one year

Wow, an entire year has passed since my world was turned upside down.

12 months ago, on April 29th, 2008, I was in the hospital for routine surgery (as if surgery is ever really routine) to remove a fibroid from one of my ovaries.  I woke up 2 hours later to discover I had no ovaries, uterus, fallopian tubes left.  Officially, I had a partial hysterectomy (because they left part of my cervix intact) and a  bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy.

Let me back up just a bit.  On April 2nd, 2008 I went to have an ultrasound to check out a mass on my left ovary.  Needless to say it wasn’t a great experience as the ultrasound tech turned a pale, almost green, white and quietly left to get her superior.  I knew the news was going to suck – how could it not – and I prepared for the worst.  They told me that many things could appear to be ovarian cancer and it was possible that this was that kind of mass, but let’s get real – we all knew I had ovarian cancer.  Again.

See, back in February 2002, while I was pregnant with Ethan, they found a similar mass during a routing ultrasound to check on the baby.  Just 4 days later I was in surgery (Ethan was only 20 weeks along) to remove an almost-certainly-cancerous mass from my right ovary.   During that particular instance they removed a grapefruit sized mass that had completely encapsulated my ovary, thus removing my ovary as well.

I woke in the recovery room to Ethan kicking me with all his might, frustrated, I’m sure, with having been shoved out of place while they operated on his mom.  It was only then that they told me the risk of miscarriage was as high as it was and that, if he miscarried, he was too young to try and save.  If only I had know that before having surgery…well, it taught me to ask more questions.

We call Ethan our miracle baby (in private of course – that’s a lot to put on a little boy) as we believe that he saved my life.  That mass had been there for a while and it is a surprise that I got pregnant at all.  But being pregnant with him is what brought the mass to our attention and saved me from something that could have been quite awful.

But back to last year.  On April 2nd, after my ultrasound, I went home, grabbed Steve, and we both headed to see my family doctor.  Ironically, the doctor himself was on a leave of absence as he fought his own battle with cancer.  So we had to see a locum.  As Steve was parking the car, I went into talk with the doctor.  Based on the type of mass on my ovary, and some other symptoms we had been trying to find a solution for (vertigo), I was told that I had Ovarian cancer that had spread to my brain.

You read that right – ovarian cancer that had spread to my brain.

In other words, he had just sentenced me to die.

Ok, what do you do with that?  Well, you sit in stunned silence for a while while the staff at the doctor’s office starts to find you appointments with specialists in these areas.  First up – get the damn lump out of my body.  Then go from there.

So one week later, on April 9th, we go off to see the OB/GYN.  Time is of the essence so we can’t wait to see an oncological specialist, but that was fine, we just wanted this out.  The whole time we were at the doctor’s office, armed with a list of questions to ask, we were a little taken back by his cavalier attitude about the whole thing.  I could sense Steve getting very tense as he sat beside me.

As the appointment was wrapping up, the doctor very casually indicates that he doesn’t want us to worry at all – there is no way this could be cancer.

Well, we looked pretty stupid as we sat there with our mouths hanging open.  Not cancer?  Wait, I’m not dying?  WTF?!?

So, off we go, having signed all the forms necessary to schedule surgery.  Not cancer.  Not dying.  Hmm, what do we do with that?  Our entire world had been turned completely inside out for 7 long days…moving beyond that was going to be a challenge.

But we did, and on April 29th I went in for routine day surgery.

And so we’re back at the beginning of this story, to the part where I woke up suddenly unable to have anymore children.  Apparently, it was cancer and in the three weeks from the ultrasound it had spread from one ovary, to encompass my entire pelvic region.

Cancer.  Again.  Except it wasn’t.

Or, it wasn’t a conventional form of cancer.  It was something a little bit different and something that defies easy explanation.  I had Borderline Ovarian Cancer, which is neither cancer nor not-cancer.  Confused yet?  Me too.

It wasn’t in my brain (as CT scans, and MRIs later proved) and it had been completely cut out of my body.  It wasn’t something that required radiation or chemo, but it did require a trip to the oncologist.  It was an extremely confusing and difficult time…one that we barely made it through with our marriage intact.

And here we are, one year later.  I’m not writing about this for some melodramatic or melancholy kind of attention.  In fact, in many ways I would like to pretend the whole thing didn’t happen and kind of sweep it under the rug.

But I can’t.

Ovarian cancer is a silent killer.  By the time its symptoms are noticed, it is often too late.  To be diagnosed early is rare and most women are diagnosed too late.

I do not belong to a single high-risk category.  I was 37 when I was diagnosed (almost 20+ years younger than the average).  I don’t smoke, don’t drink excessively, I am not overweight or sedentary.  I have had two children, before the age of 35.  Not a single woman in my family, on either side, had ovarian cancer (breast cancer, yet – ovarian cancer, no).  My tumour markers were low.  I didn’t have a single symptom.

Yet in the course of three weeks I went from being completely healthy to no longer having any pelvic organs.  I went from being able to have children and functioning as a healthy 30 something woman, to being barren and thrust into menopause overnight.  And add a wicked surgery into that mix and I could barely even move for nearly 4 weeks.

And 5 weeks post-op, I shot a 14 hour wedding.  13 days post-op, I flew to Nashville to teach a Bebbinar.  11 weeks post-op, I ran in a 10k run to raise money for cancers below the waist.

I was given life…there was no point in sitting around and letting it pass me by.

I have mentioned before, in other posts throughout this blog, that if you are going to judge someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes first.  And that, if you want to trade my lifestyle for your own, you have to take ALL of mine, not just the parts that look good.

As you walk down any sidewalk, or through the halls of any convention, you make snap judgements about the people you see.  Why?  Just like you, and just like me, there are things happening in their lives that would shock you.  Why do we, collectively, pass judgement before taking the time to learn about the people we walk past.

I encourage all of you, women and men, to start getting regularly checked for these insidious cancers.  Early detection is extremely important to survival.  Women, please go see your doctor for annual paps – they are the gate keepers for the detection of female cancers and you need them on your side.

I wish for each and every one of you, a good life, but not a perfect life.  We are not defined by the things that are easy for us, but rather by the challenges we are forced to overcome.  Make mistakes, fail, falter…and then get back up and keep going.  Learn to cope, grow in crisis and chaos, and embrace the quiet moments when they come.

And please, take the time to stand in another’s shoes before presuming to know where they have walked.