Sorry everyone, I know I’ve been remiss in updating you following my appointment on Wednesday. For those who sent me gentle reminders, thanks. Your e-mails have obviously gotten me back in gear!
My hard cast was removed and the stitches taken out. The incision is healing well, but it is long, about 10 inches according to Ed. It starts on the side of my foot about two inches from the bottom of my little toe and continues around my “ankle” and up my leg. According to the operative report, there was a defect on my talus (the bone that forms the ankle joint along with the fibula and tibia), so I believe Dr. Healey removed part of it. He also had to remove all of the tissue surrounding the biopsy site in one mass, so that partially accounts for the long incision. We didn’t get a copy of the report until the end of the appointment, so we couldn’t ask any questions about it. We’ll have a list for the next time, though.
Dr. Healey decided to move me into a walking cast rather than another plaster cast. I’m supposed to work up to walking on it over the next four weeks (my follow up is March 27), beginning with my current method of using two crutches and putting no weight on it, to putting a little weight on it, to using one crutch, to using a cane, to finally walking unassisted. I am taking it slow and will begin putting weight on it on Monday. Ed’s new name for me (the former being “Gimpy”) is Big Foot.
Dr. Healey then informed us that the pathology report indicated the tumor was high grade, not low to intermediate as previously determined. This means there is a much higher chance that the cancer will recur locally in the soft tissue of my lower leg or metastasize to another site. (LMS tumors generally have a 7.5% chance of local recurrence.) I have an appointment with Dr. Keohan for March 3 to discuss my treatment options. Dr. Healey recommended chemo, perhaps with radiation to the operative site, for several reasons, including my general good health and ability to tolerate chemo, and the possibility of preventing recurrence or metastases. The downside is that there is no proven chemotherapy for LMS, so prevention is not guaranteed. We’ll have to hear what Dr. Keohan recommends, but I was hoping to somehow avoid chemotherapy or at least have a choice, which now I don’t think I have. Despite the side effects and long-term damage of chemo and radiation, if I didn’t do the treatment I would regret it if I had a future recurrence. If I do the treatments and still have a recurrence, at least I’ll know I tried to prevent it.
On a positive note, there was no indication of cancer in the remaining tissue, so Dr. Healey definitely removed the bone and surrounding tissue with clear margins (the tumor had broken through the bone and was in the surrounding soft tissue). I am currently in surgical remission.
My philosophy at this point is this: Life is a crapshoot. Every decision I make may or may not be the “right” one, but I take a chance. Not all of my decisions have turned out well, while I have reaped the benefits of others for decades (and some of those were made without a lot of thoughtful consideration). You just don’t know what the long-term consequences of your choices will be, but sometimes you have to go with your gut in the face of the unknown. This is one of those times for me. With the support of my family and friends, I will get through this and hopefully reap the benefits for the rest of my loooooong life.
I am reminded of my favorite poem, which I’d like to share with you. It was written by Robert Frost in 1915 and is titled “The Road Not Taken”:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Photos
This is a shot of me the day after surgery. My leg is up on three or four pillows, I have lines coming out of me in too many spots to mention, there's a massage cuff around my right leg to prevent clots, and I'm not feeling my best.
By the time Ed and my mom came in to see me on Thursday, I had my hard cast on, all my lines removed and I was moving around on my crutches. Part of my physical therapy was to spend some time sitting up in a chair -- with my leg still elevated -- so I'm following orders. Those hospital gowns are just the height of fashion, aren't they??!!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Recovery and other thoughts
It sure feels good to be home. I've been getting some solid sleep, usually four to five hours consecutively, totaling nine to 11 hours for the night. Although I miss being able to sleep on my left side (I can't put added pressure on the incision site), I can sleep for several hours on my right side once I get the pillows and my legs in the right position. I woke up Ed several times last night snoring, which is rare since I usually don't sleep on my back, but I have no choice for the time being. Since Spot isn't back home yet, Ed's been able to sleep in later so hopefully he's making up for the times I'm interrupting his sleep. I'm still not on pain medication, and I'm enjoying each day that I don't have to take any.
