In November 2004, I was diagnosed with “gelatinous peritoneal disease.”
It was a huge shock! I had no symptoms and was in excellent health for my age (47) and physical condition. I ran about 20 kilometers every week, weighed 52 kg, was very active, had gone back to school, and was working on my Master’s degree in psychology. Everything was going perfectly!
When I met the doctor, the stitches from the laparoscopy were still decorating my abdomen.
I took in two essential pieces of information: HIPEC was my best chance of survival, but the operation was scheduled for February 21, 2005. Three months during which I would live with the idea of an alien growing in my abdomen.
My children and my husband had to deal with this event. In fact, not everyone realized the seriousness of the disease. Normal? Perhaps! A blessing? Undoubtedly! My parents-in-law died of cancer at the ages of 47 and 48 more than forty years ago…
I spent my midterms in January with my head down, and as the date of the operation approached, two feelings grew stronger. I wanted this alien to be ripped out of my guts, but I was terrified of the operation itself and its aftermath. I sensed the difficulties to come.
I woke up, like everyone who has undergone HIPEC, devastated but alive! Unable to move, with only one obsessive thought: I am alive.
In the year following the HIPEC, I did everything I could to get back to normal physical condition, and it’s true that even though I couldn’t cover the distances I could before the operation, I wasn’t doing too badly. I resumed my classes at university in early April and took my midterms in May. I passed them all! Great!
Yes, great! Except that, on the anniversary of the operation, I woke up in the morning with the same obsessive thought: I’m alive! And the descent into depression began. Silently, secretly, I was anxious about the reappearance of that surprise guest, that damn alien… I dropped out of college. I closed the shop and waited… observing the stages of the gradual reconstruction of my miscreant soul.
That was ten years ago. Time has distanced the illness. The doctor has become a professor. We will meet again at the end of September for a new check-up. A check-up that I have come to appreciate because, until now, it has allowed me to renew my subscription to life.
And you know what? I’m applying to college for the next academic year!