AND FROM THE FLIP SIDE
Here I am. A bit less than I was, in terms of body parts, weight, and height, but overall what remains is whole and mostly functional.
I am not going to go into the all the details, but I will say that I am incredibly lucky. So many things can go wrong during and after a 12-hour surgical procedure that involves many tricky bits near major nerve centers. But I am happy to say that my chordoma tumor was removed successfully, along with my coccyx and more than half of my sacrum. I will have to have a deep survey next month for surety, then be on lifelong watch to make sure it doesn’t recur, but for now at least I am cancer-free.
The surgical team was able to avoid some nerve damage, and to install a rather elaborate truss system to support my spine and hold my pelvis together. Those two things let me walk again, and even climb stairs – things I had hoped to be able to do, but realistically was accepting that I might not. I’m wobbly with a walker, and need a spotter on the stairs, but each day brings new strength as I exercise and practice. I am hoping that by the holiday season I will be off the walker and on a cane, headed to unassisted ambling.
The one area that is lagging behind is sitting. As you would expect, with that much alteration to my fundament, sitting would pose challenges. So far I am able to sit on a special cushion for about 4-5 minutes. I continue to train for improvement.
Weight is an expected loss during cancer treatment, and that did happen. But height? In my case because my lower spine was amended, a certain degree of shrinkage has occurred. I used to be 5’8″. I’m now 5’7″. So it goes.
And as you can tell by the presence of this update, I have computer access again. I’m using it as an inducement to get out of bed and stand, above and beyond the various exercise routines recommended by my physical therapist. Time however is limited. I can do a couple of short sessions a day, but no more. That means posts here will continue to be few and far between, and that no substantive work will be happening on The Third Carolingian Modelbook, or on corrections to Ensamplario Atlantio III (or for that matter EnsAtl IV).
I can however stitch again. I can do it laying in bed, sort of. Like the computer work, sessions are limited by endurance, so progress is slow. But there has been progress.
Compared to the last post, the dragon square is finished, and I’ve begun the voiding on the top strip. Nice and mindless, simple work.
So there it is. I’m still here, slowly recuperating. I do thank my spawn, siblings, mom, inlaws, and everyone else who sent encouraging notes, showed off their work from my designs, phoned, sent gifts, memes and silly bits to cheer me up, or visited. Your sharing buoyed me through a very challenging two months.
I also want to thank my surgical team, attending specialists, nursing staff, therapy staff, cleanliness/safety staff, and everyone else I interacted with at Rhode Island/Brown University Hospital, and in Newport Hospital’s Vanderbilt Rehab wing. That I write this at all is testament to the quality of their handiwork and care.
And it goes without saying that he who is precious to me – my Resident Male – deserves major thanks for his constant presence and support, gentle nursing, firm coaching, and patience. He drove hundreds of miles back and forth to Rhode Island between 17 March and 29 April, and has catered to my every petulant wish since returning home.
Stay tuned. I intend to keep these posts coming, and pivot away from tedious health updates back to the needle arts.
SEE YOU ON THE FLIP SIDE
That time has come. Tomorrow is the beginning of The Great Eviction, in which my invader and I will be separated. I am ready, packed, prepped, and armed with great ferocity and the single minded determination to overcome, outlast, and outwit my adversary and come back as unchanged as possible (except for the obligate scars, of course).
I’ve marked my level of optimism on my latest sampler. I haven’t mentioned progress in a while, but it quickly became my Emotional Support Embroidery after receiving my diagnosis last month. Not ironed, but as a WIP, it’s too early to think about doing that.
Yes, it’s still unfinished. I’ll do some more on it later today of course, but I won’t be done. That’s on purpose. I have every intention of future completion. And note the victory wreaths on the top as-yet-to-be-background-stitched strip. That strip is also deliberately placed skew to the centering of the rest of the sampler. My life has been tilted akilter, so this bit is, too.
I’d also like to everyone for the unexpected outpouring of support. I am overwhelmed by the vast number and generous sentiment of the comments here, on various social media platforms, and sent to me personally by direct message and email. I had no idea I had reached so many people around the globe. I am not a spiritual person, but I can say that if Providence can be petitioned, perhaps the wide ecumenical spread and volume of promised prayers in every major worldwide religion (and many of the less well known ones) will tilt the odds even more in my favor.
See you soon!
-Kim
SERIOUSLY, FOLKS…
This is post that’s not easy to write.
Some of you have wondered about my rush to release both Ensamplario Atlantio III, and the single-download edition of my Epic Fandom Stitch-Along. And there may be more coming out in the next few days. There is a reason.
In gamer’s parlance, sadly I’ve rolled a 5. Not a 1, thank heavens, but nothing good.
I join the legion of folks who have been handed a surprise cancer diagnosis. In my case it’s another over-engineered and uncommon Salazar project – not breast, lung, or any of the usual suspects. I’ve got a chordoma – an exceedingly rare form of bone cancer that’s eating my tailbone (coccyx) and the area immediately above.
The bad news is that I’ve been subject to this invader for a while, with the symptoms it generated being masked by the all too normal day to day annoyances many post-menopausal women have, most notably lingering lower back pain. (Side hint – if you have pain that the oft resorted to palliative modalities like physical therapy and medication don’t address, insist LOUDLY that your doctor engage diagnostic mode. I it would have been better off had I done that earlier.)
The good news is that while my growth is large, it’s contained, has not spread, and is operable. I will be headed to the hospital later in March to have at it. Best outcome is that I although I will be physically diminished, I will regain basic mobility. With healing I should be able to sit, stand, walk, and climb stairs. Some bodily functions and systems will also be compromised, but nothing that modern medical technology cannot address.
I choose to fight, and fight hard. I will not let this thing daunt me. I will pass through, and emerge much as I am now, although I will be moving more slowly, and with more care.
What can you do to help? There’s not much, but I know I will appreciate your companionship, dark humor, and distraction as I move through post-op and rehab. I will especially enjoy seeing what you’ve been up to playing with my knitting and stitching “pattern children.”
I know folk feel awkward at times like this, but please don’t be shy about contacting me. I might not answer right away (especially in the weeks just before, during and immediately after the procedure), but your notes, memes, embroidery/knitting/crochet/other hobby pix, and assorted shenanigans will brighten my day. One thing though, please don’t send flowers. The sentiment is deeply appreciated, but they make me sneeze.
Oh, and look out for Fernando (aka, The Resident Male). He’s going to be especially grumpy.
I leave you with a thought from the science fiction TV show Babylon 5, from the character Ranger Marcus Cole:
“I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be much worse if life *were* fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them?’ So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe.”
String-Or-Nothing 