Tumours Change Everything and Nothing At All

Inspiration stems from the iconic and unforgettable line from the New Amsterdam TV series where Dr Max Goodwin (played by Ryan Eggold) was told by one of his patients that "Cancer changes everything and nothing at all."

Wiser words could not be said during the journey that a human being is forced to go through, even though such an individual was fully fit and healthy prior to their shock diagnosis. Whether it is Cancer, Anaemia, or any other chronic illness comes knocking on your door (of which feels like the wrong door, like an unwanted houseguest comes a knocking); the same words of wisdom is true. This article is coming from an individual (me, the author) who has experienced the likes of Long Covid and Anaemia in a few short years, only for Doctors to have found two tumours in my uterus during a Pelvic Ultrasound exam a short couple of months ago.

If dealing with the recent passing of my last blood/biological relative is not significant and difficult enough; being presented with two tumours (one being a harmless Fibroid, which has shrunk since) is like being involved in an unwanted train-wreck. The other tumour (the Endometrial Polyp, which is growing) is the one that has to be surgically removed...no ifs, ands or buts.

Tumours (whether benign or malignant) in your body changes everything. Even though these tumours are not natural, and although (clearly) an unwanted invitation; moreover, just like any abnormality or illness, you are presented with multiple forks in the road.

Despite the wishes of my doctors, I initially chose the natural path to either let it shrink to less than 10mm (these types of tumours do not pose a Cancer risk if less than 1cm), or (ideally) disappear altogether. This meant that diligence was tried out by being open minded on certain herbs to safely consume, and listening to others who have healed such tumours naturally to name. Many different forms of mentoring came to the surface, only to leave me physically, mentally, and emotionally drained - despite this tumour being less symptomatic, to all of a sudden feeling worse - like there is a 24/7 dance party going on in my uterus, and I cannot stop it myself.

Knowing that there is at least one serious, aggressive and nasty tumour in your body (knowing that it is home and super comfortable in my womb, although an unwanted house guest) also affects your mental health on a super grand scale. Hearing of the news from my GP/Primary Care Doctor quickly went from me saying "that sucks" to breaking down in tears, and therefore giving Kleenex a good run for its money; just as quickly as soap removes dirt quite literally. That is when my short appointment turned into a long Mental Health consultation, and immediately being put on a Mental Health Plan, comprising of 10 talk therapy sessions. Thus far, I've attended 3 of these 10 sessions, as I want to save some for after the operation. Having a supportive therapist who is on your team and side is everything.

It is only human to vent to others around you about your news, pain, and suffering. It is easy to freak out, be upset, annoyed, angry and frustrated knowing that you are back in the cycle of being temporarily unwell again, with the panic of being put under, and having to be admitted to hospital as an otherwise healthy and active person.

With time, things soften, yet anxiety gets amplified. The longer you leave these things, the more anxious you become.

The grass will be greener on the other side, yet you need to soften your schedule for three months afterwards, to give that relevant body part (the uterus in my case) time to really heal, while balancing out my hormones again.

For someone who has not had any surgery under general anaesthesia for 36 years (as at the time of writing); having an operation while being put under/to sleep is a golden lesson in learning to trust people more, while your vulnerabilities are suddenly next level. You need to surrender when it comes to your privacy, and it is novel to have my legs in stirrups under general anaesthesia. The forms that your anaesthetist, your surgeon, and the hospital require you to fill out for admission purposes is nothing short of exhausting. I feel sorry for those people who are in hospital regularly as a result. And my periods will change and be totally different after this operation.

Needing blood tests, medications, and knowing that you will need oxygen, an IV drip or two, and constant monitoring in the recovery room post-surgery can also feel overwhelming and anxiety inducing, despite being strong and resilient. You do bug your surgeon a few times with more questions.

It is no surprise why I manifested a cold two days prior to my surgeons appointment, due to the mental and emotional confusion with the shock of the tumour diagnosis. My gynaecology appointment was triaged quickly based on previous anaemia history (what these tumours had caused due to heavy menstrual bleeding), and despite this, my surgery is postponed to the 8th of May, in order for my immune system to fully recover. (Ironically, the operation to remove the polyp was meant to be today, as at the time of writing.) It is a lot (especially mentally) to have to take a Covid test on the day of the specialists appointment, and then to actually be told by the specialist that you definitely need surgery. It's a lot to take in.

