January 2016 archive

4 Years Later

It feels like yesterday that I first heard the most powerful three little words, “You have cancer.” In reality, it was exactly 1,460 days ago. On this very day, four years ago, our lives changed forever. My husband and I have been reflecting over that moment and the years that have followed and we are blown away. Blown away that cancer is a part of our story now. Blown away that I’ve survived. Blown away that our marriage is stronger than ever. Blown away at the beautiful story that has emerged through the vast wreckage.

Four years and two days ago, on Monday, January 23rd 2012, I went in for my annual women’s wellness exam. I found a different OB/GYN in hopes that a new doctor would be able to answer all of my questions. I had been experiencing symptoms for a year and they were growing in severity. Over the course of those twelve months, I visited more doctors than I can count in an attempt to figure out what was wrong with my body. I had blood draws, pelvic exams, and ultrasounds, yet they all came back clear. There were many days that I would return home, a 25 year old newlywed, and cry to my husband that I thought I was going crazy. How could I not be when all of my doctors were telling me that I was okay? I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. I could sense it. And I had an urging that I simply could not ignore. That Monday, the answers to my questions began to be revealed through a generous doctor that was determined to help.

I laid on the examination table with my feet in the stirrups as my new doctor went through a normal exam and pap smear. Within minutes, she said, “Oh. Hmmm.” Typically, a response you don’t want to hear from a medical professional, I was relieved. After asking if she noticed something, she let me know that she could visibly see what she initially thought to be a fibroid on my cervix. Would this explain the bleeding, stomach pain, irregular menses, bloating, weight gain, unusual cramps, hair thinning, and more? While taking two biopsies from different areas of the mass, she said that fibroids could cause numerous symptoms and that this could be the answer. The exam was over and she stepped out of the room while I got dressed. I remember exactly what I wore that day. My doctor asked me to return in a week, the following Monday so she could give me the results from the colposcopies.

Four years and one day ago, on Tuesday, January 24th 2012 (the day after my exam), I received a call from my OB/GYN’s assistant. I didn’t recognize the number, so I allowed it to go to voicemail. The message on the other end raised more questions and I was left shaking and confused. “Hi Stephanie. The doctor received results from your biopsy and asks that you come in tomorrow on your lunch break so that she can discuss results. Also, please bring your husband so we can talk about treatment.” Click. I called my husband and shared the news. My doctor let me know during my exam that fibroids may need to be removed surgically. Maybe the treatment they were referring to would be surgery. Though I had never experienced surgery besides my wisdom teeth removal, I felt like I could handle it. Remove the fibroid and carry on with life. No big deal.

That night I shared my worst fear with my husband. “What if it’s cancer?” He promptly cut me off and said, “We don’t say that word until and unless that’s what it is.” I laid awake that night grappling with the multitude of scenarios the results may hold. Ectopic pregnancy? Though highly unlikely due to our paranoid contraceptive plan (condoms and birth control), maybe. Fibroid? Still likely. Cancer? I can’t get cancer. I don’t want to lose my hair. I’m only twenty-five. That doesn’t happen to young adults. Finally I fell asleep, and everything up unto my appointment became a blur.

Four years ago, and depending on what time zone you’re in while reading this, almost to the minute, Matt and I walked into my doctor’s office. I remember being extremely sensitive to everyone’s stares. It felt like the entire office knew the results and that we were the only ones walking through the fog of the unknown. I was nervous but ready. We didn’t have to sit in the lobby for more than one minute before we were ushered into a room. It might have been the exact room where I was two days prior, but I can’t remember. Strangely enough, that detail has slipped from my memory. We sat down. I can describe the room. A wall with a large window was behind us. An exam table in front and to the left. Cabinets and sink to the right. Though it felt like an eternity of waiting for my OB/GYN, she entered the room in probably less than five minutes. She was pregnant with answers. I could see it on her face, though she maintained a friendly and professional demeanor. She sat down on a rolling stool with my medical file in her lap. With a somber smile she shared, “Stephanie, we received the results from the colposcopy. I’m sorry to tell you that it’s cancer.”

