The Fight of My Life
My Ovarian Cancer Journey
In response to the monthly theme, The Fight of Your Life, I immediately thought of my traumatic journey with ovarian cancer.
In January 2020, I woke up with severe back pain. It turned out that I had kidney stones. My doctor ordered a CT scan. Not only did the scan show kidney stones, but it also showed that I had an ovarian cyst.
My doctor referred me to a gyn-oncologist. There is no way of knowing if it is cancerous unless they do a biopsy. The biopsy has to be done during surgery. Otherwise, if it is cancerous, doing a biopsy any other way can cause the cancer cells to spread.
The oncologist wasn’t super concerned about my cyst and he took a monitor-and-wait approach. I had several MRIs during this period. Not only did my oncologist look at these scans, but there is also a tumor board that read them as well.
Both the tumor board and my oncologist agreed that my cyst didn’t show any characteristics of cancer.
The last time I had the MRI, the characteristics of my cyst changed. My oncologist told me that the only way to know if it was cancer was to undergo surgery. It was my choice.
I don’t know how anyone could make a different choice than I did. I had to know if it was cancerous or not. How could I live not knowing if cancer was growing inside of me?
My oncologist told me there was only a 5% chance that my cyst was cancer.
I scheduled the surgery to have both ovaries and fallopian tubes removed via laparoscopic surgery. I wasn’t super concerned about it being cancerous because of what my oncologist told me.
You have to see a gyn-oncologist because if you go to a regular gyno and it is cancerous, they will not know how to properly remove the cancer.
It didn’t help that all of this took place during the COVID Pandemic. No one could go with me to the surgery or doctor’s appointments. My friend just dropped me off the morning of surgery.
I was nervous about surgery, but not about the results.
I remember waking up in pain and being very groggy in my hospital room.
My oncologist came into my room and I asked him if I could call my brother and have him on his cell phone so he could hear what he said. He said I had stage 2 ovarian cancer and that it was aggressive and tends to return.
I was shocked, but also very groggy. He said I would need chemotherapy.
I was released from the hospital five days later. I went home and basically stuck my head in the sand. I live alone and the only way I could cope with this diagnosis was to push it to the back of my mind and pretend that it wasn’t happening.
I am normally a very inquisitive person and I research every health problem that I have. I have self-diagnosed my many health issues, and they were all confirmed by a doctor.
This time I was totally different. I did not want to know anything.
About two weeks later, I had my post-op appointment with my oncologist. He would be giving me pathology reports and removing my staples. I called his office and asked if I could please bring a friend with me to the appointment. They said I could.
My friend and I went to the appointment and I also had my brother on my cell phone so we had three sets of ears. My oncologist told me I had stage 3 cancer and there was a 90% chance that it would come back. The cancer was aggressive.
I would have chemo treatments every three weeks for a total of six cycles.
I had to return to the hospital before my first chemo for what they call
“Chemo Teach.” That is when they give you all the information on your drugs and all the horrific side effects. They also give you a tour of the infusion room where you will receive your chemo infusions.
My first chemo treatment was approximately four weeks after my surgery.
I was a nervous wreck the day before and cried a lot.
I arrived at the infusion room with a book, my iPad with earbuds, and a puzzle book. I had to be there by 8 a.m. and was there until 4 p.m. I never once read my book nor did puzzles. I sat in the chair with the pillow and warm blanket they gave me.
They provided a menu for you to pick out lunch. I did not want to eat.
I sat in that recliner most of the day just resting. I did go on my iPad.
That night when I got home, I was very happy. I had my first chemo treatment and I now knew what to expect. I was ecstatic that I came through it. It lessened my anxiety for the remainder of the treatments.
This first treatment tanked my blood counts, which was unusual. That usually happens further along as the chemo accumulates in your body. They reduced my chemo dosage for the rest of my treatments.
The nurse called me one Friday and told me my white blood cell count was very low and potentially life-threatening! Just what I needed to hear.
The oncologist prescribed an antibiotic as a precaution. I then had to get blood work done twice a week. My second chemo was postponed due to my low blood count.
I lost my hair exactly 12 days after my first treatment. They told me it would fall out after the 2nd treatment. I had it cut shorter before this happened so it would be less traumatic. My head hurt so much when my hair started to fall out. I ultimately had my head shaved.
Seeing myself in the mirror was a shocking reminder that yes, I did have cancer.
After my next chemo treatment, I had a difficult time breathing. I was very short of breath. When I had my appointment with my oncologist, I told him that I was very short of breath after doing nothing at all.
He said that he could not let me leave without having a CT angiogram to see if I had a blood clot in my lung. My friend drove me to the ER so I could have this test done. Due to COVID, she was not allowed in the building with me.
It was a very long time before I found out that I had not one, but three blood clots in my lungs. My poor friend was out in the parking lot for ten hours! This hospital was 40 minutes from where we live. The doctor gave me a blood thinner injection and sent me home.
I was scared to death. I was afraid if I turned on my side that I would dislodge the clot and it would go to my heart and kill me.
I had to give myself injections twice a day for the next 16 months.
Three days after my emboli diagnosis, I went to chemo. On my way down to the lobby, I felt a funny feeling in my chest. It didn’t last long, but I knew I had to tell the woman accompanying me from chemo. She immediately called the office.
Three people, including the APRN, came down to see me. They called an ambulance to take me up the hill to the ER. They ran a battery of heart tests on me and I was admitted overnight. All of the tests came back negative, and I was sent home.
After the next time I had chemo, they put a medicine on my arm which would inject me 24 hours from the time of my chemo. This was to prevent my white blood cells from tanking again. They did this for the duration of my treatment.
Most people have one good week before their next treatment. I did not.
I was exhausted every single day from my first chemo and many, many months after my last chemo.
I had CT scans every three months for two years. It has now been almost two and a half years since my last chemo. So far, it has not returned. I just hope that it stays that way.
I had wonderful friends who supported me and helped me throughout this time. I could not have gotten through this ordeal without them.
Those kidney stones saved my life. I wouldn’t be here writing this if I did not have them.
My cancer journey was not an easy one and it truly was the fight of my life.
