with little, curtained off areas where they put the gurneys. Nurses, orderlies and anesthesiologists were all there getting everything prepped. I felt incredibly alone and scared, and tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears.
The pre-surgery preparation consisted of about a dozen people asking my name and birthdate, before confirming I was there for a left lung resection. I had various intravenous (IV) catheters placed and the anesthetist explained how things would go.
I kept looking at the entryway, waiting to see Cam, hoping he didn’t get lost and would be here with me before I went in. Keep in mind this was 2006, long before smart phones, messenger apps and social media. We had cell phones, but he had mine for safekeeping while I was in surgery.
Not even five minutes later, I looked up and there he was, backpack in hand, filled with books and things to keep him occupied while I was in surgery. I sobbed when I saw him, thanking God that he made it. He just hugged me and kept telling me it would be alright. My tears flowed in earnest, but I felt calmer and more confident.
My Surgery and Beyond
Before long, the anesthetist came over and started to administer the first of the drugs. After that? I don’t remember much, just being wheeled through brightly lit hallways, into a cold operating suite. I vaguely remember being transferred to the operating table from the gurney and thinking how cold the room was. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the postoperative area.
I’d made it, I was alive. The surgery was a success and I was now living with one lung and a diaphragm that was half made of Gore-Tex. What came next was the real work: my recovery.
18 Years of Survivorship
That was all 18 years ago.
Now, I treat each February 2nd that passes like my own personal holiday, because I did it. I survived and recovered. I call this day Lung Leavin’ Day. I fulfilled my first goal: to survive. The next months (and years) pushed me to fulfill my next goal: to recover and be there to see my child grow up.