I’ve heard several people share what that moment was like for them. Some fall to the floor overwhelmed by grief. Some quietly shed a few tears. Some instantly choose denial. I simply responded with, “Okay, now what do we do? What are the next steps?” She had already scheduled an appointment the following day with my gynecologic oncologist and sadly shared that I would need a hysterectomy and chemotherapy. More news flooded from her mouth as we soaked it all in. Soon she was quiet. I can’t imagine being in her position. Having to tell someone that they have cancer is unfathomable to me. What strength and kindness you must have, knowing that your patient will forever remember that moment. I stood up and asked if I could give her a hug. I caught her off guard with my response to the news. I didn’t cry. I simply wanted to hug her for she was the one, in a handful of others, who helped me find an answer. She saved my life that day. We embraced and I whispered in her ear, “You’re my angel. Thank you for helping me.”

Matt and I sat in the parking lot in our car that clear, beautiful, mild winter’s day in Colorado. We barely spoke. The quiet was comforting. Soft words escaped our lips as we sat in disbelief. “I can’t believe I have cancer.” I was thankful for an answer to the symptoms that had been plaguing me, but was fearful of what was to come. We held hands. We had no idea what our future looked like. We were overwhelmed at the intensity of our new situation. The only person that I knew who had cancer had died. I didn’t want that to be me. I was young, barely twenty-five. We hadn’t had children yet, and I was facing an irreversible decision… a hysterectomy. A monster had ripped through our perfectly canvassed life and threatened to take it all away.

To say that it has been an easy four years would be a blatantly disrespectful, untrue, and a highly exaggerated lie. These last four years have been, by far, the most difficult, challenging, and scary years of our lives. I was diagnosed with an extremely rare and aggressive cancer called large cell neuroendocrine carcinoma of the cervix and was given a less than 20% chance of surviving that first year. We’ve experienced a depth of heartache that many will never face. We’ve felt immense pain, walked through tidal waves of grief, and desperately fought for the light at the end of the tunnel. We’ve been kicked down and beaten up by this disease, yet have chosen to stand up and turn the other cheek. We’ve stared death in the eyes and proclaimed victory over my diagnosis. We’ve turned our eyes to the One who can offer peace, hope, and true help.

Looking back over the most intense season of our lives, I can say I am thankful. Though four years ago I was afraid, unsure, and defeated, four years later, I am fearless, certain, and victorious. It’s now four years later, and I’ve undergone four major surgeries, three recurrences, 55 chemotherapy treatments, 28 radiation sessions, and I’m ALIVE. Cancer has forever altered my life, yet only because I’ve found true joy in my suffering, am I grateful.

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Lamentations 3:22-23 (ESV)

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end: they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

“By The Way, I Have Cancer”… Dating After a Diagnosis

By The Way I Have Cancer PHOTO

(As seen in Cancer Knowledge Network’s, #YARally)

Dating

Finding “the one” in a world of seven billion can be a daunting task. Sifting through people while searching for compatibility, meeting with strangers for awkward conversation, and allowing yourself to be vulnerable with someone you hardly know is not for the faint of heart. As if dating isn’t difficult enough, dating with cancer can prove even more challenging.

Among everyday issues like discovering who we are and what we are meant to do with our lives, young adults face a variety of life changing decisions. We are completing education, paving a way for our future, and stepping into our careers. We are establishing friendships and seeking long term commitment and love. We are eager and expectant and ready to begin the next chapter with someone by our side. Yet as a young adult facing a cancer diagnosis, beginning romantic relationships can be complicated.

