I’m sitting here nestled on the couch, surrounded by boxes, finishing a hot bowl of my grandmother’s Japanese soup, and trying to find the words to relay the last couple weeks of my life. The only descriptions I can come up with are “blessed” and “forever changed.”
Yes, our move forever changes our environment. But something happened this past week that has changed me physically forever.
This has been a VERY stressful year for me. Between the school I worked for closing, our move, and my career changes, my daily life has given me anxiety for the first time in my usually positive outlook.
On top of that, I had a hard fall down our stone steps a couple of months ago. It happened on a cold rainy day. I was rushing because I was late picking up Riker from school. I miss stepped halfway down, and found myself catapulting toward the concrete. Head first. I immediately prayed for God’s protection. It happened in slow motion, but I suddenly found myself in a sitting position on the ground. I’d twisted in such a way that didn’t seem humanly possible, because it wasn’t. I firmly believe God saved me. It wouldn’t be until this past week that’d I’d find out the full extent of that saving grace.
I first became aware of something wrong on black Friday. I started feeling discomfort in my lower abdomen. My stomach began to bloat. I thought maybe it was the Thanksgiving food, and then the leftovers. God knows, I loved indulging with family on that day! But the discomfort grew to pain. I ate healthier, I exercised more, but the bloating and pain grew as the week stretched into the next. On Friday, December 6th, I started to bleed on a day I wasn’t supposed to. I knew something had to be seriously wrong, but I continued to work toward our move.
An hour later I slipped down our basement stairs while moving boxes. The bleeding turned to large clots. This is the moment I became scared. (It sounds like I fall down stairs a lot, but I swear I’ve NEVER fallen down stairs until this year! lol Now, I had fallen UP stairs before….haha)
On Saturday, I researched my symptoms & talked with my sister & best friend. They encouraged me to see a gynecologist on Monday. I didn’t know if it was a very early miscarriage, ulcer, or just the heavy stress I’d been going through.
On Monday, most of the gynecologists in the area said they were booked until the new year. I became frantic. I needed answers! Finally, I found one in Wilkes-barre with a cancellation that morning. Breathing easier, I met with a young woman who was a complete Godsend. She sympathized with my limited time-frame due to my move in 2 weeks and placed “STAT” on my ultrasound. It’s only because of this, that I got one that day. If not for this woman putting a rush on all of my tests that day, December 9th, I don’t know if I’d be typing this now.
After my ultrasound, I waited an eternity in a waiting room watching an old episode of Friends on their wall TV. But I couldn’t laugh, my mind raced too hard. I could sense something was wrong. I knew it. I’d seen something on the lady’s face who had done my ultrasound. She couldn’t say anything, but her actions had quickened. Her completion had paled.
They finally called my name. I sat next to the gynecologist in the room she’d examined me in just 2 hours prior. She hesitated, and I knew. “We found a mass that doesn’t belong there. It’s 12 cm…”
I caught my breath. It didn’t feel real. I’d always said how I ate healthy so I wouldn’t have to worry about cancer in my 30s. Why had I said that age so specifically? I’d been an ignorant fool.
“Is it cancer?” I had to ask. “When you say ‘mass,’ I can’t help but say the ‘c’ word.”
She smiles, but it never hits her eyeglass-covered eyes. She says that it could be, but she doesn’t want to say. She tells be she wants me to get a CAT scan and blood work either today or tomorrow. She apologizes several times, but then I find myself standing in the busy reception area. I’m holding back tears and forcing smiles as I talk. The receptionist won’t help me, she says I have to order my own CAT scan and gives me the number. I swallow a lump and trudge outside.
It’s raining. Of course it’s raining. The sky is crying, but I can’t yet.
The lady on the phone can’t schedule an appointment. The gynecologist hasn’t sent her request yet, I have to go back into the building. I get out of my car and splash into a puddle. I run back inside, fling back my hood and let out a little chuckle. “I’m back again.” I say to the receptionist I’d just seen 3 minutes before.
“Name?” She glares at me.
I swallow my emotions yet again, and calmly tell her the situation. She nods and quips out a line or two. She goes away. At her return, she informs me that the gynecologist had my file open in the back, and all should be okay now. I can leave. She’s kind enough to give me a sad smile this time. She must have been informed of my condition.
Once again, I dash through the elements to my car, and call the number to schedule my answers. They’re booked until February. “But I need it now!” I plead with the woman on the other end. She apologizes and offers excuses. Then a miracle happens: the gynecologist puts a message of “STAT.”
“Well, this changes everything!” The lady proclaims. “We’ll see you immediately.” She’s suddenly full of helpful responses.
I rush to the main hospital building and perform my actions in a blur. They take blood, prod me with needles, and I catapult into a large whirring cylinder. I’m released without another word. I drive home in a fog as I relay emotional words to my husband via phone, and collapse on my couch.
