Announcing the birth of Schwang, a completely benign (NON-CANCEROUS) nerve tumor called a Schwannoma that an amazing surgeon removed from my abdomen.
He's a boy. I forgot to ask the little fucker's birth weight, but he's the size of a pomegranate. He was born, as most of you know, on August 8th, 2013, sometime around 2 in the afternoon. He is now residing in medical wasteland.
Since Schwang was immediately shipped off to the pathology department, I did not have a chance to get a picture with him. However, my awesome father-in-law found an orange (he could not locate an actual pomegranate) to sit in as Schwang's sub.
Proud Mama. Just kidding. Fuck that thing.
Please excuse my appearance. I had not showered in five days at the time of the photo (disgusting... and, a record), was heavily medicated (wait, still am), had (have) a giant incision from my sternum to my belly button (over six inches!), and was most likely in some pain.
Yes, my family is awesome and bought me the fruit, brought me an "It's a Boy" balloon, knit a hat, and I snagged one of Brandon's old baby blankets. We are weird and I love it.
So. The good news is, no cancer. The surgeon initially thought (just from eyeballing him) that Schwang could be a fatty sarcoma, which means cancer, and that I would have to undergo radiation. So I've been mentally prepping for that, and now I don't need to worry. Neither does my family, who would have had to suffer through that and me being out of commission AGAIN. Seriously, I'm more happy for them than myself, that they don't have to pick up my slack again while my insides got blasted.
Also, I got to keep my kidney. Schwang hadn't destroyed it yet.
Also, I got to keep my kidney. Schwang hadn't destroyed it yet.
So thank you to everyone who thought good thoughts, prayed, rain danced, sang a little song, or had a drink for me. Your efforts clearly did not go unnoticed, since all turned out well in the end. Thank you.
In case a few of you are wondering, recovery is going... well. If you call being in pain every time I stand up or move "well." But it's fine. It's not excruciating and could be A LOT worse. It hurts to yell, so I'm avoiding being around my children. Just kidding (kind of), I miss those goobers. I can't wait to run around with them again, also because running around will help shrink my disgustingly swollen belly. Yeah, I know, I lose a large tumor from the thing, and it's bigger than it was before. Thanks, gas and surgery swelling and loss of muscle tone.
*The title of the post is from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, one of my favorite movies of all time.
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