When diagnosed as a young adult, dating often gets put on hold. You become engrossed in your treatment plans and immersed in the grief that follows your life-altering news. Though many soon discover that a diagnosis doesn’t have to prevent you from living a fulfilling life, when the time comes to step out into the sea of dating once again, some young adults feel paralyzed about where to begin. Having a cancer diagnosis is like wearing a neon name tag. We stand out. Whether physically, emotionally, or simply by circumstance, we are different than our potential suitors. Therefore, we have a few more things to keep in mind when introducing ourselves.

Choosing when to share your medical history is an important factor to consider when entering a relationship. Sharing a diagnosis on the first date may frighten someone. Waiting too late may cause feelings of betrayal and dishonesty. Many don’t want to be labeled by a diagnosis and want to be seen for more than just a disease, but young adults should be considerate in telling others their medical journey.

Experts state that a safe guideline is to share the news on the third or fourth date. Generally, young adults should share medical history before emotional attachment begins. This allows potential partners to make informed decisions on whether or not to proceed with the relationship. Be open to both possible outcomes. Your date may be uncomfortable with everything that comes with your diagnosis, however, they may be understanding and desire to move forward. As it would be with someone you simply lack chemistry with, be okay with letting someone go. And if your potential mate is interested in continuing a relationship, foster an open and honest conversation about how cancer affects your life.

Cancer affects each young adult differently and no diagnosis, prognosis, nor side effects are the same. Most cancer survivors struggle with changes in their sexuality. Whether it’s sexual function, body image, or self-esteem, many face a multitude of challenges. When sharing your medical history with your partner, be willing to share the facts.

Chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery can cause drastic changes to sexual organs. Heightened skin sensitivity, lower sex drive, and infertility are common among young adults with cancer. Being open with your partner will help guide your relationship into a deeper understanding for one another. Always remember that intimacy is much more than sexual intercourse. Communication, trust, and commitment are conduits to intimacy as much as physical touch is.

Marriage

Some view me as lucky. My husband and I had been married for a year and a half when I received the news that I had an aggressive gynecological cancer. However, the fact that I was already in a healthy, stable, and committed long term relationship upon diagnosis did not make receiving the news or handling the journey easier. Cancer amplifies hurts and wounds, as much as it does love and respect.

Unfortunately, many marriages do not survive the trauma, heartache, loss, and difficulties that cancer brings to the relationship. Couples must work not only to save the life of the person afflicted with the disease, but also to save the life of the marriage. Each individual grieves differently, and my husband and I found ourselves at different ends of the grief scale. At times I would be experiencing deep sadness, but my husband would be experiencing anger. Other moments I would be encouraged, but my husband would be feeling frustration. My husband had hope when I had none and vice versa. Because no two people are identical in emotions and experiences, patience, forgiveness, and love are key in maintaining a healthy relationship.

Four years ago, as my husband and I sat in the car in the hospital parking lot after hearing of my diagnosis, he looked at me and said something so profound it has defined our relationship. “Some may say I didn’t sign up for this, but I did. I vowed to you, ‘in sickness and in health,’ and I’m not giving up on that promise.” Among many reasons why our marriage has thrived amidst this disease is that we simply committed to one another. To love, respect, and hold each other up. Marriages don’t have to fail after a diagnosis. They can thrive and grow into something more beautiful than you thought possible.

Relationships can be fun and they can be challenging. If you are a young adult cancer survivor and are ready to enter into a relationship, remember to be kind to yourself. Though being vulnerable is often more difficult with a diagnosis, dating requires vulnerability. Do not let fear of rejection keep you from finding love, happiness, and a fulfilling long term relationship. Keep in mind that there is someone for everyone, and though you may have to filter through some duds, you can and will find the perfect person for you. If you are a young adult married cancer survivor or spouse, remember to be gentle, patient, and forgiving. Cancer has already taken so much from you, don’t let it steal your love as well.

Philippians 1:9 (MSG)

“So this is my prayer: that your love will flourish and that you will not only love much but well. Learn to love appropriately. You need to use your head and test your feelings so that your love is sincere and intelligent, not sentimental gush.”

