"I don't want to be hospitalized anymore" — The third surgery and the story of my most difficult hospital stay

In the previous installment, I wrote about how I discovered a lump in my left groin, realized it was a third metastasis, and decided to undergo surgery.

"In the worst-case scenario, you might lose a leg." Even with that warning, I chose to have the surgery. This time, I will talk about that third surgery and the most difficult hospital stay I have ever experienced.

This chapter covers the most painful of my three surgeries, and the time I first felt mentally broken, thinking, "I don't want to be hospitalized ever again."

The now-familiar pre-hospitalization notification pattern

February 2026. I was scheduled to be hospitalized for my third surgery.

And once again, it was the familiar "we will notify you of the admission date by the day before" pattern (laughs). This is the third time now. I've gotten used to it, so I checked the schedule with my doctor just in case and prepared in advance.

This kind of maneuvering is wisdom I've finally acquired after going through this so many times.

From admission to surgery

After admission, in preparation for the possibility of having to resect the femoral artery, they checked the thickness and position of the great saphenous vein in my right leg and marked a fairly long area with a marker. Even though the possibility of resection was low, the fact that they prepared for it heightened my tension.

On the day of the surgery, the walk to the operating room was as nerve-wracking as ever. The flow from the operating table to anesthesia was the same as always, and as expected, when I woke up from the anesthesia, the surgery was over.

I have absolutely no memory of responding when I woke up from the anesthesia this time, just like the first surgery... I had some memory during the second surgery, but I wonder if there are people who clearly remember their responses when waking up from anesthesia.

"I didn't have to have my femoral artery resected"

The thing I was most anxious about before the surgery was, of course, the "resection of the femoral artery," which would bring up the "possibility of losing a leg."

I had been told that depending on the progression of the metastasis, the femoral artery might have to be resected, and in that case, at worst, I could lose a leg.

So, when I heard after the surgery that "the femoral artery was not resected," I was truly relieved from the bottom of my heart.

I no longer had to worry about my leg.

First of all, I was relieved by that. But that relief was short-lived. From here, the most difficult hospital stay of my life began.

The difficult part (1): Immobile legs and severe edema

The first was the physical pain.

This surgery involved not only the dissection of the left inguinal lymph nodes but also the combined resection of the femoral vein and adductor muscles.

After the surgery, my legs wouldn't move at first. And the edema (swelling) was severe. Since they had removed my femoral vein and lymph nodes, I had been told in advance that swelling would occur, and I understood that intellectually.

However, the actual heavy, sluggish feeling and the sensation of my entire leg being swollen and stretched to the limit were beyond my imagination.

Visually, it was about 1.2 times the size of my right leg, which was much thinner than what had been explained to me initially, but the tightness and the heavy, sluggish feeling were incredibly painful.

Furthermore, something that was unexpectedly difficult was the "adductor muscle resection."

Because the muscles in my inner thigh were cut, whenever I tried to move my legs, other muscles and nerves would pull, causing a stinging, electric pain. Even just slightly changing my position would send pain shooting through me.

Because of these two factors, I couldn't get out of bed and work hard at recovery as quickly as I wanted to. It was incredibly restrictive. This was the most immobile and painful I had ever been during any of my hospitalizations.

Difficulty #2: People who don't offer support

Another issue was the mental toll.

The resident in charge of my care was someone who would say things that only fueled my anxiety.

Up until now, I have felt nothing but gratitude for the medical professionals who have cared for me (…although there was a rather harsh doctor in the radiology department in episode 3, even that person became supportive in the end).

But this time, for the first time, I actually thought about asking for a different doctor. In my six years of treatment, this was the first time I had ever felt that way.

I felt so frustrated that I ended up secretly venting to the nurses and doctors from other departments...

I am not asking for excessive service. However, for an anxious patient, the difference between someone who offers support and someone who fuels anxiety is truly significant. I realized painfully that when your body is suffering, that difference hits your heart even harder.

For the first time, I clearly expressed my weakness to my family

My immobile legs, the severe swelling, the pain in my adductor muscles, and the doctor in charge who wouldn't offer support.

Throughout my treatment since 2019, I had made some complaining remarks in a joking manner, but this was the first time I clearly told my family, "I don't want to be hospitalized or have surgery ever again."

In all the time I've been undergoing treatment, this was the first time I had felt so fed up.

Until now, I felt that no matter what happened, I had calmly looked forward, thinking, "So, what's next?" But this time, it felt as if all that energy had vanished in an instant.

I managed to get discharged, but it was undoubtedly the most difficult experience out of my three surgical hospitalizations.

Even after being discharged, I didn't feel settled for a while

Even after being discharged this time, I didn't feel better right away.

