MISDIAGNOSED! NOW THE FIGHT WAS ON...

Fast forward to 2008 – 4 years ago.  I was now working in the medical profession and had been for a number of years.  I had gone back to school to study Medical Systems Technology – sort of a cross between nursing and computer data collection.  I worked with doctors every day and was involved in the testing of some of the newest and best (sometimes worst) drugs in the pipeline.  I began having strange abdominal symptoms.  I talked it over with my primary physician and agreed to an ultrasound. 

The results were in: nothing but a “harmless” ovarian cyst which had ruptured.  Lots of fluid in the abdominal cavity, but I was told my body would re-absorb it.  I was told it was nothing serious and it would go away on its own.  I was told to go home and not worry about it.  WRONG!  All the alarm bells were going off in my head.  I had never had an ovarian cyst in all of my 63 years.  Why now?  And no follow-up???  That seemed very odd.  To make things even worse, this was a doctor I had worked with for years, considered a friend, and actually respected for his diagnostic abilities.  I had just been misdiagnosed and, to this day, he has never had the guts to apologize or acknowledge his error.  Obviously, he’s no longer my doctor!

Back to the test results: fortunately for me, I don’t believe everything I’m told.  When it comes to my health, I believe in listening to my own body.  Some doctors over the years haven’t always been too fond of my questioning nature. But, be that as it may, I faxed a copy of the report to my gynecologist and was immediately scheduled for another scan.  Once again I began the “Just To Be Sure” journey of tests and biopsies and surgeries. 

My gynecologist became my first guardian angel of this siege.  She ordered a variety of tests and called me with the unpleasant results. (For those of you who like statistics and understand the ambiguous CA-125 test, I had gone from 2.1 six months prior to 487.)  She immediately scheduled me with a relatively new specialist in our area.  He is a Gynecologic Oncologist, one of a very small and elite specialty in this country – and the current Leader of my band of angels.   This time around, it was primary peritoneal and ovarian cancer.  Had I gone home and not worried about it, as had been originally suggested, I’d be on the other side of the mulch today. (My son dislikes that expression, but it’s true!)

I was scheduled for the new DaVinci Robot-Assisted surgical procedure on August 21, 2008 (my Dad’s birthday).  This procedure would have meant less chance of infection and a faster healing time.  The extent of the cancer turned out to be more expansive than originally thought so a full incision was done.  Five and a half hours later, I was in post-op with my husband and daughter telling me I would be fine.  “They got it all!” 

As I was about to find out, this type of cancer is insidious.  Cells lie silent and furtive only to smugly reappear months or years later.  The fight was on!

SURVIVAL  TIP:       BE PROACTIVE!  Don’t accept information that, in your heart, you believe is wrong.  YOU must be your own advocate!

JUST TO BE SURE!!!

My cancer journey began early in November of 1975 when I felt a lump.  I was 30, recently re-married, and the Mom of 2 little ones.  It seemed to appear out of nowhere and it would vanish for days on end, only to re-appear more painful than ever. 

My gynecologist said it was probably an inflamed gland and, most likely, would be gone in a week or so.  “Don’t worry!” he said.  “After all, pain is not a symptom of breast cancer.  Plus, you’re way too young!”  However, he did suggest that I have a mammogram, “Just to be sure.”

A local radiologist, after thoroughly evaluating my mammogram, assured me that it was, most likely, a clogged milk gland.  He couldn’t explain the pain, but, as he said, “Pain s good!  Breast cancer doesn’t hurt.”  He did urge me, however, to get a surgeon’s opinion, “Just to be sure.”

The chief of surgery at St. John’s Riverside repeated all the same adages with one exception: he wanted to do an excisional biopsy, “Just to be sure.” 

The day of the biopsy arrived and I was handed a Comprehensive Consent Form for Surgery.  My ingrained obsession with control refused to allow me to sign anything that gave anyone permission to “perform whatever procedures he/she deemed necessary.”  As my medical chart said in big bold letters, I agreed AMA (Against Medical Advice) only to a lumpectomy. 

Thank God all those medical professionals kept pushing me just one more step along the way.  It turned out to be a very aggressive form of breast cancer, caught in the early stages. The surgeon ultimately convinced me to have the second surgery, the modified radical mastectomy, with these magical words:  “Better a live Mom with one breast than a dead one with two.”  That did it! 

Husbands had gotten a bad reputation during those years about their method of dealing with breast cancer.  Some withdrew from the emotional pain and suffering; some ran from the disfigurement – or so I’d been told.  My young, newlywed, tower of strength stood at my bedside, holding my hand, saying he loved me – no matter what! – And he has for the past 38 years. 

For each of the next three days, following the second surgery, I was given three consecutive treatments of chemotherapy.  The logic was to destroy any errant cells that might have broken loose during the surgery - hopefully before they could set up residency somewhere else in my body.  I can remember myself fighting against the chemo.  In those days, I truly believed that, ultimately, the drugs were more deadly than the cancer.  While I’m still not a big fan of chemotherapy drugs, I have come to appreciate the amazing advances that have taken place over the past three decades.  The logic they used then was sound and I never had another treatment; I never took another anti-cancer drug; and I have never had a recurrence of the breast cancer.

