A Leap Of Faith & Letting Go

another surgery and farewell to my body as I knew it

We are back in New York, sitting in a hotel room the night before my full hysterectomy and egg retrieval surgery. In the span of about 5 hours in an OR room, I will lose my entire reproductive system and retrieve eggs to possibly create my future children. The irony of that was not lost on me. The pit in my stomach was becoming a friendly passenger of my day to day the last few months but tonight, it was screaming for attention.

Surgeries feel like a giant leap of faith. You are quite literally putting your life in other people’s hands and trusting that the changes you decided on, are the right ones for the long term sanctity of your health. I trusted mine fully and wholeheartedly but I also knew that I was standing on the edge of major physical and emotional change.

This time around, they wanted me to arrive at 4:30AM the following morning. Unlike the first surgery, I had a sense of what to expect. I stopped eating after some light dinner, washed my body with sterile soap, removed my jewelry and had my sister French braid my hair. We sat watching Schitt’s Creek, each of us desperate for relief in the anxiety we were feeling. Eventually, I climbed into bed and allowed my husband to pull me extra close before drifting off to sleep.

I could sense this time around things were a bit more serious. My surgical oncology team and the fertility team from Cornell were working together to make sure everything was done to prep my body for the OR. At times, it felt like a swirling of people, some needing things for me, others needing things from each other. They were all experts, each knowing their tasks at hand and executing them efficiently.

My body on the other hand, knew what was going on and resisted. My veins hid themselves making it difficult for them to place IVs. I could feel the tension throughout my body. I took and deep breath and felt sadness. Though our bodies and minds are connected, I could tell in this moment my body was having a hard time trusting what my mind was deciding on. And for that, I had empathy. The last few months it had endured a major surgery, CT scans, IVF drugs, ultrasounds and countless needles. It was tired, sick and weary of continuous prodding. I began to realize the importance of this empathy and a need to build trust if we were going to be on this journey of medical intervention together.

My oncologist stopped by to check in and I knew that meant we would be rolling back to the ER soon. He let me know they were going to come by and place a epidural in my back and that I should say ‘see you later’ to my family. This is the part of surgery where you begin to feel that leap of faith. Nothing is 100% guaranteed in the surgical world and no matter how much ease I had being in the best medical hands, I dreaded this part. The fear in your partners eyes, the hugs that last longer - there is no other way to describe it other than surgery goodbyes are not fun.

In a matter of moments since my oncologist had stopped by, a large amount of nurses and doctors were around me. I began to shake in fear. I was asked to sit up while they began to place the epidural in my back and my entire memory of this moment centers around the kindness of a nurse. As if he felt my fear and knew what it needed in that moment, he began to gently rub my shoulders and continuously reassure me. He reminded me of my bravery, he told me when to breathe in deeply and he somehow calmed my fear. I think about him and the magic he brought to me in that moment and I am in awe of the impact one can have on you at any given moment of your life. I am continuously learning the most simple concept of life throughout this journey - it doesn’t take much for us to impact each other.

As soon as the epidural was placed, I was out.

Time to leap.