The Other Side of the Counter

I have tried to share with y'all some of the most humorous tidbits of my days behind the pharmacy counter. My stories will now move to the other side of the counter as I move from the role of the pharmacist to the role of the patient. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer on Wednesday. How does one go from a seemingly healthy productive member of society to a (whisper) cancer patient in 6 months? I can't really answer that question. Shouldn't I have known that I was that sick? Maybe not. I can't place blame on anyone, even myself. The symptoms of ovarian cancer are vague and attributable of other things.

Ovarian Cancer Symtpoms:

*bloating and/or feeling of fullness
*Frequent urination
*indigestion/gas or constipation/diarrhea
*fatigue and/or back pain
*Pelvic or abdominal pain
*Shortness of breath
*abnormal bleeding

If any of these symptoms last more than 2 weeks, see your gynecologist.

80% of ovarian cancer cases are diagnosed at Stage III. The goal of treatment is aggressive cytoreductive surgery to reduce the mass of the tumors to a microscopic size, then chemotherpy to kill the cells left behind. Only 30% of patients survive 5 years beyond diagnosis.

Me? I am scheduled for this surgery on April 19 where the oncologist will remove my uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, omentum and part of my bowel. He might have to resection my diaphragm and/or spleen if he finds any tumors at those sites. There is a chance that I will wake up with a colostomy. I will definitely wake up with a intraperitoneal port for my future chemotherapy treatments which will last at least 6 months. I will have a huge nasty scar.

I can't look back and search for "what if?" moments. I have to look forward into treatment and fighting the battle of my life. My life has changed forever. I feel the worst for my family and friends. It's hard to look at the fear and pain on their faces and hear it in their voices. It's hard to believe that I am that sick. I feel kinda blah, not (whisper) cancer-stricken. I vacillate between spurts of productivity, grief, clinical planning, and staring out the window. This week before this surgery will seem so long. It has only been 72 hours since I got the news and my world was turned upside-down, inside-out and singularly focused on this thing, this (whisper) cancer.