Body Image After Cancer

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As seen in Cancer Knowledge Network’s, #YARally

“Welcome to Cancerland, here’s your new body. You may notice it looks a little different than your old one, but I can assure you… This is your body. Once you get past the bumps, bruises, scars, and bald head, you’ll realize it’s still you.”

As if I were waking up and looking in the mirror at someone else, I felt overwhelmed shortly after receiving my first cancer-removing surgery. My body was changing right before my eyes and I wasn’t sure I was able to cope with everything. My doctors told me to expect a large scar (from one hip to the other), hair loss, and weight changes. Not only would I have to wrap my mind around a life-threatening diagnosis, but I also would no longer be able to find comfort in the mirror.

I decided to take control and shave my head before the chemo took all of my hair; I wasn’t about to let cancer rip one more thing from my grasp. After my husband shaved the last of my locks, I stood up and looked at the woman staring back at me in the mirror. She resembled me. She had my eyes, but there was new depth to them. She had my smile, but there was new joy to be found within it. She was me, but she wasn’t. Cancer was beginning to change me emotionally, mentally, and physically. Physically, some changes happened within a matter of seconds and others took years to fully develop. My diagnosis ushered in a rebirth. Though my outer self was wasting away, my inner self was being reborn, refined, and celebrated.

Everything that I thought I was, now wasn’t. I didn’t realize that I had labeled myself prior to my cancer diagnosis. I didn’t understand that I had worked hard to uphold an image for many years. Most of today’s society gets too caught up in outward appearances, and I’d be lying to say I didn’t fall victim to that as well. Prior to cancer, I was a healthy, tall blonde in her mid-twenties. I had confidence and felt comfortable in my own skin. I was adventurous and took risks. And most of all, I could predict who looked back at me in the mirror every morning.

Cancer treatments rapidly began my metamorphosis. In the nearly four years that I have battled this disease, I have gained eleven scars. Each one is a visible reminder of the battle waged within my body. From the numerous chemotherapy and radiation treatments, my skin took on a new form. It was dry, cracked, and sometimes bleeding. For almost three years, my head was bald, and my face no longer donned lashes or brows. And while I, like many, assumed I’d lose weight throughout the course of treatment, I gained an astonishing 30 pounds within the first six months. The mirror no longer reflected the healthy young woman that I once was. I soon began staring at the stranger before me. My body looked nothing like it used to and grief, like a tidal wave, flooded my spirit.

Cancer causes pain, suffering, and most of all, grief. Grief comes in many forms and is experienced through many moments in this journey. I grieved the loss of my fertility. I grieved the changes of life. I grieved the dreams that I once had. I grieved the relationships that were lost. I grieved everything, and I still do. Cancer is an F5 tornado that rips through lives without a care as to what it swallows up. Grief is the rubble that remains when the dust clears. Along with the uncountable losses, I deeply grieved my body image. For months, I couldn’t find myself in the mirror. I searched her face, touching her tear-stained cheeks. My fingers traced over each scar in remembrance. Scanning her bald head and her sick, pale, exhausted body, I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t find me.

It wasn’t until I looked beyond the mirror that I discovered myself again. Behind the weight, the scars, the physical changes, and the grief was the woman I’ve always been. She was strong. She was determined. She was ferocious and ready to survive. She was kind and friendly. She had a streak of humor.

My body image evolved from my physical reflection to my inner character. When the outside is stripped away, all that remains is the inside. When a weak, frail, and bald person is looking at you in the mirror, you must acknowledge them. You must honor what they have gone through. You must pay respect to what they are enduring. But you mustn’t stop there. Look beyond what you see. Who are you on the inside? What does your character look like? Cancer will change your body image. But it doesn’t have to change who you are. You are more than your diagnosis. You are more than your reflection.

Proverbs 31: 25 (NLV)

“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”