Personal Experience of being diagnosed with Uterine Cancer going through treatment, surviving and sharing what and who helped me cope.
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“Poisoned, bald and still standing” Five months ago, today I woke up very early to head to the gym knowing that I would be hearing the results of the biopsy I had gotten 4 days earlier. Waiting 4 days for test results is decidedly inhumane but I had kept myself busy with work and reassurances that nothing was wrong. Surprisingly, I slept very soundly and woke up ready, not for good news but maybe some mildly inconvenient news. Still hoping…at the gym my friend and I had a quick pow wow and assessment by the double-end bag, and we both concluded I was probably fine. Even though, deep in my soul, I knew it wasn’t going to be fine. You see, the day of the biopsy, I told the Dr. through tears that I had cancer. She, of course told me there could be many reasons causing my symptoms and that we needed to wait until the results came in to be sure. But, I already knew. Call it intuition, call it fear, call it whatever works for you, I knew what it was, and I was scared! So, as I attempted to remain calm…moving through my “phone call” morning routine, pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary. At 7:23 am, my neighbor texted me to ask me to take her to the emergency room. She fell working out and thinks she has broken her wrist. Relief for me and sympathy for her, I swung by and picked her up relieved to have the focus on her taking the dread from my swirling, freaked out brain. After a full morning of chauffeuring I made it to my office. No sooner had I parked my car, the phone rang. The silence in my car was deafening. I answered, hearing my Dr.’s voice. (It is never good news when the Doctor vs the nurse calls.) “Lisa, is this a good time,” she said - her voice trailing off into a mumble. Or maybe she said it clear as day. I wouldn’t know because from that point on, I could only hear a fog horn blaring in my head. An all-encompassing moan of panic. “It’s happening!” I practically screamed as I waited on her to continue the conversation. I was borderline manic. I wanted to hear what she was saying, but that crazy horn was relentlessly screaming inside me, and I knew what it was telling me. In between the fog horn in my head, I heard “cancer,” “you were right,” “you have a strong intuition,” blah, blah, blah! It’s been 5 months since that day. When I was first diagnosed, I felt alone and betrayed by my body. I wondered if I was going to die. I wondered why I didn’t know anyone else my age with cancer. I did not know a single other person who had experienced this at my age, and that unknown was terrifying, like a menacing smile in the dark. At times, it has felt like I’ve lived an entire decade since then. My body believes it’s 20 years older. It seems comfortable, settling into its early retirement, happily getting rid of a lot of its duties and lavishly padding itself with the extra fat. My brain doesn’t feel the same way, mourning the loss of many parts of me. Some parts are tangible: But some things that were taken from me can’t be measured, such as the ability to ever think “It’s probably nothing.” Some days I feel like a warrior. Some days I feel an absolute state of bliss as I attempt to relinquish control over things I can’t change. Sometimes I feel the support of thousands of people. Other days, I feel alone, though I never am. Some days, I feel cancer was the greatest gift I ever received. Other times, I feel robbed by a cunning and masterful thief who has ransacked my body, taken what it wanted and hoping it puts everything back almost the way they found it. For 5 months, I have been myself, plus something else. There are very rare days nothing hurts…stomach, headache, bone pain and severe nausea! Friends, savor your good days and your good health. Take care of yourself and listen to your body. Exercise, eat healthy, drink lots of water. I can’t help but ask myself, “How do you measure a month?” In vials of blood. In body parts lost. In dollars that chemo saved me in shampoo and hair color. In dollars I spent in fantastic wigs. In the amount of people who have told me they’ve lost a loved one. In jokes I tried to make with my oncologists that landed flat (they’re a tough crowd.) In tears. In more tears. In milestones. In new friendships gained and friendship lost. In the lessons I learned and the ones I’m still too stubborn to receive. In times I surprised myself. In minutes I’ve laughed when I should have cried and in times I felt more loved than humanly possible. Today, I will celebrate. I woke up with the prospect of another new client. I will continue to work on my job that I am deeply in love with. And I will be one step closer to something missing. What is it…? Oh yeah. Cancer.