I go into hospital in a months time, and in the spirit of everything changes, you do not want to waste another minute of your precious life, in the knowing that you might not wake up from the anaesthesia. These are the risks involved in this surgery, even though the pros are clearly outweighing the cons, as natural healing on this occasion did not work for this specific tumour. Natural healing has worked for many other things in my life, to manifesting clear skin and no more bloating, but not for this tumour unfortunately. A will needs to be prepared, and I just want to be a lady of leisure as much as possible. I am still working, yet I am not going out of my way to start new projects, or to manifest new clients and business growth. I also do not care that all of my clients (bar one) are unable to offer me any work at this point in time, as their business' are quiet, as at the time of writing. Yes, the economy is not great right now; yet that is the last thing you care about in such circumstances.

Eat out at nice restaurants, if you can afford to. Go on adventures. Go and travel more if you can. Anything that is nourishing for your mental health, and to take your mind off the tumour, and the fact that I might not wake up once the anaesthesia is administered. If I do wake up, the Cancer scare will be around for another two weeks post-op until the biopsy results come in.

It seems unfair, while others are laughing and enjoying their lives without worrying about a team of medical professionals that might or might not seal your fate. Spending time in a hospital bed, looking up at the bright lights feels incredibly unfair, despite being yet another mentor to help you be more curious about your body and it's needs in moving forward. That includes your psyche on a grand scale.

After the surgery, can I return to normal activities the next day, as my surgeon is promising me? Or will I be bedridden for a lot longer? That, in conjunction with Google and AI getting a gym-like workout on search queries from recovery times, to what happens in the procedure, to how much my hospital costs are expected to be as a private patient (the American system in Australia, to avoid long waiting lists, with the privilege of choosing your own Doctor), to only name a few things on my mind as a result of this scary diagnosis rise to the surface. It drives you crazy, despite being rather detached to the outcome. Just be careful of the research rabbit hole when it comes to having un-natural growths and tumours in your body.

I was behaving like a scared eight year old girl (based on the last time I had an operation in hospital) who actually cried, and who took her sweet time to wake up in the PACU/recovery ward, upon waking up from a surgical excision of a deep, thick and furry birthmark back then. I also had many anxieties and worries around the hospital costs, despite clearly being able to afford more comfortable care in the Private Hospital system. For example, will the hospital add $200 to my bill if my bed sheets bleed out? And can all four of my wisdom teeth cope with a breathing tube down my throat during the anaesthesia? You temporarily go insane, until you meditate and tell your mind to stop, and to thank those thoughts for their contribution - even if they are not very helpful.

On the other hand, nothing changes. Life goes on. Trump was still going to announce his Tariff's to the world, with natural, expected reactions and panic with the stock market and the like. Sure, the value of my shares has gone down; yet I am so not interested in looking right now. There's much bigger fish to fry so to speak in making the most of the next month, and if the surgery is a success; having a low stress and impact schedule for three months afterwards is what I need and have to embrace. No different to a Cancer patient needing chemotherapy.

The seasons still change, and every month there is still a new moon and a full moon. Life still goes on, and that in itself is comforting, even though things have suddenly become more uncertain at a drop of a hat.

Nourishment of your mental health is so important in times of physical distress with a Cancer scare back in my life 36 years later. The rent/mortgage and bills still need to be paid. We still need to go to the supermarket and shop for our groceries, as well as wake up and brush our teeth. Tumours or full health and vitality; these basics are necessary for our survival and day to day living. To someone knowing that they have at least one tumour in their body, being none the wiser on whether it is currently benign or malignant until it is surgically removed; the world stops, and it feels like time is moving as slow as some freight trains, while the world continues to undergo massive changes and transformations. People naturally wake up to travel to their 9-5 jobs Monday to Friday, without thinking about it too much still.

May this article give you the introspection, clarity and closure that you need in difficult and vulnerable times around an unexpected medical diagnosis. This too shall pass. The latter is the resilience and strength that gets you through the other side.