Just shy of being here a year in New Zealand, my folks came for a month long visit. It was a SUPER busy, non stop month, packed full of exploring as much of this gorgeous country as we could cram in. Both Billy and myself were working full time. I was working less during my folks stay so I could drive them around and make memories with them. But during this time, I was feeling so beyond exhausted. I just chalked it up to being a lot with managing their month long stay, working a food and beverage job that was quite demanding in many ways, supporting my husband who was struggling with his depression and all that came along with that, plus he was working full days in a job he wasn’t happy at and then coming home to cook dinner for my family. It was just… a lot. And let’s be real here, there was also that element of navigating how to coexist with my parents, after not having to do that for years, and with a husband in tow. We are different people, cut from the same cloth maybe, but different colors in so very many ways. So it was a bit challenging to say the least. Lets cut the shit here, we all love our families, but that doesn’t make it any easier to live with them!

I remember towards the end of their stay here, we had gone north to a little camping place that we really love here. We had rented a couple cabins, went deep sea fishing for snapper, walked some really beautiful beaches and combed them for fresh pipi’s and mussels, had dinner at my absolute favorite surfside beach restaurant and chatted with strangers, which seems to be one of my families many past times. One morning I remember getting up and ready for the day, and I said to my husband, “I can’t stop bleeding, and I’m exhausted”. We just figured it was because I had been on the go so much and my body was pushing back a bit. So I just got on with it.

My parents left New Zealand the end of February and we just got on with life here. I went back to work, but the days seemed beyond long for me. I would get home and hit the couch. In early April 2018 I finally got myself to my GP to discuss how I had been feeling and had a pap smear done. Now here is where things start to go pear shaped, and my memory of dates and procedures is a bit blurred. It wasn’t that long after my GP appointment, that I got a call stating that I had “abnormal cervical cells” and that I was being referred to have a colposcopy, which is basically a diagnostic procedure that visually examines the cervix, vagina and vulva using something called a colposcope. Those results came back, and weren’t in my favor so then I had what’s called a LEETZ procedure done. This procedure also wasn’t a good time, its where they use an electrical wire loop to remove the abnormal cervical cells that will then be sent to a lab for biopsy testing afterwards. Now before I continue on, I want to point out that going forward I went to many of my health appointments alone. My husband was struggling, as we know, and he had a job that we decided we didn’t want him to take too much time away from. Partly because they were a shitty company and not very understanding, but also because having him keep a sort of “normal” routine was what we both needed for him. But really, what I wasn’t saying to him at the time was, “yes I would love to have your support and have you be there with me to hold my hand”, but by him staying busy at work meant I then knew his mind couldn’t focus on “the hard stuff”. And what appointments he did manage to come to, he wasn’t present or patient, so it was just easier to go it alone. ( Just a side note, I’m not shitting on my husband here, I’m just trying to paint the true picture as best I can, he did all that he could, and that had to be enough and I wouldn’t expect anything else, at that point in time)

While I was waiting for the LEETZ procedure results, we just did life. I was working full time, still doing road trips and going to the beach. We moved house for the third time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Results seemed to take ages to come back, but I stayed positive. And then on the 23rd of May 2018, I got “the” call. Shit was about to get more real then ever before. What became my oncology/gynecology nurse, Steph, had been the one on the other end of the receiver. I was at home. When I heard her sweet, soft and kind voice on the phone, I just knew. And it’s a phone call I will never forget.

Steph: “ Hi Shannon, how are you?”

Me: “ Yeah I’m alright, you’re calling to tell me I have cancer”

Steph: “Are you alone? “

Me: “ Yes”

Steph: “ Do you want me to wait for Billy to be home with you?”

Me: “ No, I’m fine “

Steph: “ Are you sitting?”

Me: “ No, I have a feeling what’s coming so let’s just talk about it”

Steph: “ Ok, but only if you’re sure, I’m happy to wait for Billy to come home and be with you”

Me: “ No that’s ok, it’s not going to change anything, let’s just do this”.

I stayed calm, and only began to shed a very slow little tear. She asked if I was ok, and I reassured her I was fine. She gave me the low down on what was going to happen next and going forward. She had said that there were only 7 surgeons in all of New Zealand that do this procedure, and that 4 of those were in Auckland. That my case would go to the board who sit once a week on a Wednesday, it would be reviewed and then I would be given a date to come to Auckland to discuss my options and my procedure. Things are a bit foggy with me now in terms of dates etc, so somewhere between getting this call and June 11th I went to Auckland where I spent an entire day doing pre surgery testing, paperwork, physical exams, and meeting my surgeon. She was an East Indian lady, very straight forward and to the point, which I can totally relate to, so was really thankful to have her. However, when it came time to ask me about having children, her delivery of this sensitive subject was a tad brutal, shall we say. I’ll never forget it. In that moment, I felt like a number, which given the circumstances, wasn’t the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. While we were talking through what’s been found on my cervix, her doing drawings to best explain it all to me, she then stopped and said…” Right so what about having children? Have you talked about the fact that you now won’t be doing that?” Just like that! Boom, slapped in the face with infertility. I remember Billy was sitting to my left, and he gently placed his hand on my leg for reassurance. I had wanted children. Matter of fact, I always thought I’d have at least one child of my own. But that wasn’t to be. So sitting there in that office, sweating, and tears starting to well up in my eyes from heartbreak, the surgeon then looked at me and said so gruffly, “ do we need to come back to this because you’re not ready?!”. It was as though, I just took a deep breath and drew my tears back into my eye sockets, and I said,” nope, let’s keep going.

It was such a long confronting day, and I was exhausted from it all, both physically and mentally. So was Billy. He was just so shut off from it. He almost seemed annoyed. I remember we even fought when we arrived at the appointment. He needed to have a smoke before we went in for MY brutally long day (now I know he would have been feeling some sort of way towards it all as well, but I needed to be there for ME) to talk about having my insides taken out, and I just didn’t have the patience for his mood and stupid smoking addiction/habit. So I said, “ Have a fucking cigarette and calm down, this isn’t about you! And hurry up!” A girl can only take so much! At that point, I was doing my best to hold myself together, and I didn’t know if I had it in me to hold him together as well. (Later on I learn the hard way, that I do). And like you’d handle a child, I even had a lunch packed for him, with water, snacks and a book to help keep him occupied so I could ignore what he was going through and focus on myself with this daunting day that would be ahead. And what a day it was! I even remember being ushered out of the office with my surgeon, to have a VERY unexpected rectal exam. This would be the beginning of the end of my modesty. Or what little bit I had left.

*This photo was taken minutes after I received the dreaded call*

I can’t remember how I got the surgery appointment date, but once I had that I almost felt better. It was like knowing that date meant we could finally get to the bottom of me not feeling good and just move on from it all. It was like I was thinking I just couldn’t wait to get it all over with so I could have my life back. Like somehow, having a quick surgery was going to fix all my health issues and my life would go back to being full of adventure. Wow… let me tell you, was I wrong!