I woke up from the anesthesia later that day.  Turns out I'd only been in surgery for maybe an hour at the most, but I spent a good part of that day sleeping.  When I woke up, it was nearly five in the evening.  My surgery was scheduled for seven that morning.

The first thing I remember was being extremely nauseated.  Dr. Burney came to see me; when he did, I told him I was extremely nauseated.  He gave me a shot of something; I then fell asleep again.  When I woke up later, it was eight o'clock.

My husband and oldest children were sitting by my bedside.  I was never so glad to see them.  My husband took my hand, and he was smiling.  My kids stared at me, worried expressions on their faces.  

"Well, did the doctor say anything?" I asked.  I was shocked at how weak my voice sounded.  My husband nodded; he said that there was some cancer, but not a lot; they think they'd gotten it all, he reassured me.  The doctor would tell me more when he saw me in the morning; he'd gone home for the day.  My husband insisted that I'd go back to sleep; I needed to get as much rest as possible.

The next morning, I peppered Dr. Burney with many questions.  Dr. Burney reassured me that they'd removed as much of the cancerous cells as possible, but just as a precaution, I would have to go through several rounds of chemotherapy, which they would start on Monday.  Then they'd probably send me home Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.  He said everything looked good: there was no sign of the cancer metastisizing (spreading), and all the surrounding tissue was cancer free: it was in just one small area (the area they'd removed).

While it wasn't exactly good news, it was a lot better than I'd hoped.  I felt a huge surge of relief come over me.  I soon settled into another deep sleep, and feeling relieved and the doctor's words were the last things I remembered.

~To be continued.~