Ready for part 2 of the cancer saga? Once we found out that the tumor was cancerous, my doctor gave us the news: I’d need another surgery. Ideally, this surgery would be done laparoscopically and would be substantially easier than the first. As we expected, there were lots of scary warnings. If I wasn’t sufficiently healed from the first surgery (or if the scar tissue was extensive), the doctor would need to reopen my first incision. He informed us that this would mean a repeat of the initial healing process and an increased risk of infection. Oh joy.

We arrived at the hospital at 5:00 a.m. (rude.) to begin the check-in process. Oddly enough, seeing all the other people there for same-day surgery was slightly comforting. It was reassuring to know that surgery is pretty commonplace and there are so many successful cases every single day.

We were having a great time snapping photos of weird signs and the stylish mesh underwear stacked in the room. I was deliriously happy, since you know, it was freaking 6 a.m. All the hilarity & joking flew out the dirty hospital window when the nurses opened the door and said, “Ready?” I wanted to yell, “No!” and run back to the car, but it’s imperative to act like a grown up in these situations. I opted for a Kim K ugly cry.  My brave husband stroked my head and told me he’d see me soon.

After countless silent prayers, a soft-spoken medical student came and stood by my bed. I was apparently trembling uncontrollably because he rushed to get a few blankets. He engaged me in a bit of conversation that forced me to focus on what he was saying. He was from Orem and went to Orem High, so he tried to find a friend connection. Five minutes later, I realized that I was no longer thinking of the worst possible outcome. The rest of surgical team were all so kind and optimistic. The last thing I remember was hearing one of the nurses say, “We’re going to take good care of you.”

I woke up in the recovery room and the first thing I remember was not feeling the searing pain from the first surgery. I couldn’t wait to see Jack and find out what had happened. Did they have to re-open my original incision?! When I found out that everything was performed laparoscopically, I leaped out of my bed and started jumping up and down! Haha. Just kidding. I wish. I think I managed a drowsy fist pump. But really, I was so happy and grateful! I tried to get up to go to the bathroom and had some intense pain throughout my abdomen. It subsided a bit once I was stopped moving, but ugh. I could tell I was in for another couple of weeks of excitement.

Oddly enough, the recovery from this surgery was more unbearable than the first. The pains were sharp, centralized and crippling. What luck! I got through each day by working from my bed and taking short walks around the house. For a bit of variety, I’d lure Bella to hang out with me with bits of cheese and beef dog biscuits. She’s a fair-weather loyal friend.

Two days after my surgery, we received a call that came earlier than expected. That night, I had missed a call from my doctor’s office. I got the familiar stomach-dropping sensation when I listened to the voicemail. “We wanted to discuss some pathology results with you…” The well-meaning voice informed me that their office was now closed and I’d have to wait until Tuesday. Why would you call me and say that before the weekend?!

I called them back twice in succession. No answer. After my fifth attempt, I gave up and went back to my work. When I picked up my phone 20 minutes later, I saw that I had another missed call. Of course I missed it. But there was another voicemail! I nervously pressed the little blue play button and waited. “Ms. Neiger, listen…everything is great. I wanted to tell you before the weekend…all your biopsies are negative. And it’s great news. Call us Monday.” My awesome doctor had just delivered the best news of all time. Miraculously, even though the gigantic tumor had touched nearly everything, the cancer hadn’t spread. Anywhere. We hugged and cried and hugged some more. We genuinely couldn’t believe it.

I continue to be so grateful and so happy. Although they keep saying doctor things like, “We can’t say cure, but the chances it will come back are very low,” this situation that could have ended much worse will be over (*fingers crossed) in about 8 weeks. After I receive the minimum courses of chemotherapy and lots of nausea, I should be done. Here’s to the completion of the second part of this three-part journey and ideally, getting classified as cancer free! Stay tuned for the misadventures and delights of chemo! #baldness

xo