Surgery: HIPEC 12/12/16

A short fortnight ago, I am abashed to confess that as I lay in bed I was fantasizing and rhapsodizing death. It appealed to me in the way one looks forward to a vacation; I saw it as a destination — an endpoint to all of the pain and suffering this shell of mine has endured in my short lifetime. Suicidal thoughts were never coupled with my pensive imagination, one must be clear. However, the guilt I carry for even discerning as I did bears a weight I cannot carry as I should feel grateful for the days in which I am granted. God knows life only grants us so many and we can never be too sure as to when they will expire.

In recent months it’s been no secret that I have been quite mum on my blog and as of late, social media as well. Perhaps I may explain why I have not turned pain into power like I once did so very well. Life before cancer seems to be drifting further and further away, slipping through like tiny grains of sand in your hands. Cancer has become so normalized that talking about it in a constant fashion seems extraneous. Not much changes from one day to the next and my routine is pretty intact.

With time things get better, scars begin to fade and people go back to their every day life. What I am struggling with at the moment is how I am going to fill my time in life, discovering what I am meant to do on earth. Most people have children or a career to fulfill their years and I am on a journey to find what will fill mine. I say that with optimism as after my fantasizing, I was given remarkable news that could change my life forever.

On December 12th, 2016 I will undergo a major surgery called HIPEC. They will once again cut down the center of my abdomen, essentially scrape the lining of my abdomen, place hot, hot chemotherapy directly inside of me, sew me up, shake me around for 90 minutes and then drain the chemo. Although it sounds quite ludicrous, it is a rare and unlikely procedure yet it has a 30% chance to cure me altogether, a 30% chance I could go into remission or a 40% chance that I come out of the surgery no better or worse then when I went in. Given my age and otherwise healthy body, the surgeon feels that I am the perfect candidate for this type of procedure.

So, as I prepare for the 12th I no longer fantasize about being pain free by going to the other side. Instead I fantasize about the life that I hopefully have before me, in hopes that I will either be cured or in remission. This is the trial of a lifetime, but I toast to the lesson and at the end of my life and throughout life I’ll understand what really matters. It is essential to push harder than yesterday if I want a different tomorrow. Nothing is guaranteed, we’re all perishable — life is significant and for a moment the pain nearly managed to make me forget that the substance of significance is a destination all on its own.


Britt x

My book…

Some of you may not know that I’m in the process of working with an old friend and co-authoring. Here’s a sneak peice of the first chapter.  Any feedback is welcomed! 

Chapter One

I drove to the convenience store down the street, just south of my white picket fence neighborhood.  Steering my way seemed as if time stood in slow motion.  The night was late; the lights of the storehouse lit up as if a strip joint took over the timeworn building.  Flashing tacky, and ungodly beams screamed for me to turn around and drive home, but I endured my mission — I rushed into the shop, the sound of my boots clapping speedily on the white tile that had scuff marks all over from people like myself. A music system faded in and out over the speakers.  Don Henley, circa 1984 began to play.  I can picture it now, walking up and down the aisles to Shangri-La, which seemed to be ironic, all things considered.   My heart was pounding out of my chest, this was my first night without him and nothing had set in yet.

“Just breathe”, I chanted to myself as I continued onward for what I was so desperate for in that moment.

     All I could seem to find was a travel size bottle, but it felt like I was holding pure gold in my well-manicured hands.  I found the needle in the haystack — something that would make me feel like he was still with me. The only way I would be able to sleep is if I smelled the aroma of his body wash.  Classic Old Spice, my saving grace for that night.

It was my own psychological attachment to feeling his presence.  I had always believed that together, we are not just humans to one another,  not drawn to the superficial, but rather souls that have been bound together for lifetimes.

…..more sneak peaks to come