Eight years in remission – viva la vulva!

I never thought I would see another eight years. Really, I didn’t. After my cancer surgery in 2007, my oncologist was certain that more cancer would grow, that the surgery I had wouldn’t hold, and that I’d die. Thankfully that hasn’t happened, and today marks eight years since I underwent the surgery to save my life. The icing on the proverbial cake is that I’ve had no more cancer in my vulva (there’s that word again!). Viva la vulva, I say.

I find it quite incredible that in my immuno-compromised body, that I am still alive. And you know what? After what I went through with that surgery, I can hold my head high and say that I deserve it. If I never have to have life saving surgery ever again, it won’t be too soon.

Below are a couple of photos – the first being just before I started throwing massive seizures and went into a coma. Now, don’t I look fucking miserable here? Well, of course I was. I had a broken vagina which is enough to sink any woman. As well as my broken bits, I had skin grafts that possibly wouldn’t take, and a poo bag that had the tendency to explode several times a day. I clearly have a bowel obstruction in this photo – something that wasn’t picked up until too late – and by the next day, my family didn’t know if I was going to die or live out the rest of my days in a nursing home.

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As always, my sister was with me. Here she is standing over me in ICU, and just like when I had my transplant, my family played my favourite music, but even on the suggestion of my friend Kate, not even Axl Rose could rouse me out of this fix. Music seemed to be the only thing that would soothe me after both surgeries, especially during the long nights where everything seemed to go wrong. Think collapsed lungs, bleeding, broken beds (and not in a fun way), and uncontrollable pain. I am so grateful for the kindness of the nurses on the broken vagina ward.

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So what am I going to do to celebrate today? I’m going to embrace the ordinariness of life and start my Christmas baking. I did two practice runs last weekend with my very first fruitcakes and they were a hit. I ate the last slice last night with a cup of sweet, milky tea, but to tell you the truth, I gave most of it away to my folks. My old man is quite the human garbage disposal, and that’s where I get my deadly sweet tooth from. Today I’ll get all of my dried and glacé fruit and soak it in rum for the next month, then I’ll bake the cakes and ‘feed’ them with rum until my family can enjoy a slice or three on Christmas day with the requisite custard.

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I’ve never been much of a baker or decorator, so I was thrilled with how these turned out.

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And so that is how I will celebrate today. Eight years of so many experiences that have shaped me – and I suppose ‘baked’ me to a degree. And that’s ok, otherwise I wouldn’t be at this point in my life. I can honestly say that the view from here is fucking spectacular, thanks to my family, friends, doctors and of course, the choices I’ve made to get me here. Viva la vulva!

8 thoughts on “Eight years in remission – viva la vulva!

  1. À votre santé mon amie! The cake looks spectacular. We are fortunate that you are among us and we celebrate with you. Tonight I shall raise a glass of local vin rouge to you et encore À votre santé! XOXO

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  2. We’ll never meet and I’ll never know your entire history, but having stumbled upon your site, I find myself rather inspired — by your humour, mostly, but also by your immense and seemingly unlimited strength. You’re one hell of writer and you’re one hell of tough woman. Good luck and good vibes to you from Britain.

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    1. G’day Ed! (can I call you Ed?) Thanks for getting in touch and for having a read of the blog and for your lovely words. I find that if you don’t laugh you just cry, and crying makes me look like a drunk hippo and we can’t have that. Cheers from across the pond 🙂

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