“You’re going to need to see an oncologist.” Words I never thought I would hear. Cancer touches a lot of people. No one ever really thinks it will be them. No family history, in fact no one close to me had ever gone through cancer. I felt very much like, it happens, just not to people like me. The truth was hard to take in. It happens to anyone, even me. Why? Is there really a reason? God alone is qualified to answer that.
“You’re going to have to have surgery.” The second terrifying reality I did NOT want to face. Dying to myself. I had heard about that. I always imagined that being more like a “die trying.” Now it was a submission of my will unto a higher power.
The process that anyone with a diagnosis goes through are all different. The thing every journey has in common is that one day, you’re stopped in your tracks, and the world seems to turn upside down. The floor falls out from underneath your plans, and your goals… I was not quite 40, and staring at uncertainty in a new and frightening way.
My oldest daughter was graduating college in just a few months. My youngest was only 9 months old. We had eight other children, one living in Idaho for college, the rest still at home. I thought I was supposed to “be strong” for the kids, of course. I tried. Some days I would try to stay busy, so I wouldn’t have time to think. However, grief is a strange friend. He saps your energy, and your sleep. There were plenty of times I would break down in tears at random moments, the weight of my reality suddenly feeling heavier than I had expected. All night long I would lay awake, sleeping in restless intervals. Sometimes fretting about how everyone could manage without me. Sometimes just more tears. I would hold my baby for comfort during those times. I would stroke his hair and pray God let me watch him grow up.
When I was nine, my parents sent me to a Bible program in the summer where we learned a verse for a week. It said to be ready to give an answer for the hope that is in you. That verse came in to haunt me throughout my adult life. I kept wrestling with that thought. What is hope? I’m supposed to not only have hope, which I don’t know that I feel like I do, but also, to know what it is. I wanted a revelation. I wanted to feel hopeful. As a natural pessimist and a bit of a perfectionist, hope was a never ending struggle to attain.
Then cancer. I was in the Hospital recovering from surgery and a friend brought me a gift. It said Hope. The hope that is in me began to take shape inside of my soul. It was as if, whether life or death, I knew there was an intrinsic value to my life.
My pathology came back after surgery. Appendix Cancer/PMP also known as DPAM. A very rare cancer affecting about one in a million. How’s it feel to be one in a million with a rare cancer? I can only tell you, I did not feel excited to be chosen for such an honor.
A second surgery had to be scheduled. This time with a specialist. Now that we had a diagnosis, we needed a plan. My oldest daughter got engaged, so my waiting for a second surgery was consumed with wedding planning. The treatment for PMP is surgery with heated inter peritoneal Chemo called HIPEC. It was called the “mother of all surgeries” and had a difficult recovery, with incision from the pubic bone to the sternum. So we chose to hold the wedding one week before surgery.
My specialist was at MD Anderson, in Houston Texas. The best advice I was given, if you only have one life to live, get the best care. MD Anderson had multiple appendix cancer specialists, when most oncologists have never even heard of Appendix cancer, it remains so rare. We chose there for treatment but it definitely had its complications to work out.
Our Keizer community came around us. They helped shuttle my kids to activities to keep them busy when mom would be gone several weeks. they paid for activities, and brought so many meals! They stepped up and cleaned my bathrooms and vacuumed my house when I couldn’t. One dear friend even arranged for people to deliver house plants to keep the air clean.
After my second surgery, I was recovering in the hospital and hooked up to everything under the sun, and with all of my discomforts, my lung collapsed. I felt discouraged, and I started to cry. A nurse came in to check my vitals and saw me in my state of despair. She came over to the bed and I showed her my family photo I had brought with me from the wedding just over a week before. She knelt down in front of me and she said you need to get well so you can get home to them! I began to feel encouragement to build back some strength.
Sometimes it’s physical complications, sometimes it’s mental. We have less control over physical difficulties, but we can’t succumb to the mental game. Discouragement, doubt, and fear, can be consuming, even debilitating. That is why we need our warriors behind, beside and in front of us. Encouragement found me in that low moment. I began the difficult road to recovery.
Five years was the magic number. CT scans, and monitoring for the first five years, but if you make it to five years without a recurrence, the likelihood of it returning drop significantly. This summer will be five years for me since that surgery at MD Anderson. At my one year check up, it was confirmed that I was pregnant! In shock, we became a miracle. I met with my oncologist and I told her I believed it was a sign I needed to focus on living, and stop thinking about death. She agreed.