posted Monday, 1 May 2006
I typically like to keep my blogs focused on the positive - those who love me and the strength that I have derived from their love. Your friendship and support is what has gotten me through this journey in one piece. I am now done with treatment, cancer-free, back at work... one might even suggest "back to normal". The battle may be over, but I am starting to realize that the war may never end. Cancer will be a part of who I am for the rest of my life. And sometimes that really sucks.
I went in for my annual appointment with my gynecologist today (don't worry, I will spare you the details). Girls, I'm sure you'll all agree that this is never a fun trip. Little did I know just how difficult this trip would now be for me.
First, this is where it all started. I can remember sitting in this very waiting room, unsure of what this lump was... waiting for hours after my visit with the dr so that they could squeeze me in for an ultrasound... and so the journey began...
While I was there, I also had to go in for a pelvic ultrasound, screening my ovaries for ovarian cancer (due to my BRCA 1+ status, I am at high risk for ovarian cancer and need screening every six months). They call me back and I change into the gown. He begins with an external ultrasound, lubing up my belly with gel and firing up the machine. As I lay there, my head to the side so that I can watch on the monitor, I am suddenly struck by just how messed up this scene is. It's just like they show on tv... but instead of smiling... crying... and seeing my first glance of my unborn child.... I am looking at my shrunken ovaries... making sure there are no signs of cancer. Tears that rarely surface find their way to the edge and trickle down my face. There is noplace to turn, without being bombarded: framed ultrasounds on the walls, an advertisement to purchase a video of your baby's first ultrasound, the happy, expecting women in the waiting room... this place is a young cancer survivor's worst nightmare.
I finish the ultrasound early (half an hour before my dr appt) and head out to the parking lot to release. Mike, who to this point has not seen me cry (despite becoming one of the closest friends in my life... during one of the most trying times of my life), receives my desperate phone call. He is actually on his way out of town (after visiting for the weekend) and offers to take a detour on his way home to spend the afternoon with me (my dr is over an hour north of my house, so not totally out of the way... but really not on the way either).
After a 20 minute break from the madness, I dry my eyes and head back into the waiting room. Heck, I've been through so much this past year... what's one more trial? They call my name and I head back with the nurse. Weight and then into the room for blood pressure. She kindly tells me how they have all been thinking about me so much over the past year. The tech who did my initial ultrasound has asked how I am doing... and again, I am broken. Thank goodness for the drug reps who leave boxes of tissues for the docs... whether they influence prescribing, I don't know... but they did come in handy.
I know that most of my blog rings forth with sounds of bravery and triumph. I haven't written in a very long time because I could not bring my self to think about this event... though I could not just skip over it either. Only time will tell if my ovaries were tough enough to withstand the poison my body was doused with. This definitely stands as the most emotionally challenging hurdle this journey has placed in my way. I know that the outcome does not define whether or not I will have a family. There are plenty of children in the world in need of love. I just wish that this choice was one that I was allowed to make myself.
I went in for my annual appointment with my gynecologist today (don't worry, I will spare you the details). Girls, I'm sure you'll all agree that this is never a fun trip. Little did I know just how difficult this trip would now be for me.
First, this is where it all started. I can remember sitting in this very waiting room, unsure of what this lump was... waiting for hours after my visit with the dr so that they could squeeze me in for an ultrasound... and so the journey began...
While I was there, I also had to go in for a pelvic ultrasound, screening my ovaries for ovarian cancer (due to my BRCA 1+ status, I am at high risk for ovarian cancer and need screening every six months). They call me back and I change into the gown. He begins with an external ultrasound, lubing up my belly with gel and firing up the machine. As I lay there, my head to the side so that I can watch on the monitor, I am suddenly struck by just how messed up this scene is. It's just like they show on tv... but instead of smiling... crying... and seeing my first glance of my unborn child.... I am looking at my shrunken ovaries... making sure there are no signs of cancer. Tears that rarely surface find their way to the edge and trickle down my face. There is noplace to turn, without being bombarded: framed ultrasounds on the walls, an advertisement to purchase a video of your baby's first ultrasound, the happy, expecting women in the waiting room... this place is a young cancer survivor's worst nightmare.
I finish the ultrasound early (half an hour before my dr appt) and head out to the parking lot to release. Mike, who to this point has not seen me cry (despite becoming one of the closest friends in my life... during one of the most trying times of my life), receives my desperate phone call. He is actually on his way out of town (after visiting for the weekend) and offers to take a detour on his way home to spend the afternoon with me (my dr is over an hour north of my house, so not totally out of the way... but really not on the way either).
After a 20 minute break from the madness, I dry my eyes and head back into the waiting room. Heck, I've been through so much this past year... what's one more trial? They call my name and I head back with the nurse. Weight and then into the room for blood pressure. She kindly tells me how they have all been thinking about me so much over the past year. The tech who did my initial ultrasound has asked how I am doing... and again, I am broken. Thank goodness for the drug reps who leave boxes of tissues for the docs... whether they influence prescribing, I don't know... but they did come in handy.
I know that most of my blog rings forth with sounds of bravery and triumph. I haven't written in a very long time because I could not bring my self to think about this event... though I could not just skip over it either. Only time will tell if my ovaries were tough enough to withstand the poison my body was doused with. This definitely stands as the most emotionally challenging hurdle this journey has placed in my way. I know that the outcome does not define whether or not I will have a family. There are plenty of children in the world in need of love. I just wish that this choice was one that I was allowed to make myself.
Comments:
1. Katie left...
Monday, 5 June 2006 10:37 am
Thank you for being honest and sharing this experience on your blog. This is real and this is part of it. Pain is part of this journey; hearing you acknowledge your sadness and anger is good to hear, a relief to hear. It doesn't make you less brave or not optimistic, it makes you real, and even more lovable. What is that saying...a well behaved woman never changed history...or something like that. (Also, your curls cause you to be more lovable as well)
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