I had my first dream about cancer the other night. In short, I was at some event and made a negative comment about the economy in front of Laura Bush. A Bush spokeswoman responded that it was obviously my experience with cancer and its related medical costs that made me so negative. I asked how she knew I had cancer and why my privacy had been invaded, and then proceeded to lecture her on the sad state of the economy (high energy costs, huge trade deficit, job losses, etc.). I guess I've been watching the news a bit too much, and seeing Mrs. Bush at the Olympic opening ceremonies must have stuck in my brain. This isn't meant as a political statement; rather, it's interesting to me that I admitted to a stranger I had cancer -- a move forward in facing this disease despite it having taken place in a dream. I think accepting something subconsciously is a step in the right direction. I still haven't dreamt about the loss of my dad, so I obviously have other acceptance issues to deal with. One thing at a time, I guess.
We got socked with about 16" of snow over the weekend. Ed was out for several hours yesterday blowing and shoveling snow, and he's out there again now shoveling in the back and chipping away at the ice out front. It seems a shame to do all this work since it's supposed to reach 50 by week's end.
Meanwhile, I sit at the kitchen counter and spend hours on the computer. There is so much information that can be accessed through this thing, and I'm even able to do some work to help out at the office. It continually amazes me what I can learn through the web and how easy it is to connect with people all over the world, many of whom I will never even meet. The best part, though, is being able to keep you informed about my continued recovery, read your notes, and share e-mails with you. Maybe I'll post one of the photos Ed took of me post-surgery, if I can find one in which I don't look too bad. :)
I had my first dream about cancer the other night. In short, I was at some event and made a negative comment about the economy in front of Laura Bush. A Bush spokeswoman responded that it was obviously my experience with cancer and its related medical costs that made me so negative. I asked how she knew I had cancer and why my privacy had been invaded, and then proceeded to lecture her on the sad state of the economy (high energy costs, huge trade deficit, job losses, etc.). I guess I've been watching the news a bit too much, and seeing Mrs. Bush at the Olympic opening ceremonies must have stuck in my brain. This isn't meant as a political statement; rather, it's interesting to me that I admitted to a stranger I had cancer -- a move forward in facing this disease despite it having taken place in a dream. I think accepting something subconsciously is a step in the right direction. I still haven't dreamt about the loss of my dad, so I obviously have other acceptance issues to deal with. One thing at a time, I guess.
We got socked with about 16" of snow over the weekend. Ed was out for several hours yesterday blowing and shoveling snow, and he's out there again now shoveling in the back and chipping away at the ice out front. It seems a shame to do all this work since it's supposed to reach 50 by week's end.
Meanwhile, I sit at the kitchen counter and spend hours on the computer. There is so much information that can be accessed through this thing, and I'm even able to do some work to help out at the office. It continually amazes me what I can learn through the web and how easy it is to connect with people all over the world, many of whom I will never even meet. The best part, though, is being able to keep you informed about my continued recovery, read your notes, and share e-mails with you. Maybe I'll post one of the photos Ed took of me post-surgery, if I can find one in which I don't look too bad. :)
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Great surgery results...and I'm home!
I’m home and the surgery was a great success. I guess it will be easier to write this in chronological order rather than beginning with today and working backward, so here it goes.
Tuesday the 7th: We found out late Monday that my surgery was scheduled for 2:45 and I needed to be in the hospital by 12:45. We arrived early but it took us 30 minutes to get into the parking garage. Once I was registered and moved upstairs to the pre-surgical area, we waited about 30 minutes until we were taken into an area with a bed, where I got to put on one of those stunning gowns and a robe. At 2:30, we were told the OR was running behind and it would be another few hours before they could take me in. I was offered a shot of valium, which I refused (to my later detriment) because I wanted to stay awake with Ed until about an hour before surgery. We now think that delay thing was a ploy, because at 3 p.m. someone came from the OR to take me in.
My great state of denial failed me as soon as I got up on the operating table. First, my vein collapsed when they tried to start an IV in my arm. Then I started shaking and turned cold and clammy. The anesthesiologist suggested putting me under with gas and then they would run the IV line. I agreed and I would guess that it was about 30 seconds before I was out. Although I’m pleased that the doctor made that suggestion rather than having her assistant stick me again, I’m very sorry that the person in the pre-surgical area wasn’t more encouraging about the sedative. If he had prodded me just a little, I probably would have dealt with the needle for the few seconds it would have stung and been in much better shape.
I woke up in the recovery room around 9 p.m. sobbing in a combination of pain and the effects of the anesthesia. They hooked me up to a PCA pump, which fed me a constant drip of morphine plus allowed me to press a pump to give myself an extra hit of it if the drip wasn’t enough. I remember seeing Ed briefly around 10 and hearing him tell me he was going to go home, and the next thing I knew it was around 1 a.m. and they were taking me to my room.
