I figured this might end up being long and wordy, but I wanted to document it anyway, but for those not interested in reading the whole thing, long story short, I thought I had cancer, they cut out my ovary and a scary looking growth off one side and a cyst off the other ovary a week and a half ago and left me with 5 small incisions in my stomach. I'm doing better now. And we got word from the lab, it was not cancer, so whew! That's that. Oh, and if you do read on, just a warning if you're squeamish at all I'm including a picture of the offending growth at the end of this.
The longer version-
I went to the OBGYN over a month ago to discuss some pain I was having on my right side. It was always present, but especially that time of the month, and most especially every other month. I knew it was one of my ovaries, and I figured it had been over 6 1/2 years, it was probably time to go back to the doctor. (Ever since John got a little procedure done, and I wasn't in need of any more birth control, I couldn't see the point) Except now I was running out of my stash of percocet and vicodin, and it was getting worse. So I sucked it up and went.
I didn't tell anyone I was going. John was out of town, and I didn't want to worry him. So when she became concerned that she thought my ovary was enlarged and ordered an ultrasound for the next week, I didn't mention that to John when I kissed him and sent him off on another trip. He couldn't be there, so no need to worry him about nothing right?
You know what really sucks about getting ultrasounds? The techs can't tell you anything. I've had good ultrasounds and bad ultrasounds in my life. When they are good and your baby is healthy, they are all smiley and chatty, but when they see something that concerns them, they get all serious and quiet, and you know something is wrong, but they won't tell you anything. So when the tech got all serious, I got worried, and proceeded to nervously chatter about stupid things like the decor of the room. And she spent most of her time looking at the wrong side. The pain was on my right, but she spent more time looking at stuff on my left side.
It turns out I had a 5 cm cyst on my right ovary, but there was also a 3cm cyst like thing on my left side, but it concerned her because it looked "more solid". And she didn't feel comfortable dealing with it, so she was going to send me to a surgeon.
A specialist.
An oncologist to be exact.
Needless to say, I was probably in a bit of shock as I drove home. And then there was the question of who to tell, and when, and how?!?!
At home at the dinner table? "Can you pass the beans, oh by the way I might have cancer."
John is out of town, so do I tell him over the phone? "How was your day? Mine was okay, went to the store, cleaned out the fridge, found out I might have cancer. "
It's odd, but it felt like that information was like a cancer itself, I could keep it locked up and let it fester inside me, or I could share it with those I love and watch it eat at them too.
Needless to say, keeping a secret like that makes one feel very, very lonely.
And then Maddie came home and said, "Hey mom, someone left a present for you on the doorstep."
It was a thank you gift from my dear friend for taking pictures at her daughter's wedding reception. There were two separately wrapped presents, and I could tell by the shape and feel of them, one was a book and the other a CD. The card said this was her favorite CD, so I opened that one first, and there in front of Zach and Maddie I burst into tears. It was entitled 'Reflections of Christ' and there was a picture of the Savior on the front cover. A simple reminder that at the moment that I needed it the most, that I Am Never Alone.
Besides having a loving family and being surrounded by friends who are at the most only a phone call away, I always have my Savior.
Whatever I am going through, He knows, and He understands.
I ended up telling my kids right then and there because my tough exterior had been broken through and all resolve gone down the toilet. I believe part of the conversation went something like this-
Zach- "I've never seen you cry before."
Me- "I've never had cancer before."
The days wore on, and for the most part, I was fine. My mom had ovarian cancer, and it was as big as a cantaloupe and she didn't even need chemo, how scary could it be?
And then two things happened one day which sent me spiraling down out of control. The first was the oncologist's office called to make an appointment. For the 9th. And then she called back and said "the doctor looked at your chart and he wants you to come in earlier, how's the April 1st?" Despite her claims that he bumped up my appointment more than a week was a good thing, and it didn't mean I was on my death bed, I was kinda freaked out.
And then I made a mistake. I googled "mortality rates for ovarian cancer". Did you know that only 79% of people diagnosed with stage 1 cancer make it to the magic 5 year mark? That's almost 1 in 3.
For the first time I actually believed that I could die.
