It's unpleasant to talk about, but here goes.
Back in May, I had my annual gynecology appointment. Admittedly, I only keep up with them because I'm on birth control and need my yearly prescription refill. Perhaps that reason alone has saved my life, or at least saved me from some terrible medical problems. All seemed fine during the visit. Greg and I were in Cancun later that month, and when I came home I had a voicemail from the gynecologist's office to call them. I did, and was told that while my PAP was clear, my HPV test came back positive for strain 16, one of the high risk strains for cancer. I was very upset, wondering how I had contracted such a thing after so many years, but after some time of research I found that 80% of women have some strain of HPV, and it's the main cause of abnormal PAPs leading to dysplasia and, rarely, cancer. Feeling a little better, I made an appointment to have a colposcopy, which is when the doctor closely looks at the cervix to make sure the PAP didn't miss anything. When it was over, the doctor mentioned to me that she found a very tiny spot, but it didn't strike her to be anything major so she expected the results to come back clean. Yeah, I wish. Leaving the office, I felt good and thought I would see her again in about a year for my next check-up.
One week passed, and I received a call from the office that the biopsy came back abnormal. Great, I though, I probably have some mild dysplasia and I'm sure it's a very minor procedure to treat. No big deal. Greg had planned to go to the appointment with me to discuss the results, but his hospital was under survey and no one was allowed to take any personal time off. I didn't think it was a big deal. I know many women who have had dysplasia and it's really not a big deal. So off I went to the doctor. Alone.
As I sat in the room, I was a little uneasy. I do have some pretty moderate anxiety on the best of days, so even minor medical issues can trigger some severe anxiety. When my doctor walked in, I could tell by her body language that the news wasn't good.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Rando. I have some bad news. Your biopsy came back positive for adinocarcinoma. You have cancer"
Wait, what?????
When you hear that word, a million things go through your head. No, she can't be talking about me and but I'm so healthy, I go to the gym 4-5 days a week and eat the right things or even you have the wrong person's medical records in front of you, there was some kind of mixup. You try so hard to wrap your mind around what you were just told, but it's impossible. Everything the doctor tells you goes through one ear and out the other because you're so fixated on that one word. That one word that literally just smashed your whole world into a million, tiny pieces that would be impossible to piece back together. You know you would never be the same. The, another word stuck with me. Hysterectomy.
At 31, a hysterectomy, when Greg and I haven't decided completely on kids yet.
I cried with the doctor, but held it together as much as possible while walking to my car. As soon as the door closed behind me, I lost it completely. I called Greg, who didn't answer. So I called my mom. All I could get out was "Mom, I have cancer." I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. Finally when Greg called me back moments later, I was of course still sobbing. I immediately drove to his hospital to get him (as we only have one car here in Texas). He asked me questions that I couldn't answer. So we drove back to the doctor so Greg could talk to her. She mentioned to Greg that she thought the biopsy could have removed all the cancer in that spot, but that I would need a cone biopsy to be sure. It's something that has to be done as outpatient in a hospital and I would be put to sleep. My first IV. Great. Thank goodness my doctor prescribed me xanex to get through all this, because I would need it.
I came home and laid in a ball and cried. When you're diagnosed, for some reason it doesn't matter whether it's 100% treatable (as in my case) or not. You feel broken. Your body feels broken. You're heartbroken, and scared, and anxious, and depressed. I didn't have the energy to call anyone else except to call my mom back and explain the situation to her. I know she was heartbroken too. Any mother would be. And I had no idea what to expect moving forward. Hysterectomy was the worst possible case if my biopsy came back positive. I prayed to my grandfather that it wouldn't. I popped a xanex which put me right to sleep.
I had to make an appointment with an oncology gynecologist. An oncologist. A cancer doctor. A doctor I pray you, as a reader, never have to see. An appointment I wish you never have to make. I'm very thankful the office called me with an appointment because I was having a hard time making myself do.
