The Yeeting of 2024 and Round 2

In the scheme of all my life, the last couple of months will be little more than a blip of unpleasant time in an otherwise pretty decent year. I had to wait until I was off the heavy pain meds to write this update: apologies for the delay.

So, for those who need a recap: hormone driven breast cancer recovery means taking a hormone blocker after treatment to keep the risk of recurrence down. In layman’s terms, my normal monthly hormone cycle can put me at higher risk of my boobs trying to kill me again, so I take a daily pill to keep that shit under control until I hit menopause and my body stops making the hormones. Unfortunately, for some folk a potential side effect of the medication to keep my homicidal girl parts shushed is increased risk of uterine cancer. Or I was at increased risk anyway, and I was being monitored closely due to my own history.

Yes, I know it’s wild. In October I had a test come back positive for pre-cancerous cells in my uterus, which resulted in a new oncologist and a new treatment plan: the yeeting of all the newly potentially-homicidal internal girl parts. That surgery was supposed to happen the week before Christmas so I could celebrate Yule and the holidays after the first week of post-op recovery. That also would’ve coincided nicely with my work schedule so I didn’t have to take a ton of extra time or interrupted others’ schedules. Sigh.

This is where the universe decided to dump the carefully planned recipe all over the freaking floor. I got a cold. Sounds dumb, right? I was careful as hell, but when the telltale sore throat hit on Thursday night before surgery I got worried. By Friday I had the faucet-nose, and I called my surgeon’s office to let them know (as one should). Yeah. Surgery was delayed, because when a bunch of your internal parts get yanked out through your belly button by a robot, NO ONE wants you to be coughing during post-op. Meds were prescribed to prevent any sinus infection or bronchitis, rest applied, and surgery rescheduled.

Holidays were had and enjoyed, so there was a bit of blessing in the timing of the cold because (today especially I can confirm) I would NOT have been able to do a damn thing to help prepare that week before all the Christmas family doings.

Christmas morning I woke up and felt like my big toe was sprained. The joint was swollen, angry, reddish purple, and I could barely walk. Had I kicked SK that hard in my sleep? Had I lost a ninja fight with the sheets in my sleep? Oh no, of course I hadn’t. Again, in a big middle finger from the universe, I apparently have gout. GOUT. I thought that was an old man issue? Turns out the most likely reason is because I’ve lost thirty pounds. Nice reward for getting healthier, body. That’s just rude.

Here’s the fun kicker: I couldn’t have ANY of the normal treatment meds for gout before surgery, because they’d all put me at higher risk, and I’d been rescheduled for the Monday after Christmas. So my only option if I didn’t want to reschedule again was RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) and drinking as much water as I could to flush the joint. Did you know gout feels like a thousand stabby needles radiating up from the joint through your foot and up your leg? Yeah. Try sleeping through that.

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

Anyway. Surgery went well on Monday, I’m home and now five days post-op and off the pain meds and (THANK ALL THE DEITIES) on gout meds because that fucking toe came back like a miserable throbbing painful menace on Thursday night (I asked the surgeon if she wanted to just take it off for me. She laughed and declined). Supposedly it should be gone in a few days.

Oh, and pathology says I’m 100% clear: no round 2!! Just a 6-8 week recovery time where the horde and SK have to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds for me, and I can’t do any ab workouts.

fAngus hung out with me most of the week, going about his normal Jabba the Hutt routine as though I was fine. Minerva and Ragnar were VERY unhappy about being separated, but they’re less careful when snuggling. I figure if you’ve made it this far in a long update you deserve pics.

Happy New Year, and buh-bye 2024. 2025 may be a slow start for me, but I don’t mind a bit of enforced rest and planning time to get things going. I could’ve done without the variety of trials though. Just sayin’.