I convinced the doctors to let me come home on Christmas Eve.  My little ones deserved a little normalcy in their lives – we all did.  The tree was up and we had managed some shopping and wrapping.  Of course, Santa had done the largest part! 

My fire officer husband had to work the day shift, but he put a turkey in the oven before he left; gathered a group of our friends to help and join us that evening; and he even called me the night before to go over my pumpkin pie recipe.  Amazing!!!

He kissed me goodbye that Christmas morning and told me the kids were still sleeping.  My intent was to get up and get dressed and be out by the tree before they awoke.  Well, best laid plans...etc., etc.  I woke up at 10:30 and panicked.  I walked to the living room and saw my 2 little angels sitting on the couch looking at the gifts – but not touching.  When I tried to apologize for making them wait, they said “Mommy, it wouldn’t be any fun without you.”  They have given me so much love and joy and pride over the years, but never as much as at that moment. 

Well, thanks to my BIG BOSS , all those conscientious doctors, and the support and prayers of my family and friends,  I’m still here.  It would have been easy for them to believe the facts that were in front of them – I was too young, the lump came and went; it wasn’t a classic case of breast cancer – at least not in 1975.  It would have been easy to dismiss the evasive lump, but they didn’t.  Each one said pretty much the same thing – I don’t think it’s anything, but let’s do one more test – Just to be Sure!

I spent the next 33 years unknowingly preparing for the next onslaught – Primary Peritoneal/Ovarian Cancer.  The most difficult battle of my life!         TYG4e

SURVIVAL  TIPS: BE AWARE of your own body.  No one knows it like you do.  Stand up for yourself and your rights.  You're worth it!!!

Love May Be Lovlier the 2nd Time Around – But 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 4th – CANCER STILL SUCKS!!!

CANCER  is a vile, despicable, contemptible, gutless, cowardly excuse for a disease.  It can travel faster than a speeding bullet; it’s deadlier than a C-5 tornado, and as unexpected as an earthquake.  It buries itself under cover of healthy tissue in innocent, unsuspecting bodies only to emerge violent and aggressive with vengeful delight. It thrives on devastation and destruction.  It feeds on anguish and pain.  If it had a mind, it would be perverted, twisted and demented.  If it had a face, it would be uglier and more gruesome than the bloodiest Halloween mask.  But this monster does have a face, doesn’t it?  It has millions of faces – mine is only one of them.  It strikes when you least expect it – it catches you off guard, midstream, mid-life, mid-hopes and dreams. Wow, I guess I needed to vent!  

My name is Kathleen and I’m a three-time CANCER survivor

and a current CANCER patient!

I’ll be turning 67 in a few weeks. Not a bad age, really.  I’ve retired; I collect Social Security; I get a lot of senior citizens’ discounts (my husband qualifies for the ones I don’t get!);  I don’t think I look OLD – most of the time.  I have time to crochet – which I love – and read – which I also love but don’t do enough of.  Corny as it sounds, I’m married to my very best friend – 38 years today!  Years ago, if someone had asked us who our best friends were, I think we would both have named other people.  He probably would have said Ron or one of his fireman buddies.  I might have said Fran or Eileen or Janet or Arlene.  Best Friends, though, don’t just appear.  A relationship that close takes work, and patience, and love.  It has to be nurtured.  Good times must be celebrated, and bad times shared – secrets kept and hurts forgiven.  Boy that sounds an awful lot like marriage.  I guess we’ve always been best friends.  He’s also now my #1 Guardian Angel! 

I have two wonderful children, a daughter and a son.  They were the magnificent outcome of a not so magnificent first marriage.  It’s funny how life does that to us.  When I look closely at some of my “less than brilliant” life choices, I see that occasionally I have been left  with something wonderful - in this case, two intelligent, considerate, gentle and truly nice people – my children.  They’re on my list of great friends, too – right up there with the best one.  Ironically, also on that list, is their father – my ex-husband.  He’s also very high on my husband’s list of friends.  We do lead a strange life, but a good one! 

My BOSS (the Ultimate one) has also blessed me with the three cutest, brightest, most truly amazing grandchildren on this earth.  No, honestly, mine REALLY are!  I believe that we all learn something from everyone we come in contact with – good or bad – but we do learn.  These little ones have taught me more than all the books and years combined. Humility, prudence, restraint, humor, courage, faith, hope, and more love than I thought possible – taught by the infant who trusts me enough to fall asleep in my arms, or the future karate champion who’s exhausted and just a little frightened, but refuses to give up.

I’ve been blessed with so much in my life – I’ve also been “blessed” with CANCER, now for the fourth time.  But I will survive this assault as well.  This recent recurrence has me thinking a lot about this slimy excuse for a disease – even more so about my reaction to it over the years.  It changes you and surprises you in ways you just don’t see coming. 

It’s not my intention to make this blog about how CANCER can make you a better person or how wonderful things can come out of the devastation.  I have personal proof that both do happen, but that’s not what I need to get out of my system.  I like to think I have learned a few things along the way that may benefit some of you or someone you love.  I like to think I’ve acquired some humor about it and even a survival tip or two that may be of use to someone else.  I hope you’ll join me on my journey through Remission, Recurrence, and Resilience!  

SURVIVAL  TIPS:  ASAP - Always Say A Prayer.  When things seem overwhelming, I always pray to my BIG  BOSS  - the One with ALL the answers!