Not Quite Leaping Into 2024

Hi, friends.

I started doing a thing. 

That thing is ballet.

People find this surprising because I am an adult who is old. (Old = over 25 in this situation.)

If you're new to knowing me, here's some background information. I danced when I was younger but I will simply say that ballet is not where we concentrated our efforts. Being that it is the foundation for all dance, we trained and did what we had to do, but I don't know that any of us were really passionate about it, including myself.

Fast forward a (very generous) few years and I find myself drawn to ballet. I'm not exactly sure why, but here I am.

I've been thinking about going back for a while now, but there are always reasons not to. Time. Money. Schedule. Convenience. Availability. I could go on; I'm really good at procrastinating these days. 

There were things pushing me to do it though too. I still occasionally dance in my kitchen and I've not been happy with where my strength and flexibility are. Plus, when I took my aerial silks class, I was downright distressed by how dizzy I got. I won't bore you with my most recent tire swing adventure, just think about how rarely you see adults on tire swings. There's a reason. Apparently with proper exercise, the ability to turn and not get dizzy can come back though. Who knew?

Even with internal motivation, it was still so easy to put off, so I gave myself a deadline and bought some ballet shoes to create an obligation to power through. I told myself that after my surgery I would look into it. So, around Christmas, inspired by the bombardment of The Nutcracker from all angles and well into the evening of my thirty-seventh year, I started looking for adult ballet classes.

I didn't have to look far. At the studio right down the street, I found a few options for adults. Huzzah. 

Then came scouring the internet to see what level these adults are at because it's advertised as Intermediate Adult Ballet. I don't feel intermediate. At the same time, I know I'm not a beginner either. Plus the Beginner class is on Wednesday nights so that isn't an option for me. What I needed was a class that was like, You remember most the terminology, but you're weak now and not entirely sure what will happen.

In my investigation, I saw a few photos that indicated it was not too advanced and something that said it was perfect for all levels and that everyone was welcome. Huzzah number two. 

Before I signed up though, I wanted to know what the teacher was like. I looked her up online and her name was familiar, but that really means nothing. Even though her name is moderately unique, most people share their name with others so it could have been entirely coincidental. (Speaking of unique names, this poor barista howled the other day when I corrected her and told her my name wasn't Gorisa, but I digress.) I have terrible face blindness, so I sent a picture of the teacher to my friend who suffers no such affliction and she confirmed my assumption: the teacher of this class was one of my ballet teachers from when I was about ten years old. Huzzah number three.

Yes, a woman who taught me ballet 27 years ago in a different city is now teaching an adult ballet class 5 blocks away from my house. Taking this incredibly subtle hint from the universe, I registered for Intermediate Adult Ballet.

At this point, I didn't really have any excuses anymore, right?

Then came the hard part: buying the gear and showing up. 

Like I said, I had already bought the shoes. Shoes have gotten better. I love them. (For those of you needing clarification, we're talking a soft ballet slipper, not a pointe shoe. I'm weird; not insane.)  

I did not want to put on a leotard and tights. Who does? But that's what you do, you know? And from the pictures I saw, people generally adhere to this tradition in this class. My last ballet class was 20 years ago. 4 states. 2 kids. Again, I could go on. In sum, things have changed, including pretty much everything about my body and fitness level. 

Regardless, I hauled my ass over to Step 'n Stretch and instead of walking in and saying, "I need a gymnastics leotard for my daughter," I took a deep breath and said, "I need a leotard... for me..."

"The extra larges are right down there."

Alright. 

So, that's how it's going to be.

To be fair, she knew what she was talking about and likely saved me time and embarrassment but the thing is that I have not been an extra large a day in my life and, despite having accepted that I was going to feel like a sausage, it's not what I needed to hear.

Alas, a size is just a size and I got on with my day. Tights? Check. Shorts? Check. Legwarmers? Ancient. Wildly misplaced confidence? Full of it.

Then came the big day. 

I thought I might've gone to far with decking myself out in full ballet gear. Nope.

I thought I would embarrass myself which I was actually totally fine with, but I did not. 

I thought I would be the youngest one. Absolutely I was. The class is at 10:30 on Friday morning and people have jobs. This was expected. 

The class is awesome. It really is great for all levels and the teacher does a good job of catering corrections to where you're at personally. Nothing in the class is a contest or about trying to be the best and it is wonderful. Last week there was even a woman who started who MIGHT be younger than me. I'm so excited.

As far as the class is going for me personally? Well, ballet is hard. I have no regrets for going back though. Mentally and physically it has been extremely beneficial. That being said, ow. When I tell you that I'm finding muscles I didn't know I had it's because THEY FREAKING DISAPPEARED AND I HAD NO IDEA HOW WEAK I WAS.

