So, for the first time, really since all this began, I feel comforted, medically taken care of and like there’s really a bridge to the other side. It looks really pretty over there.
Today, I had my appointment with my doc, and she has referred me to the Mayo Clinic. It’s not that I feel that these guys don’t know what they’re talking about, or don’t know their field, but she said to me herself that this is East Lansing, Michigan. Cutting Edge and Michigan don’t really belong in the same sentence – ever. She said “Listen, we are human. Ovarian Cancer is pretty much the worst cancer you can get, and if we missed even a few cells, that’s a problem.” Ovarian cancer is known for metastasizing all over the body, and it’s a scary thing. A very scary thing. She said to me, “If this were me this were happening to, I would be in my car, on the way to the Mayo Clinic. And that’s what I’m recommending for you. We will coordinate the slide transfer, and then they can manage your treatment here, from there.”
I am not really the crying sort. When life presents challenges, I fight. I’m a “Alright, let’s pick a battle and get started” Type of person. Today, I cried. I called Mayo, and explained everything that’s happened, I read my path results: Cervical Dysplasia, Severe Dyplasia, Carcinoma in Situ, Dysmenorrhea, double uterus (for the googlers, that’s Bi-Cornuate), Ovarian Cyst, Borderline Ovarian Carcinoma of the Left and Right Ovaries, adhesions on the bladder, cervix, uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries.
The gal I talked to at Mayo, Mary was very kind. She has already assigned me a doctor, and they are discussing what tests I need done prior to getting there. They will call me and my doctor back with those tests by Monday. I will likely go to Minnesota mid-next week or the beginning of the week of the 21st of September.
She put me on hold like 3 times. And all three times, I sat there, lower lip quivering, chanting “Don’t Cry, Don’t Cry, Don’t Cry.” It’s not that I’m getting treatment that made me cry – it’s that there’s finally a plan, there’s something tangible to hold onto.
I will be receiving chemotherapy. I will likely have that here, not in Minnesota, and I’m good with that. I’d rather be home. I will lose my hair. I will get sick. I will be very ill. And, then, I will get better, my hair will grow back, and I will get to live.
It was my personal goal to get through this without chemo. That was still a good goal, because it gave me something to focus on. Now, my focus is on the fact that the best doctors in the entire world will be responsible for signing the orders for my care. They will have a team of doctors that will discuss my treatment, not behind closed doors – but with me. The will work for me, with me, and on behalf of me to allow me to live a full life, to watch my boys graduate, get married, start their careers and have children of their own. They will allow me to love my husband unconditionally for many more years, as he has loved me. They will allow me to hold the hand of my best friend, traipsing through New York City as we pave our professional journeys forward. They will allow me to complete my own personal bucket list, where the number one to-do on the list reads 1.) Live on purpose, with purpose with no regrets.
Another thing that Dr. Kelly recommended was BRC1/BRC2 testing. Those tests are genetic markers that determine your odds for breast and ovarian. Obviously, I have ovarian cancer, so likely, I’ve got the gene. If I have BRC1, I will need to have my breasts removed. Most people would be pissed about this, I’m thinking – Well, FINALLY, I’ll get a boob job. 
(I jest. Sort of.) So, one of the Mayo tasks to do is to go through the genetic counseling while I’m out there, find out if I have it, and then we’ll also make that decision then too. I’d be pretty pissed to go through all of this with ovarian to find out in a year or two that I’m dying of breast cancer. So, we’ll nip (ha) that in the bud now, and the perk is that they’ll perk again. Let’s be honest. 3 kids? Yeah, my breasts haven’t looked towards the sky in 10 years.
So, anyway, the tears I’m crying today are of gratitude. Like I was telling Christina this morning, I don’t mind doing a shit ton of work – as long as I know it’s my responsibility, what needs to be done, and I can have a second to map it out, I will nail every detail and I will make it look effortless. Likewise, I can deal with cancer. I just need a plan, an itinerary, someone who is the end-all-be-all of experts on the subject to learn from, and I will nail every detail, I will overcome it, and I will make it look effortless.
Now, the next decision to be made is do I go with the hot-pink Britney wig or something a little more understated? The obvious perk to the Britney wig is how cool would it be if my wig and chemo puke bucket matched?
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Love you forever my bestest friend. I’ll be right here, NMW… beside you and with you all, as we find our way to the other side. It will be beautiful, it is beautiful to see the Light across the bridge, just waiting to be lived.
I’m glad you are feeling gratitude and are now able to know what your path forward is with this. I am sorry for the bad stuff ahead but I hope it all leads to the long beautiful life you describe.
Also, I must admit I laughed at and identified with your mastectomy comments. It’s not a thought I willingly have, since I figure I might be jinxing myself and, more importantly, it is so disrespectful to all the women who have had no choice but to have their breasts removed, but in my least rational moments I have thought that maybe a prosthesis wouldn’t be such a bad thing. We’re supposed to have logic-defying perfectly shaped, firm, perky boobs until we are at least 80, which is at least possible using molded plastic technology if not human tissue.
P.S. I vote for the Britney wig.
i hope your doing ok. i miss you and the boys a great deal. come home healthy. the girls and i love you very much.
love ya
your sister
amanda