Wednesday the 8th: Dr. Healey came in early in the morning to tell me that the surgery went very well (he told Ed Tuesday night that it went even better than he expected). I don’t have all the details yet, but I’ll be getting a copy of the operative report so I know what all he did. He removed 8 centimeters of my bone (about 3½ inches) so he got the tumor out with clean, wide margins (the original tumor was about 5 cm). He sent some of the surrounding tissue out for immediate testing and some for full testing before he closed me up, but he seemed confident that he had left no tumors or cancerous cells behind. We’ll know for certain when the pathology report comes back.
I barely slept after they brought me to the room because it seemed like someone was coming in to check my vital signs every few minutes. At some point, I was in pain and decided to hit the pump. Bad choice. I immediately vomited – although I did have time to tell the nurses assistant so he could hand me a container. When I woke up in the morning, same thing. I hit the pump and promptly threw up, so I had the nurse on the day shift remove the pump and the drip. I eventually refused any pain meds at all, because every time I would close my eyes, I would hallucinate. I was totally exhausted, dehydrated and nauseous, and Ed could barely get me to eat crackers. It was not a fun day.
Ed sat with me from 1 p.m. until 8:30, he talked to me when I wanted to talk and dozed with me when I was tired. He brought me about six bottles of water, which came in very handy in the middle of the night, and tried to make me feel better. He caught me up on everything that happened Tuesday while he was in the waiting room and then saw me in recovery, and told me about Dr. Healey’s enthusiasm over the results of the operation. He also helped entertain my visitors when I was not very entertaining. He’s the best.
Thursday the 9th: Around 3 or 4 a.m., I woke up when someone came in to check my vital signs AGAIN and was starving. Luckily, Ed had left several packages of saltines in the drawer, which I couldn’t reach, and several bottles of water, a cup and a straw on my bedside table. I asked for the crackers, ate all of them and drank about two bottles of water. By morning, I was feeling much better. Dr. Healey came in to check on me and told me he was going to have the drain in my leg removed (it was put in to prevent a build-up of fluids in the surgical area) and my hard cast put on. He also said I could go home Friday or Saturday. That morning, I had my drain removed, the cast put on, my catheter removed, my IVs unhooked, and ate my first meal. What a difference a day makes! I was up on my crutches to use the bathroom and by the time Ed and my mom arrived around 1:30, I had had lunch and was sitting in a chair. Ed was stunned by my progress. We had a nice visit and they left around 6:30 after Mom shared some dinner with me. It was a very good day.
Friday the 10th: Dr. Healey’s assistants came in around 6:30 and I told them I wanted to go home. After reviewing how I was feeling, they offered to prepare my discharge papers. By 1:00 p.m., Ed and I were in the car heading for home. Traffic getting to the tunnel was heavy, and by the time we arrived home around 3:15, I was exhausted. After a three-hour nap, I was ready for soup and the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I then slept another nine hours.
Every time I looked at Ed, he was smiling (when he wasn’t dozing in front of the television) because I was home. I am so happy to be out of the hospital, not because they didn’t take excellent care of me, but because it’s exhausting to be in such a strange environment with something always going on and interrupting your rest.
Today: Today I spent a good part of my day reading e-mails and making phone calls. I was just too tired to talk to anyone yesterday, so I’ve been trying to catch up today. In fact, I haven’t left the kitchen counter since I came down for breakfast at 9:15. Since it’s almost 5 p.m., I think it’s time to take a break and sit in the den for a while. I’m no longer on pain meds and haven’t been since taking a Tylenol with codeine yesterday morning before I left the hospital, so tonight I intend to have a small glass of wine to celebrate. I don’t have a big appetite yet, so it will be interesting for Ed trying to plan meals for the two of us over the next several days. Thank goodness he has a lot of patience. Thank goodness he loves me. I’m a lucky woman.
Thanks to all of you for your calls, cards and encouragement. I need to do some mental work on accepting what’s happened to me and what I’ve had to deal with as well as what may come in the future. I thought the great state of denial was a terrific place to live, but it’s not. Reality will be more helpful to me and make me smarter and stronger, which is what I need to be. Denial may have helped me get up to (certainly not through) the surgery, but acceptance is what I need to embrace. I had a rare form of cancer and had major surgery to remove the tumor. I hope to be a cancer survivor rather than a cancer patient, but we’ll have to see what comes and deal with it. Thank you in advance for your continued support. I will rely on it in the weeks, months and years to come.
