September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. This disease barely registered with me until my mom showed up on my doorstep the day after I got home from my honeymoon and told me she had a tumour the size of a grapefruit. She’s here today to tell her cancer story.
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How do you survive a cancer that has a 30% survival rate? It’s been 7 years since my surgery and I have long since been declared free of ovarian cancer, but I’m still not sure of the secret. Truly I think my time had not come. However, in addition to good care I firmly believe positive thinking and a huge dose of support are key.
Just before our oldest daughter’s wedding – first wedding, oldest of four – we were putting the the last details of The Plan in place. The couple wanted a relaxed get together with out of town guests so we planned a buffet at our house after the rehearsal.
I was feeling not so good. Unusually for me I decided to go to the doctor; I didn’t want to be sick for the wedding. If not for that wedding I doubt I’d have made it.
“How long have you had this growth?” my doctor asked.
“What growth?” was my response.
I’d read about the signs of ovarian cancer but there was no family history so I didn’t think it could happen to me. As it turned out I did have several of the signs.
By the Tuesday before the wedding I’d had blood tests. My CA125 score was really high, six times what it should be. An ultrasound was scheduled. The technician, looking serious, promised to have the result to my doctor by Friday. I told her to wait until after the wedding but it was there that afternoon, which seemed like a bad sign.
An MRI was scheduled for Thursday. My husband and I sneaked away saying we were picking up supplies for Friday’s dinner. By then I knew it was serious but (fortunately) didn’t have time to think. And of course we couldn’t tell anyone. How could we tell the other kids if I didn’t tell the bride? And how could they keep a secret like that? On the other hand for me not talking about it may have carried me through!
The wedding was wonderful, a huge success. I don’t remember much but do have one flash of memory, quoting an Ogden Nash poem during the speech I made on behalf of my husband and me: “To keep your marriage brimming, With love in the loving cup, Whenever you’re wrong admit it, Whenever you’re right, shut up.”
When it was done my marvellous gynaecologist oncologist suggested I do a course of chemotherapy “in case of rogue cells”. She was pretty sure she’d got it all and she would like to declare me cured before she retired. My family said I wasn’t through with life yet. (Remember that positive thinking component?)After that it was reality time. I was at the top of the surgery list and in at the first cancellation. The Universe decided it was to be right after the honeymooners got home.
My city has a terrific treatment facility due to a generous donation. The chemo room is surrounded by windows and trees. And I am truly blessed in my family. One of the kids came each time I went to my day-long chemo treatment. My husband (who had to skip the IV insertion part because of needle phobia) brought lunch. There was never nothing to do or nothing to say.
I had a few days of miserable neuralgia each time but limited nausea because of the timely invention of a good anti-nausea drug. I was bald and puffy from steroids and my energy was low but I never doubted I could make it. I even worked part of the time. What I remember now is the sea of love. That was the most important therapy.
My out of town daughter sent me a lovely journal suggesting I keep a sunshine journal, putting in only things that made me smile. (I am on the 4th one now and still smiling.) She invited me to come on a soul journey after chemo was over, to drive to the mountains for an injection of peace, hope and serenity.
A friend sent me to a wonderful alternative treatment program during the chemotherapy time.
My oldest daughter came with me and also gave me a treasured silver bell charm from her wedding to wear.
My son, who was both working and commuting to Vancouver for classes, came to one chemo treatment, supposedly for an hour and stayed 4 hours, causing him to miss his ferry and his class.
My healer daughter supported me in listening to my body rather than well meant advice and found me a wonderful cancer patient yoga CD which I still use.
People made marvellous soups and dropped them off. People sent plants and flowers. My son-in-law gave me mind-bending crossword puzzles. My husband did the cooking. My cherished colleague said, “go away and heal” and looked after my business. Another friend sent me some wonderful meditation CDs. How could I not get better?
Out of meditation came a couple of lullabies that appeared in my head for (then nonexistent) grandchildren. That was when I knew it was going to be okay for sure. I don’t know how to write music down. I had to be here to sing them myself.
Grandma and Connor when he was a couple of hours old
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I will be forever grateful that my mom’s cancer was caught in time for her to be treated and fully recover. Please make sure you know the symptoms. Your grandchildren will be grateful.
PS The colour of my blog – similar to ovarian cancer teal – is a total coincidence, and one I only caught today. I think it was meant to be.
Seriously, can I just revel in that for a minute? We were just about to have dinner on Friday when I saw the note from the editor, so I clicked on over and, oh mah lord, there’s my name in the contributor list. On Amazon!