Two hours later, my phone rings. My husband silences our son as I press the green button. “We think it might be ovarian cancer.” She says. “You’ll need to have surgery in the next few days. We won’t know for sure what it is until you do. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this over the phone.”
I hang up, and the waterworks flow free. I look at my husband sitting beside me, and I imagine him as a single father. I lose it. No, I know God has a plan no matter what. I know there is a reason for all this. I never stop praying.
Thirty minutes later, my phone rings again. It’s a woman I’ve never heard before. “Laura?”
“Yes.” I say through tears. I try to swallow the lumps.
“First, what were you told?” Her voice comes fast. She wants to say something more, but she stops herself. I tell her about my previous phone call.
“Hold up. I want to back up there.” She says. “You’re only 32. I highly doubt this is cancer. I’m not ruling it out, of course, but we need to think reasonably here. That mass could be anything…” Her voice soothes me. She makes sense. “I’m calling without even looking at your whole file. I needed to call as soon as I saw your images.” Her pace picks up again. “You have internal bleeding. Large amounts of it. We need you to come in ASAP for more tests and surgery.”
My despair suddenly became a feeling of urgency. After getting off the phone with her, we called family, packed overnight bags, and made arrangements for the next day.
The next day, December 10th, we traveled to Geisinger Danville, PA (over an hour away). I saw my horrifying images, talked with so many wonderful and skilled physicians/PAs/nurses/etc. who met me with peace and strength. They told me I had one of the highest pain tolerances of anyone they’d seen. I was strong, healthy, young, and thin (I so loved hearing them say that exaggeration!! lol). They succeeded in lifting my spirits. I prepared for the worse, but they hoped with me for the best as we prepared for an early Wednesday surgery.
There were possibilities of a hysterectomy, or a removal of both ovaries that would bring on a severe early menopause. And the possible inability to have any more kids. And, of course, the chance of cancer. We prayed against it all. And God gave me peace.
I entered surgery laughing with the attendees. I exited in a sleepy fog. Andrew read my favorite Bible passage as I slowly woke up. And I heard the good news.
The mass was actually my ovary. It had somehow gotten twisted, probably during an exercise or fall, and pinched the blood flow. But my ovary still looked funny. They called it weird, unusual. Of course; I’m a weird person, of course my body HAD to concoct something that’d stump 3 pathologists!
In order to remove the mass/ovary in one piece, they had to cut me. I’ll have a scar on my belly the size of my hand. I’ll wear it proud. Maybe one day I’ll get a tattoo around it. My sis says it makes me hardcore. I don’t feel it now, but I like that thought.
It’s taken a long week after that surgery to hear my results. In this week I’ve begun the healing process, lost 10 pounds, prayed, and we said goodbye to our Pennsylvania home. I’m still typing this in PA, in my sister-in-law’s home, shivering in 15-degree weather. I’m hopeful, feeling blessed for my life, but numb.
This morning, on December 20th, I received a phone call from my surgeon with my pathology results. My life is forever changed with the words “it’s cancer.”
But, just like when Jesus said the words “it’s finished” on the cross over 2,000 years ago, that is NOT where the story truly ends.
The tests came back that an “egg sack tumor” was on my ovary. They might or might not have gotten it all because it ruptured on that Friday, December 6th, when I fell down those stairs.
This type of tumor is genetic. I found out that my Japanese grandmother had a tumor on her ovaries at my age. She’s about to turn 91 years old.
They caught the cancer in an early stage, although it was huge (over 17 cm!!). It existed before my ovary had twisted. If not for my twisted ovary, I might not have been able to tell something was severely wrong. This ovary most likely became twisted 2 months back when I fell down our front stairs. So, if not for that fall, my tumor would not have made itself known until much later perhaps.
My life and situation is in the palm of God’s mighty hands. This cancer, although known to be aggressive, has a high success rate. It’s mainly common in woman under 40. It’s easily treated, and a healthy body helps with the recovery. But even with the facts aside, I know God is letting this happening for a reason. Perhaps this is just part of my testimony. This is another page in my story. This is a piece of who I am. As I take the next steps, I am confident. Whether they got all the cancer out or not, my God is bigger than this situation.
In two days, we’ll be driving to our new home. My environment will be forever changed, but the blessings will never stop. Trials come and go no matter where we live, but God’s grace remains constant. His grace and blood transformed me years ago, and I was forever changed. Today is no different.
I’m blessed to have life. No matter how fleeting. And may my continued story encourage those who hear it to never lose faith in what God can and will do. No matter what the horrifying images show.
I. Am. Blessed.
This weird rebel will see you all on the other side. Of the Mason-Dixon line that is! And I’ll keep you informed of my continued story. In the meantime, prayers are appreciated! God Bless!