Tuesday the 7th: We found out late Monday that my surgery was scheduled for 2:45 and I needed to be in the hospital by 12:45. We arrived early but it took us 30 minutes to get into the parking garage. Once I was registered and moved upstairs to the pre-surgical area, we waited about 30 minutes until we were taken into an area with a bed, where I got to put on one of those stunning gowns and a robe. At 2:30, we were told the OR was running behind and it would be another few hours before they could take me in. I was offered a shot of valium, which I refused (to my later detriment) because I wanted to stay awake with Ed until about an hour before surgery. We now think that delay thing was a ploy, because at 3 p.m. someone came from the OR to take me in.
My great state of denial failed me as soon as I got up on the operating table. First, my vein collapsed when they tried to start an IV in my arm. Then I started shaking and turned cold and clammy. The anesthesiologist suggested putting me under with gas and then they would run the IV line. I agreed and I would guess that it was about 30 seconds before I was out. Although I’m pleased that the doctor made that suggestion rather than having her assistant stick me again, I’m very sorry that the person in the pre-surgical area wasn’t more encouraging about the sedative. If he had prodded me just a little, I probably would have dealt with the needle for the few seconds it would have stung and been in much better shape.
I woke up in the recovery room around 9 p.m. sobbing in a combination of pain and the effects of the anesthesia. They hooked me up to a PCA pump, which fed me a constant drip of morphine plus allowed me to press a pump to give myself an extra hit of it if the drip wasn’t enough. I remember seeing Ed briefly around 10 and hearing him tell me he was going to go home, and the next thing I knew it was around 1 a.m. and they were taking me to my room.
Wednesday the 8th: Dr. Healey came in early in the morning to tell me that the surgery went very well (he told Ed Tuesday night that it went even better than he expected). I don’t have all the details yet, but I’ll be getting a copy of the operative report so I know what all he did. He removed 8 centimeters of my bone (about 3½ inches) so he got the tumor out with clean, wide margins (the original tumor was about 5 cm). He sent some of the surrounding tissue out for immediate testing and some for full testing before he closed me up, but he seemed confident that he had left no tumors or cancerous cells behind. We’ll know for certain when the pathology report comes back.
I barely slept after they brought me to the room because it seemed like someone was coming in to check my vital signs every few minutes. At some point, I was in pain and decided to hit the pump. Bad choice. I immediately vomited – although I did have time to tell the nurses assistant so he could hand me a container. When I woke up in the morning, same thing. I hit the pump and promptly threw up, so I had the nurse on the day shift remove the pump and the drip. I eventually refused any pain meds at all, because every time I would close my eyes, I would hallucinate. I was totally exhausted, dehydrated and nauseous, and Ed could barely get me to eat crackers. It was not a fun day.
Ed sat with me from 1 p.m. until 8:30, he talked to me when I wanted to talk and dozed with me when I was tired. He brought me about six bottles of water, which came in very handy in the middle of the night, and tried to make me feel better. He caught me up on everything that happened Tuesday while he was in the waiting room and then saw me in recovery, and told me about Dr. Healey’s enthusiasm over the results of the operation. He also helped entertain my visitors when I was not very entertaining. He’s the best.
Thursday the 9th: Around 3 or 4 a.m., I woke up when someone came in to check my vital signs AGAIN and was starving. Luckily, Ed had left several packages of saltines in the drawer, which I couldn’t reach, and several bottles of water, a cup and a straw on my bedside table. I asked for the crackers, ate all of them and drank about two bottles of water. By morning, I was feeling much better. Dr. Healey came in to check on me and told me he was going to have the drain in my leg removed (it was put in to prevent a build-up of fluids in the surgical area) and my hard cast put on. He also said I could go home Friday or Saturday. That morning, I had my drain removed, the cast put on, my catheter removed, my IVs unhooked, and ate my first meal. What a difference a day makes! I was up on my crutches to use the bathroom and by the time Ed and my mom arrived around 1:30, I had had lunch and was sitting in a chair. Ed was stunned by my progress. We had a nice visit and they left around 6:30 after Mom shared some dinner with me. It was a very good day.
