The Esophagus Saga: All Good Things Must Come to an End

I bet you read that title and because it’s Monday, think this is a weekend recap, but you’re mistaken.  I know, you’re upset over it.  I know you all just love weekend recaps.  But dry your eyes, that will be coming tomorrow.

If you're reading this blog, then you know me, which means you probably know that I’ve had some major issues eating.

Every summer, I travel home to have an upper endoscopy performed.  During the endoscopy, they take a balloon down my esophagus and stretch me out.  Due to radiation and surgery, I have scar tissue and some structuring in my esophagus, which can make eating a very difficult task.  Food gets stuck multiple times a meal and at least three times a day I will visit the restroom to manually (gag myself) dislodge it. 

Currently, I only receive the endoscopy once a year but can do it as often as I see necessary.  Following the endoscopy, I can usually go a few weeks without food getting stuck.  Something about the surgery resets some of the nerves and my esophagus will function properly.  I’m usually good for about 17 days.  That is my record.  After 17 days, I’m back to food getting stuck, although for about 3 months, it’s only once a week.  Then months 3-6 post-surgery it’s about two or three times a week.  Month six is when it picks up and becomes more frequent at about  five days a week.  Month nine begins the grueling period where I have to wait until month 12 to get the surgery and I’m dislodging food at almost every meal.

In July, I went home for my annual upper endoscopy.  If you read my previous post, then you know that I was in a lot of pain.  Much more than usual.  It was downright awful and it took me so much longer than normal to bounce back. 

But I was beginning to think we had turned a new leaf;  that this past surgery was my miracle surgery.  I was going on 29 days of not having to dislodge food.  It would still get stuck, but only for a few seconds and then it would begin moving down. 

It was the first time in 8 years that I had a glimpse of my old life.  By now, I had completely forgotten what it felt like to just eat.  To eat without worrying about food getting stuck.  To be able to actively listen and concentrate on the conversations around me while I ate.  To eat without having to concentrate hard on chewing and swallowing.  To eat without having to leave the table and come back to cold food.  To go out to eat with my husband or friends and not get anxiety when the food arrived at the table.  To go to a restaurant and not have to make sure I’m on an end seat.  To eat in my car without having my puke bags easily accessible. 

I mentioned to Nick that it had been 29 days.  He gave me a high-five and a giant hug.  He understands this was a huge milestone.  I was so happy.  I was certain my days of dislodging food had come to a close. 

Finally, for once, something relating to my body was going my way!  I text a few others over my excitement, while also knocking on some wood.  (because, hello!  Superstitions).

Wednesday, September 10^th.  I was sitting on my couch, eating dinner late one night, enjoying a delicious crockpot buffalo pulled chicken sandwich when all of sudden, my food got stuck.  I sat there, waiting for it to move as everything had done the past 41 days.  Except this time, it didn’t move.  After six minutes of discomfort, with tears forming in my eyes, I headed to the bathroom and dislodged my dinner. 

I sat on the floor, next to the toilet, and just began bawling. 

I was so hopeful that these days were behind me.  I honestly thought making it to 41 days, my eating issues was a thing of the past.  My old record was 17 days.  Surely making it to 41 meant my esophagus had finally fixed itself. 

I was wrong.  So incredibly wrong.  I cried.  For a quite a while.  I felt, and still feel, so defeated.   I am so tired of my body working against me.  I am frustrated with the toilet being a routine part of every meal. 

I am frustrated to not have control over my own body.  There is no worse feeling than that of helplessness.   Every day I sit and hope that one day, the nerves will just “click” and things will be normal again.  I hope and pray that they can develop a surgery that won’t be as invasive as my only surgical option right now (one I am not willing to put myself through.) 

I sat there thinking ‘Why me?  God, why can’t just one thing go well for me in regards to my body and my health??  Why do I have to endure this?!”  Deep down, I know he's not the cause of this.  I know he's not doing it to be spiteful.  But when I have questions, especially those without answers, I direct them at The Big Guy.  I just want him to help me out!

I sat there.  And cried.  Hard.  For a long time.  Longing for a life with no physical discomfort from cancer.  Longing for my pre-cancer life and body. 

Which is futile.  These tears were not going to make my situation better.  But dammit, it was the release I needed!!!  I finished crying, stood up, wiped my face, and exited the bathroom.

Ready to take on this life of discomfort I’ve grown so accustomed to.  I tried to remind myself that I’m lucky I’m alive.  Sure, cancer gave me complications but in the end, I won out.  I’m still here.  I was stronger than cancer.  I really try to remember that in my difficult times.  It’s challenging.  When my head is in a toilet, I cannot get the food to dislodge, and tears are welling up in my eyes, it’s hard for me to think “Be happy you’re still here.”  Because in that moment, all I feel is frustration, disappointment, and sadness. But now, days later, I can count my blessings.  I can see that these complications, not just those from eating, are worth it in exchange for life.  

As they say, all good things must come to an end.  41 days.  That’s my new record. I’m still pretty upset over it, but I’ve only had to visit the restroom once more since that time so we’re still on the track of it happening infrequently post-surgery.  But honestly?  One time is one time too many.