Before that this was just some trial to over come. Some blip in the road. Life was going pretty smoothly, and we all have our trials, and right here and right now, this was mine. But I would get past this.
But what if I didn't? What if I was going to die? One in Three. Those odds suck.
I'm not afraid to die. I could be a better person, and there's lots of stuff I'm working on, but I'm not afraid for what awaits me on the other side. As a Mormon, I know who I am, I know where I came from, and why I'm here, and what happens when we die. I believe families are forever and John and I are sealed together for time and all eternity, not just married til death do we part. Death is still sad in the here and now, but I know I will see all those that I've loved and lost again someday.
It's just that (and this might be a tad egotistical) there are 5 people here who NEED me. And I want to be there for them. My Squish is such a mama's boy. He'd never understand. And Maddie. The only girl in the house with all these boys? Oh, she'll be okay, and she'll slip into that role of 'mom' and take care of everybody, but a girl still needs her mom.
I know I'm no June Cleaver, and there are times I fall severely short, but I'm all they got.
You know, on my bookshelf there is a book '1000 places to see before you die'. I've been slowly ticking off things in that book over the years. Eiffel tower. Check. Leaning tower of Pisa. Check. Statue of Liberty. Check. Grand Canyon. Check. But if you flip through the book you will notice how few and far between those checks are.
Not for a second did I think of that when I was contemplating my own mortality. Those aren't the sights I was afraid I'd never see. Graduations, and birthdays and mission calls, and weddings, and grandchildren. Those are the things I was most afraid of missing out on.
Anyway, I couldn't be alone for five seconds without feeling like I was drowning in my fears. A heavy, heavy weight was pressing down on me and I couldn't breathe. I would just sob uncontrollably to the point of hyperventilation.
I needed help.
John was out of town, but a memory kept popping into my head of my friend and home teacher, earnestly and sincerely telling me, "I know John is gone alot, if you need anything, please call. Anything. I mean it."
I texted his wife and she sent him over. He brought another friend and neighbor because these things require two men to be done properly, and he gave me priesthood blessing. And in those brief moments all my fears were banished. I was told I would live. I would live to see all the things that I hope for for my children. What a blessing! This time I was sobbing with relief, and joy, and even odd as it sounds, peace.
For someone who doesn't cry, I sure seemed to be doing a lot of crying.
But from that moment on, I knew it would be okay. It might be hard, and there will be tough times ahead, but I would survive.
I got my packet in the mail with the 47 thousand papers to fill out,
met with the oncologist who even though he didn't see the ultrasound images assured me I was going to be okay, and he didn't think it was cancer. I went in for all sorts of pre-op tests and blood work, and went cold turkey off the Excedrin. I was (still am, I'm sure, although I've been off it for like 3 weeks) a bit of an addict. No ibuprofen or aspirin one week before surgery. And then there was the "colon cleanse" the night before. Yes, it's as fun as it sounds. (I think they need a font for sarcasm)
Bright and early on the 11th John and went to the hospital to have parts of me cut out.
I entered not knowing exactly how many parts I would be missing when I walked out. I knew they were cutting out some cysts and/or tumors, growths etc, but I could also be missing an ovary or two, and possibly my uterus as well. (good thing we are done having kids!)
Despite all that I'd already done to prepare for this moment, as I lay there in the pre-op room I contemplated running away. I blame the wall-paper. I don't think horses running wild and free was a particularly good choice.
Three hours of surgery later, I had five small incisions in my stomach, and was short one ovary. Pathology confirmed later that it was not cancer, and although I did promise a friend I wouldn't post this picture on facebook, my blog is a different matter. And you've been warned before hand.
Apparently it had grown from 3 cm to the size of a fist in three short weeks. It was in danger of rupturing if I hadn't had it taken out soon.
So I'm doing better now. Despite my attempts to keep all this on the down low, word got out and we had people bringing in meals for a week. Flowers and plants and chocolate dipped strawberries were sent to brighten my day. Needless to say, I felt loved.
Life is mostly back to normal. The post-op instructions include no driving, vacuuming, or lifting anything over 5 pounds. John has been very strict with me.
It's funny how during times of trial we can be reminded of just how blessed we really are. I just pray I don't need any more 'reminders' like this any time soon.