Friday the 10th: Dr. Healey’s assistants came in around 6:30 and I told them I wanted to go home. After reviewing how I was feeling, they offered to prepare my discharge papers. By 1:00 p.m., Ed and I were in the car heading for home. Traffic getting to the tunnel was heavy, and by the time we arrived home around 3:15, I was exhausted. After a three-hour nap, I was ready for soup and the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I then slept another nine hours.
Every time I looked at Ed, he was smiling (when he wasn’t dozing in front of the television) because I was home. I am so happy to be out of the hospital, not because they didn’t take excellent care of me, but because it’s exhausting to be in such a strange environment with something always going on and interrupting your rest.
Today: Today I spent a good part of my day reading e-mails and making phone calls. I was just too tired to talk to anyone yesterday, so I’ve been trying to catch up today. In fact, I haven’t left the kitchen counter since I came down for breakfast at 9:15. Since it’s almost 5 p.m., I think it’s time to take a break and sit in the den for a while. I’m no longer on pain meds and haven’t been since taking a Tylenol with codeine yesterday morning before I left the hospital, so tonight I intend to have a small glass of wine to celebrate. I don’t have a big appetite yet, so it will be interesting for Ed trying to plan meals for the two of us over the next several days. Thank goodness he has a lot of patience. Thank goodness he loves me. I’m a lucky woman.
Thanks to all of you for your calls, cards and encouragement. I need to do some mental work on accepting what’s happened to me and what I’ve had to deal with as well as what may come in the future. I thought the great state of denial was a terrific place to live, but it’s not. Reality will be more helpful to me and make me smarter and stronger, which is what I need to be. Denial may have helped me get up to (certainly not through) the surgery, but acceptance is what I need to embrace. I had a rare form of cancer and had major surgery to remove the tumor. I hope to be a cancer survivor rather than a cancer patient, but we’ll have to see what comes and deal with it. Thank you in advance for your continued support. I will rely on it in the weeks, months and years to come.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Tomorrow's the big day
Had my pre-admission tests this morning. I discovered that drinking a lot of liquid before having my blood drawn really does make a difference – that and having someone competent stick me with the needle.
I’ll find out late this afternoon when the surgery will begin and, consequently, what time we have to arrive. Ed won’t be making any phone calls until Wednesday, so please be patient. He has all the phone numbers, so he will reach you eventually! I will have a phone, but ask that you wait until Thursday to call. I expect to be out of commission for a little while and will need rest. Thanks for understanding. The number for the patient information desk is 212-639-7081.
I am currently in a state of medium-grade anxiety. I’m trying not to think about the particulars, or I’ll be in a full blown panic. I can tell someone calmly about my upcoming procedure and recovery phase, and as long as I don’t really think about the details, I’m okay. I guess this is considered the great state of denial.
I’ll find out late this afternoon when the surgery will begin and, consequently, what time we have to arrive. Ed won’t be making any phone calls until Wednesday, so please be patient. He has all the phone numbers, so he will reach you eventually! I will have a phone, but ask that you wait until Thursday to call. I expect to be out of commission for a little while and will need rest. Thanks for understanding. The number for the patient information desk is 212-639-7081.
I am currently in a state of medium-grade anxiety. I’m trying not to think about the particulars, or I’ll be in a full blown panic. I can tell someone calmly about my upcoming procedure and recovery phase, and as long as I don’t really think about the details, I’m okay. I guess this is considered the great state of denial.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Appointment postponed
Dr. Keohan called today to let me know she had an e-mail from Dr. Healey describing my appointment and surgery schedule. As a result, she felt it wasn’t necessary for us to meet at this time. She promised to see me in the hospital and said we would set up an appointment later in the month. Hhhmmm, a doctor who doesn’t want to see you because it would be a waste of time (and money)? Very unusual!
Ed is busy planning all the restaurants I need (!!!) to visit by Monday evening. Thank goodness we already had reservations with friends for a new local restaurant this Saturday, but other plans have had to be postponed. I’m getting the feeling he wants to plump me up in preparation for several days of either fasting or not eating well. I did lose several pounds following my biopsy and I haven’t been able to get them back. I guess stress so far makes me eat less rather than more. I, of course, planned to do all sorts of cleaning this weekend in anticipation of being off my feet for a while (something I know you ladies will understand), but he insists cleaning is not part of the schedule. It will be interesting to see who wins this battle of wills.