Seriously. It is astonishing how much muscle memory you can retain even though none of the muscles are even there anymore. Absolutely ridiculous. I don't think I need to address flexibility, just go ahead and assume the worst. I can still point my foot though and turn. Kind of. I get super dizzy, but we all do. It's good fun.

Leaps. Sweet Jesus, have mercy. I was never a good leaper, but I could get by. This is no longer true. Have you ever tried to jump and gone nowhere? Well, I have. And despite not going anywhere, it still hurt when I landed. The human body really is a remarkable thing, isn't it?

Speaking of being old and out of shape, apparently I graduated from high school 20 years ago and it took me that long to make this massive quilt. Fine, realistically it took about two weeks but I spread it out pretty nicely. What this thing lacks in uniformity, it makes up for in cuddle factor. It's really, really wonky though, I'm not going to lie to you. It's not even a rectangle. It may look like one, but it's rectangular like bacon, so sewing it required some creativity. My camp one is much better, but done is done and toasty warm is toasty warm.

Surgery and Recovery Summaries

This is a picture of some scarves I made for my children. Facebook is going to choose a pic for the preview and it's usually the first one I upload so I wanted something that wouldn't offend the uncurious. Though, I suppose my knitting skills are pretty offensive, but that's what happens when you only knit once every 17 years.

Alright. I’m back. Sans ovaries and fallopian tubes. Nothing else has changed.

Mom picked me up at the butt crack of dawn on the day of surgery and we trudged in with a long line of people checking in for procedures.  Everything was very easy and went smoothly. Nurses and doctors were friendly and professional and downright relieved at my lack of allergies and diabetes. They made me feel like a unicorn. ‘This one has no problems!’ Well, let me tell you about my stomachaches, Janice.

I am very pragmatic about these situations if you haven’t already gotten that. I had an increased chance of getting ovarian cancer so I removed the organ that gets that cancer. This is logical to me and worth doing without question. Because of that logic, I didn’t really allow myself to get nervous about the procedure. There are many reasons for this. First, it wouldn’t help the situation. Second, it certainly wouldn’t help my kids. Third, it just wasn’t a high-risk operation. I am (apparently) the most boring patient in the world, I have been under anesthesia before so they weren’t worried about that and it’s not like heart surgery or brain surgery, right? Like, I hate to say there’s room for error because I’d rather there be no errors, but if someone gets bumped while performing a procedure I think the oophorectomy is the better choice. I still can’t spell that word, by the way.

Unfortunately, not even my stubborn-ass brain could entirely ignore the fact that I was having surgery. I did start to get nervous just as they rolled me back to the operating room, but I think they expect that because everything happened so freaking fast from that point on. Out the room, wheely, wheely, wheely, OUCH (see #2 below), wheely wheely, wheely, hop onto the table and BAM. I was out.

There were 2 things I hated about preop:

1. The sterilizing wipes you need to wipe your entire body down with at home. They were very, very cold. This would have been a great activity for July or August. The ones they gave me in the hospital were warmed up and that was much better.

2. The… um… knock out juice? I don’t know. The crap they put into my IV kind of got held up in the vein in my hand and then when it finally broke through it really hurt. Like, really, really hurt. I legit yelled. Their response? ‘Sorry, sometimes that happens.’ Okay. Fine. Occasionally I still feel a similar pain in the same location, though not nearly as strong, and that is annoying. Not sure what/if that’s a problem or not. I’m assuming not.

My mom said the surgery went pretty quickly. I certainly thought it went super quick, but that’s anesthesia for you. I think I woke up to the anesthesiologist asking me what I like to do in the summer. I have no idea what I said. I wonder if these people keep a list of crazy things people say. I for sure would.

There were thankfully no bumps or complications and the doctor had no uncommon concerns post-procedure, just normal post-op care. They wheeled me out of the hospital about an hour later, but walking wasn’t a challenge, just a liability. I was left with 3 incisions, as expected. The belly button one was the bleeder, the other two were hardly noticeable. White sweatpants were a bad choice though and the blood from my belly button bled through the bandage and saturated the top of my pants. So, I treated the spot when I got home but then balled it up and forgot about it and then the stain transferred to other parts of the pants. Anyway, that blood somehow stained green after all was said and done those are called my ‘blood pants’ now.

For those of you on the edge of your seat with anticipation, no they did not let me see the things removed from my body. She DID however, take a bunch of pictures for me INSIDE MY BODY. Muahahahahahahahhaa. How cool is that?! I find this awesome and incredible. Dan was not necessarily a fan. They are available at the bottom of this post if you are interested. The very, very bottom. Just keep scrolling.

Post-surgery medicine included alternating Tylenol and Ibuprofen every 4 hours. I took them, but only for about 2 days. It just wasn’t painful. They prescribed oxycodone as well, but that has made me sick in the past so I didn’t take it (also, I didn’t need it). I also had to take a stool softener, which is apparently common aftercare of general anesthesia.

