In the 22 days from my diagnosis to my surgery, cancer scared the bejesus out of me. I don’t feel especially hostile toward it. I’m more surprised than anything – and, at times even grateful for the wake-up call.
On December 17 I was diagnosed with a rare form of cervical cancer, clear cell carcinoma. It affects between 4-5 percent of women with cervical cancer. It’s not caused by HPV, the typical viral trigger for cervical malignancy. When I looked it up, I discovered words like “aggressive” and “atypical.” I stopped researching.
On Christmas Eve, my husband, one of my best girlfriends, and I were sitting in the office of a gynecological oncology surgeon at Kaiser Permanente in Walnut Creek.
In the week between diagnosis and consultation, I made Alex promise that if I died he’d continue to have our housekeeper clean every other week. If he let the house go rogue, I said I would haunt him.
“You’re going to haunt me anyway,” he said, without missing a beat.
Sitting in the surgeon’s office that Tuesday, I watched intently as he pointed out pictures of reproductive organs on his giant computer screen. I felt oddly comforted. He offered science. And hope – we’d found this early. With quick action, I might be among the lucky to escape chemo and radiation, the fear and mess of recurrences, the side effects of treatment.
Photo credit: maf04 on VisualHunt / CC BY-SA
On January 8, three weeks after my diagnosis, I was in surgery. Before I went under, I saw the giant crème-colored robot with five arms that would insert instruments into five small cuts in my belly. My surgeon would be at the console manipulating the tiny laparoscopes with instruments attached, and the robot arms, while his nurse practitioner stood over me with a ligature to cauterize the bloody disconnections as he went.
I surrendered my body to modern medicine and with help from a cocktail of powerful drugs, I sank into oblivion.
When I came to, Alex was with me. A recovery room nurse, a bright faced African immigrant named Anthony, was pumping my IV full of fentanyl. Praise God. It was over.
Now, 18 days into what has been a halting recovery, I struggle with my own impatience, the need to be “well,” to be “productive,” to be out in the world. These days, I dwell in silence and isolation, under a quilt with a heating pad on my sore belly.
It’s humbling, and freeing, to acknowledge vulnerability. To understand, viscerally, that I am mortal. The night of my diagnosis I walked around my living room chanting the mantra attributed to John Lennon: “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”
Cancer was not in my plans. Alex and I are newlyweds, not yet four months married. I never expected our vows to be tested so soon. Until that night, I was protected by the hypnotic hubris of mortals when confronted with death: denial. Had it not been for an episode of bleeding after I made love with my husband early in December, those cancer cells would have continued to multiply deep in my belly. I would not have known.
Accident? Luck? Divine intervention? Who knows? And does it matter, in the end, how miracles occur? It all happened so fast I’ve barely had time to let it sink in. What I do know is that it’s not easy to tell people a week before Christmas, “Hi, Happy Holidays! I’ve got cancer.”
The pathology results came back last week: Stage 1. No spread. No further treatment. I’ll be under surveillance for the next five years. I’m an official cancer survivor. I’ll need time to take in the enormity of my luck, the blessings of excellent medical care and a network of wonderful family and friends. And the miracle of my body’s capacity to heal.
Thank god, I won’t have to haunt my husband – just yet.
So wonderfully written and relatable. I myself had two bouts of Stage 1 melanoma (almost 23 years apart), excised successfully and completely each time. So, I can relate to getting through early stage cancer, believe me. Ongoing, periodic vigilance has been needed for me with my dermatologist, though check ups will decrease after I meet my latest 5 year mark this June. Here’s to you continuing to be cancer free, healthy, and your usual creative, vibrant self!
Thanks for sharing your experience Sean, and for the well wishes.
So glad things turned out well, really miraculous– even with the time spent under the covers with a heating pad. You are courageous and have a great spirit and sense of humor through it all. Keep resting and healing!
Thanks for your support Louise!
Oh Eleanor. I was shocked and dismayed to hear your news. And so happy that you caught it so early. Sending love, healing and strength. And thank you for sharing your news. I’m an obsessive worrier about health stuff and for me, it is good to hear it talked about! Audrey.
If it was helpful in any way, I’m happy. I too am an obsessive worrier which makes me extra vigilant. May have saved my life!
I’m so glad to hear that it was caught early. I hope your recovery is swift and complication-free. Take all the time you need to rest.
Thank you for sharing your story with us. I admire your strength and ability to find humour and courage even when facing life’s hardest challenges.
And congratulations on your wedding! 🙂
Grace! Thank you for the good wishes. I’ll take my time & savor the luxury of healing.
Dear Eleanor, I want you to know… and believe, that I am so very sorry that this was on your path. But, am so relieved and happy for your outcome. 😱🤗 I want you to give your husband an extra hug from me for making love to you. ❤️
Dee, thanks very much. Another growth experience! I will most definitely give Alex that hug!
My dearest, I’m a bit in shock to read what latest adventure you have been on! You are a rock of strength which I learned early on by reading Swimming with Maya. So happy you caught it early and have an excellent prognosis. Sending you healing energy from the waters of the Big Island. Much love.
Karen, thank you! Keep sending those island vibes.
Thank you for being so open and generously sharing what so many of us need to hear so we can reflect on your journey that “came out of the blue” as so many things in life do!
You make it seem like a perfectly-timed crisis, if one can ever be so?
We do know perfectly well that the world still needs your vision and your amazing wisdom and all your Gifts of courage, light, warmth and love – to guide us through life’s toughest places you’ve already been to, (or the “guests” that showed up uninvited)
Please continue your generosity and abundance so accurately expressed in your straight-from-the-heart contributions..
It looks very much like the world, or at least, your grateful readers – just received, as you did – a priceless Christmas Present in your healing – a bit late but who are we to question timing:)…
Wishing you every continuing Blessing, as You are to us,
Cris
What lovely thoughts, thank you Cris.
Yikes. What a shock to read this on FB just now. So glad you are among the lucky ones, Ellie. Still reeling a bit here, I can only imagine what it must have been, and still be, like for you. And Alex. May your recovery be full and quick.
It’s been a roller coaster, but I’m better and stronger every day. Alex has been my rock. And my posse of women friends, including our daughter. Thanks for the well wishes, Ron.
Wishing you the best Eleanor with your recovery. So happy you have Alex by your side. He seems like a supportive rock. Linda
Truer words were never spoken, Linda. Alex has been a trooper. I’m immensely grateful for that, and for the amazing medical care I’ve received.
Oh Eleanor- I’m so glad you got it early. You’re a survivor of many things, and now cancer too. Love to you.
Carol, me too. It was incredibly lucky. Thanks!
Ellie, first I want to say I’m so happy you found love again, so hard at this point in our lives.
SO sad to hear about the cancer, something we all live in fear of. You are such a strong, brilliant woman and I know you will get through all of this with so much joy to look forward to in your new wonderful life. Thinking of you always-
Dear Ellen – thank you so much – yes, not easy to find love at this stage, but miracles DO occur. Very grateful. xo
Thank goodness you caught it. Thanks for your call today. Cathleen
Indeed! I’m very happy to be on the other side of the surgery and not having to face any further treatment. See you soon.