Ed is busy planning all the restaurants I need (!!!) to visit by Monday evening. Thank goodness we already had reservations with friends for a new local restaurant this Saturday, but other plans have had to be postponed. I’m getting the feeling he wants to plump me up in preparation for several days of either fasting or not eating well. I did lose several pounds following my biopsy and I haven’t been able to get them back. I guess stress so far makes me eat less rather than more. I, of course, planned to do all sorts of cleaning this weekend in anticipation of being off my feet for a while (something I know you ladies will understand), but he insists cleaning is not part of the schedule. It will be interesting to see who wins this battle of wills.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
We have a plan!!!!!
We saw Dr. Healey today and continue to be amazed at the professionalism of the MSKCC staff and doctors. His resident, Dr. Klein, came in first and gave me my most thorough exam yet, including having me walk away and toward him, stand on my toes, and do a plié (I managed to bend my knees out, but it was not very graceful). After reviewing my history, he left to look over my films with Dr. Healey, and then they returned. Dr. Healey was as Dr. Klein described him – thorough, deliberate – and also very soft spoken, which surprised me. He discussed leiomyosarcoma at length, described various treatments depending on its grade and location, offered several options for surgery, and then explained his preference as well as the procedure and recovery time. He answered our questions, scheduled the surgery, and was off. His nurse spent another 15 minutes with us explaining everything we needed to know about my hospital stay. Before I left, my pre-admission testing was scheduled as well as my follow up visit. Wow!
The skinny: On Tuesday, Feb. 7, I will have approximately 3 inches of my left fibula removed from the bottom of the bone up, which will remove the tumor in one piece. Dr. Healey will take a tendon from my leg and attach it to the bottom of my remaining fibula and to my talus (the foot bone that helps form the ankle joint) to create a new “ligament.” That, along with some exercising, should allow me to use my foot and leg normally. The 3-1/2+ hour surgery will take place at MSKCC on 67th Street and I will remain in the hospital up to five days. At that time, my leg will be placed in a splint and I will go home. At my follow-up appointment two weeks later, my leg will be placed in a cast, assuming I am healing well. This is to keep the ankle from flexing from side to side, though I will be able to move my foot up and down. I should be in the cast about four weeks, and then I will switch to a walking cast. Dr. Healey said I should be ready to put weight on my foot about a month after surgery, but I’ll be able to get around with crutches before then. I assume the walking cast will be removed once I’ve completely healed, which will be a few more weeks.
So, the tumor will finally be gone, and it looks like I’ll be in fine shape by the time pool weather rolls around. I will have scans or x-rays of my leg and lungs every three months and will be monitored for at least 10 years, as there is a small chance the cancer could recur in the soft tissue of my ankle or appear elsewhere. During that time, we will be positive and hope for the best. This must be treated as merely a bump in the road, because I see many more cruises and visits with family and friends on the horizon. Ed and I have had a great many adventures, and we will continue to do so. Perhaps you’ll join us on a few. :-)
The skinny: On Tuesday, Feb. 7, I will have approximately 3 inches of my left fibula removed from the bottom of the bone up, which will remove the tumor in one piece. Dr. Healey will take a tendon from my leg and attach it to the bottom of my remaining fibula and to my talus (the foot bone that helps form the ankle joint) to create a new “ligament.” That, along with some exercising, should allow me to use my foot and leg normally. The 3-1/2+ hour surgery will take place at MSKCC on 67th Street and I will remain in the hospital up to five days. At that time, my leg will be placed in a splint and I will go home. At my follow-up appointment two weeks later, my leg will be placed in a cast, assuming I am healing well. This is to keep the ankle from flexing from side to side, though I will be able to move my foot up and down. I should be in the cast about four weeks, and then I will switch to a walking cast. Dr. Healey said I should be ready to put weight on my foot about a month after surgery, but I’ll be able to get around with crutches before then. I assume the walking cast will be removed once I’ve completely healed, which will be a few more weeks.
So, the tumor will finally be gone, and it looks like I’ll be in fine shape by the time pool weather rolls around. I will have scans or x-rays of my leg and lungs every three months and will be monitored for at least 10 years, as there is a small chance the cancer could recur in the soft tissue of my ankle or appear elsewhere. During that time, we will be positive and hope for the best. This must be treated as merely a bump in the road, because I see many more cruises and visits with family and friends on the horizon. Ed and I have had a great many adventures, and we will continue to do so. Perhaps you’ll join us on a few. :-)
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