Angela A. Wix's Blog, page 4
July 19, 2017
Daring to Hope: Vindication After a Lifetime of Disease
This is for all who dare to hope. Not once. Not twice. But time and time again, when dreams have been dashed and the world has told you repeatedly, "This can't be yours." Maybe you believed it for a while. Maybe you still do. I know I did. Bitterness, pain, sadness, and defeat took the place of hope. I'd go through cycles of uber positivity over potential options (in my case various health treatments), give it my all, and dream for the day my body and life would be my own. I always found myself back at despair, but I also always returned to hope.Sometimes hope means finding a new dream and adjusting original aspirations. That's the place I've lived in. "Maybe I'll never be able to do this, but I can do that, and that still brings me joy." This can still be a good place, although it is hard not to always be looking over the fence at what could be, or what might have been.
Yesterday I received confirmation following surgery that I did indeed have adenomyosis as well as even more endometriosis than had originally been reported. Hearing this had me grinning ear-to-ear. Even when it is there, often adeno isn't found during pathology, so I'm one of the lucky ones to get validation. It had not been all in my head (as so many with these illnesses are often told)...for more than 20 years I wasn't crazy and my pain had been very real. With a hysterectomy my adeno is forever gone. With excision, endo has hopefully been treated, but the recurrence rate for my particular condition is 30%. I've lived the storm. I know that dark and unrelenting place, the isolation and fierce cruelty. Even now, knowing a new storm could potentially be stalking my heals, I've rediscovered hope that I haven't known in more than a decade. I could cycle though so many questions: Will it come back? Will I need more surgery? Will I have to endure that pain again? Will the damage that's been done heal? Will I recover to a level of better fuction? Or will my remaining illnesses continue on even now? I could go there, and to some degree I have, but I am trying instead to choose hope over fear.The question then is this: Knowing the pain, can you still know hope? Can you find the singing bird on the cusp of the storm? Poem: "Mocking Lightening"
Yesterday I received confirmation following surgery that I did indeed have adenomyosis as well as even more endometriosis than had originally been reported. Hearing this had me grinning ear-to-ear. Even when it is there, often adeno isn't found during pathology, so I'm one of the lucky ones to get validation. It had not been all in my head (as so many with these illnesses are often told)...for more than 20 years I wasn't crazy and my pain had been very real. With a hysterectomy my adeno is forever gone. With excision, endo has hopefully been treated, but the recurrence rate for my particular condition is 30%. I've lived the storm. I know that dark and unrelenting place, the isolation and fierce cruelty. Even now, knowing a new storm could potentially be stalking my heals, I've rediscovered hope that I haven't known in more than a decade. I could cycle though so many questions: Will it come back? Will I need more surgery? Will I have to endure that pain again? Will the damage that's been done heal? Will I recover to a level of better fuction? Or will my remaining illnesses continue on even now? I could go there, and to some degree I have, but I am trying instead to choose hope over fear.The question then is this: Knowing the pain, can you still know hope? Can you find the singing bird on the cusp of the storm? Poem: "Mocking Lightening"
June 26, 2017
Through Sickness, Gratitude
PREFACE: A little over a week ago I had surgery for excision of endometriosis and hysterectomy for adenomyosis. The same day of my surgery I learned that someone else suffering with endometriosis committed suicide after being dismissed during an ER visit, a dismissal I myself experienced 20 years ago. I could understand her desperation. I'd lived it as well for decades. Yet here I am, fresh out of surgery, holding onto new hope. The contrast has been jarring. If only I could have passed along some of this newfound hope to her. But maybe, just maybe, in her memory I can help others understand. And so, my posts continue...___I'm not going to lie. The last few days have been rough. The first 48 hours or so following my surgery I was super giddy...I mean high...I mean, relieved. I had pain and needed help, but overall if anyone asked, my response was, "I feel great!" But once things settled and my body started trying to detox from all the drugs and trauma, things took a nosedive. I hit the reality of recovery very hard. While this is a challenge, the balance to it is that I am lucky to be so loved. And as someone who often tries to carry the burden alone, I am very aware of an immense gratitude bubbling out of me. Every mug of hot tea I am handed, every hot plate of food, every load of laundry I see washed or clink of dishes being put away without me touching them...every lift out of bed, kiss on the forehead, bundle of flowers, or lingering visit with no expectation...they are all moments that break my heart in the best possible way.
Recovery is a precious thing. I am grateful for the time I was able to put in beforehand in order to take care of myself when I wouldn't really be able to. I am grateful for the visitors who have stopped by just to say hi. I am grateful for the slow time and the birds calling outside my window. And above all, I am grateful for the caretakers who have gone on watch while I needed the support. It's a humbling thing to need help into bed, onto the toilet, or taking meds because you have no memory or awareness of it all through the fog. While I've faced health challenges for a long time, I usually manage things on my own...charting supplements, therapies, diet, and the regular goings-on of life. But not this time. And anyway, the people I love are effected by and carry this load too, even if I'm not always aware of it. That truth is just magnified right now. I could say much more, but it basically comes down to the fact that I am lucky to be so loved and to know it. And we should all be so lucky.
Recovery is a precious thing. I am grateful for the time I was able to put in beforehand in order to take care of myself when I wouldn't really be able to. I am grateful for the visitors who have stopped by just to say hi. I am grateful for the slow time and the birds calling outside my window. And above all, I am grateful for the caretakers who have gone on watch while I needed the support. It's a humbling thing to need help into bed, onto the toilet, or taking meds because you have no memory or awareness of it all through the fog. While I've faced health challenges for a long time, I usually manage things on my own...charting supplements, therapies, diet, and the regular goings-on of life. But not this time. And anyway, the people I love are effected by and carry this load too, even if I'm not always aware of it. That truth is just magnified right now. I could say much more, but it basically comes down to the fact that I am lucky to be so loved and to know it. And we should all be so lucky.