Moving was difficult, but what bothered me even more was the serous fluid oozing from the surgical wound. I had to change the gauze every day, and on top of that, it was very difficult to move my leg. This state continued for about three weeks, and it just wouldn't settle down.

The edema in my left leg was only about 1.2 times its normal size visually, but to me, it felt like it was swollen to twice its size. Especially by evening, it felt tight, heavy, and painful.

I was starting to lose the energy to keep going, wondering if it would stay like this forever. I was also so anxious about when the serous fluid would stop after discharge that I even contacted the hospital to confirm.

Even so, after about three weeks, the wound seemed to have closed, the serous fluid stopped coming out almost entirely, and the thickness of my leg returned to about 1.1 times its normal size, with the tightness feeling like 1.5 times. I had recovered to a level where I thought, "If I try hard, maybe I can manage to move around until the evening?"

In the midst of this, I suddenly discovered a small lump on my right thigh. "No way..." Combined with my past experiences and lack of mental capacity, I immediately contacted the hospital. When I explained the situation, they said they would check it during my post-discharge follow-up, but that I should have it checked by a dermatologist before then, so I booked an appointment with a dermatologist right away.

I explained my situation so far to a local dermatology clinic and had them examine it. They said it didn't look like an epidermoid cyst, lipoma, or tumor, but rather some kind of scar, and told me to keep an eye on it. I decided to take these results to my post-operative follow-up.

At the post-operative follow-up, I first talked about the small lump on my right thigh.

Since the pre-operative CT scan had covered up to my right thigh, my doctor looked at those images and diagnosed that while the area was indeed bulging, it was not a tumor or anything similar, but just a state where the skin was thicker. Since it was soft to the touch, the doctor agreed with the dermatologist that it was likely some kind of scar and therefore not a problem.

Also, the condition of the post-operative wound was fine. The edema was also within the expected range and not a problem, they said.

I had been worried about so many things at once that I felt a huge sense of relief. However, since the edema was more exhausting than it looked, I asked again, "How long will it take to get better?" The answer I got was, "It will gradually get better, but I don't know if it will ever return completely to normal," and "There are individual differences."

—It's gradually becoming harder to move...

That's how I felt. The ostomy, chronic fatigue, numbness and loss of sensation in my legs, abdominal discomfort. And now this edema. With every treatment, more things don't return to the way they were. That's the feeling I've started to have.

And then, back to chemotherapy.

At the post-discharge follow-up, the topic of post-operative chemotherapy (XELOX) came up again.

It is the same standard treatment as last time. However, this time, it wasn't recommended as strongly as before. It seems that if I undergo chemotherapy again while the cumulative side effects from the previous round (numbness and loss of sensation in my legs) still remain, they might worsen, so the doctor asked, "What would you like to do?"

Even so, I decided to "do it."

If I chose not to, and then had a recurrence—I know for a fact that I would regret it then.

I know from personal experience how hard the previous XELOX was. I also know that the accumulated side effects could potentially get even worse from here on out. Honestly, I don't want to do it. But my decision-making principle of "doing what I can" hasn't changed.

Conclusion

Although the third surgery allowed me to avoid the situation of having my leg amputated, it became the most difficult hospital stay I have ever had.

I complained and felt weak. I also felt distrust toward the staff in charge (not my primary doctor). Due to the effects of the anticancer drugs, numbness remains in my toes. And the edema caused by the surgery might not fully subside either.

Even so, I have been discharged like this and am moving on to the next treatment. What is important is to do what I can and proceed calmly. It is a repetition of that.

This article ended up having a lot of complaints, but it is also true that one cannot always stay positive, and there were simply too many events from this surgery to the post-discharge consultation that caused me to lose my spirit.

If you continue treatment for a long time, you might experience something like this. If something like that happens, I think it is okay to say you are struggling when it is hard, and it is okay to vent.

Depending on the situation, it is fine to ask for a referral to a psychiatrist, and I believe that venting about how hard things are is surely important for continuing long-term treatment.
I also consulted my primary doctor about the persistent lethargy and abdominal discomfort, and since there might be a psychological component, I was referred to a psychiatrist and am still continuing to see them.

That said, the treatment will continue... and I have reaffirmed that I want to do my best within reasonable limits, just as I have until now.

With this, I have written up to the point where I have almost caught up with my current treatment.
Next time, I would like to write about the anticancer drug treatment that is currently ongoing, my increasingly difficult household finances, and what lies ahead.

Thank you for reading until the end.

※ This article is a record based on the author's personal experience and does not guarantee the accuracy or effectiveness of any specific system, procedure, medical practice, etc. The information posted may vary depending on the time and environment. In the unlikely event that any damage or disadvantage occurs due to the information in this article, the author cannot be held responsible, so please make final decisions at your own risk.