When it rains, dreamers dance in it

Or in this case, we dance, kick, and splash.

Eventually.

Yesterday was rough.  No lies.  It was incredibly painful.  And scary.  And no one is out of the woods yet.

Wednesday night, I was being checked by my nurse after Sam went home.  He left before 9pm so he could be asleep by 10pm.  He had a job to complete.  As the nurse is checking me, she realizes that I have a huge bruise where around my incision and extending to my belly button and the sides.

She left, reasonably calmly and returned with a team.  Yes, a team of four nurses to check on my bruise.  They all agreed they had seen nothing like it previously.  To top it off, it was tender, like I had mentioned, and warm to the touch.

Something you should know about me...I don't complain.  If I mention something, assume it is a big deal.  My doctors have discovered this the hard way.  That's how I ended up in here Monday with the HELP syndrome.  My liver was shutting down.  My platelets were dropping.  My kidneys were questionable.  My blood pressure was soaring.  It was not my finest hour.

So, a call was made to the doctor, who promised to check me first thing in the morning.  Well, first thing in the morning came around 1pm.  It was then that i received news...good and bad.  Apparently the bruising is from the HELP syndrome.  With my low platelet count at the time of the surgery, I simply look really bruised.  It could take a month for that to heal.  And that was the good news.

The bad news is that I may have cancer. 

Yeah. when it rains it pours.  Apparently, when they sent my placenta away for examination, they also included some other suspicious looking uterine material.  I ended up getting a biopsy with no extra cutting.  Good, right?  Because it looks like I have a tumor or tumors.

The doctor kept saying that, kept beating around the bush until finally I just stopped her and confronted her.

me: So, we're talking about cancer here, right?

She hesitated, but she knows me and finally just came clean.

doctor: Yes.  Cancer.  But not the kind people die from.

me: How do you mean?

doctor: Well, we can treat it.  And we can do surgery.  It looks like it's all contained in the uterous.

I'm not sure how she could know that, since she didn't even know I had it until...yesterday.  Still, I have hope.  I couldn't really have cancer and a micro preemie who needs me...could I? 

No matter what, I can take it.  We'll be looking at the cancer more next week.  And we'll take it from there.  In the meantime, I have a baby who needs love and attention and healing.  I have a husband who is struggling to hold our life together while taking care of all of us.  I have a son who needs a normal life.  I have a lot to do, a lot to live for.

I can take a lesson from Kenna.  She just survived her central line insertion last night.  She's the smallest baby the doctor has ever performed this procedure on.  She defies the odds at every turn.  And she came from me.  I am blessed to have her.  She surprises all of us every day.

Time to find my happy and dance.