The next week, my cone biopsy was scheduled for that Thursday. I was so scared. So incredibly scared. Greg assured me it would be ok. That it's a minor procedure and I'll have the best sleep in my life when I'm put out. We get to the hospital that Thursday morning, and I was a mess. The poor nurse that had to take my history and give me the IV. She had to numb my hand first to make me feel better about getting it. I was in tears and hyperventilating while she gave it to me. Looking back I thought it was the IV, but I think it was just the culmination of everything I was dealing with internally. My friends Mel and Kristin came to visit me, since they work in the hopsital I had my procedure done in. They sat with Greg and I for about 45 minutes trying their hardest to make me feel better, and I can't thank them enough for that. I did settle down while they were around. I was sedated after talking to all the doctors to make me relax more and was wheeled off. I woke up to a burning feeling from a catheter they apparently placed in me while out. It burned like hell, let me tell you. But other than that I felt fine. I was wheeled out to the car about 30 minutes later and was home resting soon after. Still, today, I'm healing from the biopsy. It's a bitch. For the first week I couldn't do anything, and I'm on week 2 now with at least another week of healing time. They basically take a cone-shaped chunk out where the cancer was found and, I assume, stitch it up. It's not a simple nip. I wasn't even allowed to walk the dogs until recently.
Thankfully, my cone biopsy came back negative, which is very good, but only really buys me time. The cancer, if not in another place already, will come back. This just means Greg and I have some decisions to make on children. And we have to do it, like, now. Because as soon as we're done, those parts have to come out. It's nerve racking, in the least.
My oncology appointment was this past Tuesday. The doctor basically reiterated what my gynecologist had already told me. He has requested I get an MRI to determine whether there are lesions in my uterus. He doesn't believe there will be, as he and my normal gynecologist believe they have caught this in the earliest stage they could have. I guess I should share some information on the cancer I have:
Adinocarcinoma. It does not spread past my reproductive organs, so no chemotherapy or radiation will be necessary. Even though it may have been remove in one spot, it sends local satellite cells to other parts of the cervix. If left long enough, it can move into the uterus. It is also slow growing, which is why we are safe waiting for a few years before surgery. It's also important to note that this cancer is not the cancer caused by the HPV strain I have. That cancer is much, much worse and I'm thankful I don't have that. In fact, if my HPV test had not come back positive, they would not have found it. Lucky for me, I guess, that HPV could have saved my life. Wouldn't that make a good title for a book?
I'm currently scheduled for my MRI in September with a follow up the following week to discuss the results. From there, I will be checked very closely to make sure it's not coming back while we wait to make a decision about children. I'm not happy about the waiting. If I had my way, they would just remove it now so I could move on with my life and be done with it.
So, why am I sharing this for the internet to see? Because, my friends, if this can happen to me, then it can happen to you as well. If I, a 31 year old who cares about her body, who exercises more than not and who has completely switched to organic, non-gmo foods, who rarely eats unhealthy can have this, then so can you. I don't mean to frighten, but it's true. Cancer doesn't discriminate. It just happens. It's a part of life. Women, if you haven't made an appointment to a gyno recently, do it. Get checked. The most recent guidelines are every 3 years until 30 then every 5. But if your insurance pays for a yearly visit like mine does, then go. Just go. It's also good screening for breast cancer. Men, get prostate exams and colonoscopies, and get blood work checked. I haven't had that done in years and now want to. Just do it. It's better to be proactive than not, and i may have been singing a different tune if I didn't get checked as regularly as I do.
I guess I also just need this blog as a coping mechanism. Greg has been so strong, since we've had a lot to deal with before this happened. Stresses of life, that I won't share here, because they seem so trivial compared to what we're dealing with now. But also because I don't want to bother someone everytime I break down in tears, like I do regularly, though not as much as I was after the first diagnosis. Perhaps this journey will also be something I can look back on when all is said and done and pat myself on the back for going through something so scary. Perhaps it will make me a braver person, a stronger person.
You know, it's funny. Even after living with this for a few months now, I still have issues saying the "C' word. I didn't even like typing it. It feels like a dream. A dream that I can't wake up from. Or a very bad movie. Something that isn't real. I remember telling Greg that it felt like a nightmare and that all I wanted to do was wake up.
I don't know when I'll post this. It's going to take a lot of courage to do so. But, I found this saying that has taken me through this entire process and I'm sticking with it.
And just keep in mind, that when life gets tough, things can always be worse. The one thing I wish I could say right now is "at least I have my health" and I can't for the first time in my life. And all I want is my health back.
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