So I wrote about my never ending nightmare, and how when I woke up the day after my procedure, I felt as though I had finally awoken from my nightmare.
I have felt so much better since my surgery, that I thought things were finally going to slow down for us, and that we could return to our normal married selves.
Not so.
So many things make sense, and pieces finally fit together, but this nightmare has actually only begun.
I met with my doctor for my follow up appointment and received some shocking news.
I knew something was wrong, because I could see it in his eyes. I really love (in the platonic sort of way, of course) my doctor. He is very straightforward, and doesn't sugar coat anything, which I also love. Plus an added bonus, he says whatever he wants and calls people dumb-asses, which makes everything better. But regardless, I knew something was wrong. So he proceeds to tell me about the procedure: things went well, but...
The ever dreaded but.
With how far along I was, I should not have had as much tissue as I did, and with the tissue, he saw something he had only ever learned about in school, but has never, ever had a patient that actually has/had what I have. (And he's been practicing gynecology for a while now.)
My pregnancy was a rare abnormality. It occurs in probably less that 5% of pregnant women. I had what is called a molar pregnancy, where there where three sets of chromosomes instead of two (Chris had some strong swimmers, basically.) But that wasn't the rare abnormality. With molar pregnancies, there are only 1% who have the type of molar pregnancy I did, which can lead to cancer. And what's worse, is this type of cancer masks itself as a pregnancy which means that some women may think they are pregnant again, but in reality their body has developed a cancer from the previous pregnancy.
What this means: I have to have routine blood work and tests bi-monthly to make sure my levels are where they should be. Also, I cannot get pregnant for at least a year, if not longer.
What a shock to my system. I have seriously had every emotion possible the last 5 months. From excitement, to disappointment, to fear, to frustration, to you name it, I probably have felt it.
I really thought this was going to be a routine follow-up visit. I was not prepared in the least for what I was told. I was mentally prepared for the "when do you think you're going to start trying again" but not for the "you can't try again."
It really all makes sense, every last piece of this story. The reason my body didn't dispel of the pregnancy on its own. The reason I felt infinitely better after the tissue was removed. The weird side effects of pregnancy that were not "normal" side effects to have. Everything kind of fits together and makes sense more than it did before. I mean it doesn't make sense in the "why this is happening to me" way, but the "that's why this was this" kind of way.
I know I've mentioned this before, but I always think of the quote, "live the life you imagined" and I'm really starting to hate this quote. It needs to be changed.
The life I imagined: I would be married for 5 years at my age, probably have two kids, be a stay at home mom in the suburbs somewhere in Utah. Honestly, that is the life I imagined for myself. Not this. Of course, do people ever imagine themselves for hardship and bad news followed by more bad news?
It should say "live the life you never imagined" although that can also have a joyful, optimistic twist as well, and right now, I need a "memes" quote, that is snarky and as realistic as they come.
Or maybe instead of living my life vicariously through quotes about life, I actually live this life; Live this life I have been so blessed to receive. I am so lucky that my doctor caught this, and so lucky that he is going above and beyond for me to make sure I'm okay (seriously, what kind of doctor nowadays makes regular, personal phone calls to their patients? Mine.) I am lucky to have modern medicine to keep me heathy, and to keep my body from doing harm to itself.
I would be lying if I said I'm okay with this all; okay with this timeline I've been given; okay with the news that my body might turn on itself and attack me from the inside out; okay that I no longer have a say in when I start my family.
I'm not okay, I'm really not. But right now, it's okay, that I'm not okay.