Nothing about the surgery really hurt. My abdomen and insides felt really loose and wobbly when I switched sides when lying down, but thankfully I have a friend who thought of this and bought me a special tummy pillow. So yeah, the incisions were fine. Occasionally my belly button bothered me, but so do papercuts. It just wasn’t a big deal. The pain of the gas trapped in my body and building up at my collar bones, however, was excruciating. Listen, I’ve been in pain before. I can deal with it. Just breathe through it, right? Well, what the hell do you do when breathing takes your breath away because it’s so freaking painful? Hm? What then? YOU SUFFER. Ugh. I hated it. And they want you to walk around as part of your rehab and I will tell you right now that that didn’t really happen because the pain was so bad from the gas rising in my body and me trying to breathe. Anyway, that lasted about 4 days. 6 days? I don’t know. Time was not really a thing that was relevant to me.

Monday after surgery a nurse called me and checked on me. That was appreciated. They give you a lot of information after the surgery and I had a couple things I needed clarified.

Post-surgery exhaustion is real and powerful. That was definitely what required the 10 days off work. I also decided that if I didn’t need a job, I probably wouldn’t have one. I’m really good at sitting and doing nothing.

Alright. Let’s talk hormone replacement. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Surgery was on a Thursday. Doc said to apply the first estrogen patch on Saturday. I did that. No hot flashes. No problems. No side effects. No skin irritation. Nothing. It was alarmingly mundane. She was so proud of me. I tell you what though, I thought this patch was going to be huge. Like a 2” band-aid colored square. Nope. It’s a tiny circle. I have 2 alarms set on my phone for this now. Wednesday morning and Saturday night. I am not allowed to turn these alarms off until I change my patch because I definitely know that I will forget to do it. So far, delays in patch changing have had no side effects, but I’ve never been later than an hour or two. One annoying thing is that there are only 10 in a box, so every 5 weeks I need to refill. Oh well. Cancer would be much more annoying.

Lingering things- I have 3 scars. They are tiny. The belly button BY FAR took the longest to heal. The other two were healed by my post-op appt 13 days later, possibly sooner, but the bandage was on so I couldn’t see them. That belly button? Um… 2 months? I don’t know. Maybe only 7 weeks. Whatever it was, it was ridiculous and annoying and a little gross at times.

The Q-Tip is for scale. The scar is the tiny red line under it. I have two of these, one near each hip. The estrogen patch is the clear circle on the left. I can put it anywhere on my lower abdomen, but it kind of just travels back and forth between my scars. They recommend changing it up to give the skin a break.

On the left I'm stretching it out to show the whole scar. The right is how it looks normally.
Yes, my belly button is still pierced. This is because piercings are fairly permanent. Yes, I thought it would close up when I was pregnant. Both times. But it didn't. Don't worry about it. It's not your belly button. (Can you tell I've been given some crap about this? Lol.)

One thing I’ve noticed that I absolutely love and that I didn’t expect- I don’t feel sick in the morning anymore. I don’t know what my problem was but there was about a 75% chance I would wake up in the morning nauseated. It had been going on for years and now it’s gone. Since the surgery I have not had this happen even once. It is awesome.

Oh, right. Pathology. Everything was tested and came back clear so that was a nice little cherry on top of the successful surgery sundae. They also sent me home with a breathing exercise measurement thingy to… prevent pneumonia? I’m not sure. And from how they presented it, I could kind of tell that they were required to give it to me but that it wasn’t really necessary. It looks like this:

One last thing before I wrap this up. I want to thank everyone who reached out to me with their experiences, support and encouragement after my last post. Just when you think it’s something that not many people will be able to relate to or care about, well, let’s just say it’s amazing how wrong a person can be. It’s true that not many people carry the BRCA mutation. Only about 1 in 400, or .25% (holy crap, I’m so special). But you guys, if you think you don’t know someone who has been affected by ovarian cancer or this stupid mutation, whether in themselves or someone they care about, you’re wrong. You just don’t know about it. And that’s okay. Just keep in mind that it’s not something that happens to some mythical and distant ‘someone else.’ If you can handle the burden of the knowledge, I recommend getting tested. Not everyone with the mutation gets cancer and not everyone who has cancer has the mutation, but to me, it made sense to find out and try to be proactive.

If you have any questions at all, let me know. I obviously don’t mind talking about it and if I can help you out I’d love to do that.

Scroll to the bottom if you are medically inclined or just curious and want to see progress photos of the surgery. Let me me clear: these are photos taken of INSIDE MY BODY. That is your warning. If you don't want to see them. Don't scroll down. Easy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keep going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Almost there…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Congratulations! You made it!