My Cancer Misdiagnosis was My Biggest Blessing
My cancer misdiagnosis in 2019 was a curtain. On one side of this curtain was my old self and on the other side, the person that I am today.
Before writing this piece, I never really thought about my experience. As a mom of two precious babies, I didn’t give myself the time to wallow in self-pity. This leads me to the beginning of my story.
On 20 December 2018, I welcomed my son into the world. My son-shine developed an immediate connection to me and even though I had had a c-section, I quickly got back into a routine with my babies and took care of them without any help. I was surrounded by loved ones and my husband was very supportive- but I refused to accept any help.
When I look back, I cant understand why I was so stubborn- I remember being filled with a sense of helplessness when my daughter was eating in her high chair because I knew that the pain of lifting her out of her chair would be excruciating. I endured the pain of bath times, playtime, and feeding times and washed bottles, and continued with night feeds in spite of my exhaustion.
Around 14 January 2019, I woke up with a sharp shooting pain in my stomach. It was midnight and I had to feed my son at 1.00am. So I endured the pain for an additional hour so that I could feed him, go to the ER and be back by 4.00am for his next feed. I phoned my sister to fetch me at 1.00am and went to a nearby hospital. I never made it back in time for my son’s next feed. In fact, it would be five weeks before I could feed him again.
The next week is still a blur. I was told that I had a burst appendix and the surgeon performed a biopsy during the appendix removal surgery. I was very sick after the surgery and the pain became more severe. My inflammatory markers showed that I had some sort of infection and I became increasingly more ill. I spent the next few days in bed and my mom and sister moved in to help me. I went from doing everything with my children to feeling completely useless and helpless. I decided to book another appointment with the surgeon to get more medication and he had mentioned that he needed to discuss my biopsy results.
Then in walked cancer, my savior…
“The plot thickens Mrs Bakos. Looks like you have pseudomixoma perotoni (PNP) which is like a sort of a weird cancer but not like other cancer.”
My godmother, who had been fighting cancer for six years, was sitting next to me when I got the news. She shouted at the doctor, swore at him, and walked out of his office saying that he had no idea what he was talking about. Instead of delving into the next seven days of crying, scans, and three more medical opinions, I’ll cut straight to the final medical appointment that sealed the deal- the moment when I accepted that my life was about to change forever.
“I need to cut. And I will only stop cutting if it will kill her…”
I had been diagnosed with PNP by three highly respected medical professionals. Three people who saved me from myself and saved my life.
My surgery was scheduled for 2.00pm on 28 January and it is hard for me to explain the crippling, overwhelming, nauseating pain of saying goodbye to my babies before that surgery. I remember walking out of my newborn baby’s room, unsure of when I would see him again. I felt like a ghost- clinging onto loved ones- unseen and stuck in darkness.
I had a very special friend when I was a little girl. Her name was Maryanne, and she was my mother’s little sister. She had a rare form of down-syndrome and lived a beautiful life without sin. Although she could not walk or talk, I loved kissing her knees, talking to her and eating with her. She passed away two decades ago but she has never left me. I see her in every smile and feel her love in every child.
Maryanne came to me during my operation — an operation that began with a 40cm cut down my abdomen and the removal of my peritoneum. She is beautiful in heaven and looks so much like my mother. She has the same short haircut and bold brown eyes but she got up from her wheelchair and walked towards me. She comforted me and even though she did not speak to me, I knew that she could now talk. Heaven is a beautiful place for Maryanne.
After Maryanne had comforted me, I saw a statue of Our Lady but Her face was concealed. The serpent slithered at Her feet and she crushed him- killing him. I remember wishing that I could see Her beautiful face.
“It’s not cancer Pascale, you made it!”
Those are the first words that I heard when I woke up after my surgery. Family and friends hugged and cheered for me but all I remember saying was “It’s a miracle. A miracle of the holy rosary.”
Although I spent the next few days in excruciating pain, unable to walk, eat or talk, I was constantly filled with a sense of gratitude, and I felt Maryanne’s presence throughout my time in ICU. Only once I had been transferred to the general ward, did Maryanne’s presence drift away slightly. I was also blessed to have my grandmother with me throughout my stay at the hospital and my husband even slept over at the hospital. My children were loved and cared for by my sister, mother, and my husband’s mother and I slowly began to heal.
At no point did I resent the doctors who had operated on me. I had no sense of anger or regret and I developed a deep admiration for the doctors who had operated on me. For it was never their operation, but the orchestration of a much higher power that brought me to that operation.
So, what did this experience teach me?
Firstly, I was not heroic to not accept help with my children- I was idiotic. My body simply could not carry on, and it therefore shut down. I do not have a medical explanation for my misdiagnosis and even though I am an academic, I do not care to research what might have happened. It will not change anything. God pulled back on the curtain that was holding me back from being my true self and I crossed over to become who I am today- a woman, mother, wife, student and writer.
I am who I am because of a 40cm scar that almost, but didn’t, kill me.
