It was smaller than a mustard seed (or “How ya doin’?”)

“How are you doing?”

I get asked this a lot. I mean a lot more than usual, a lot, a lot. I imagine it is the result of their knowing I was diagnosed with cancer, and with a subsequent surgery.

It is an even more complex question to answer now.

The nuances of recovery from my surgery are interesting.

On one level, I am so incredibly lucky that it is a true cause of celebration. I wonder how rare it is to get a cancer when it is under 1 mm.

In one study that I read about cervical cancer, the data regarding the tumor sizes (not direct to the study, but the data was presented) said the mean size was 2cm and the median was 1.8 cm (of the tumors in the study).

I was at 0.8 MILLIMETERS

a grain of salt.

       a grain of salt, on a pinhead.

Smaller than a mustard seed.

The average size (from that one study) is like a marble, or a quarter, or a stamp.

A stamp, rather enlarged

I am so insanely lucky. However, my cells had made the crossover from being atypical to being cancer. The cells in question had moved from being In Situ to being nefarious (micro-invasive was the word) things…. So I said get it out.

It was aggressive in terms of the treatment I chose. I didn't, however, want to revisit this conversation of “You have cancer” again. At least not for this.

So, the surgery for a grain of salt included my  the removal of entire uterus, through a long abdominal incision. It included the removal of my Fallopian tubes, sixteen lymph nodes, and some tissue that surrounded my uterus.

For something the size of a grain of salt.

The surgery was traumatic. My body does not feel normal, though it feels like it should feel normal. No visible parts are missing, but there is the scar that travels along my lower abdomen.

My girly bits and stomach are numb. My scar itches. There is a heaviness where I image the lymph nodes were. Cold causes a strange ache. I get exhausted easily and try to balance everything.  There is something I will refer to as exudate. My stitches have yet to dissolve. I don’t feel good in the sense that I feel limber and mobile. My abdomen feels  tight and yet wobbly.

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Johnston

Musings, womenblair, cancer, death, emotions, gentleness,grain of salt, gratitude, hysterectomy, musings, non-being, philosophy, small

This post originally appeared elsewhere.