About Me
Since 2012, I’d eaten my way through a decades-long twisting rollercoaster of stress-filled jobs, my diet loaded with standard American fare, my relationship with my emotionally and physically distant parents strained, my exercise lacking, the weed killer I regularly sprayed likely toxic, and I never seemed to get enough sleep.
After my October 2022 hysterectomyIn September 2022, I finally forced myself visit the doctor for unspecified abdominal discomfort that I’d been experiencing for days. The on-call physician identified a hard edge in my stomach that should have felt “mushy.” The resulting ultrasound revealed a mass the diameter of a football attached to my ovaries. My new oncologist recommended immediate surgery. She had an opening for the following day and I took it. One week, I was at the doctor for what I hoped was just an infection and the next week I was headed to the hospital for a hysterectomy at age 48.
I awoke with a catheter attached to my bed and a nine-inch incision stapled shut that no one thought to tell me hid a layer of stitches underneath. Three days later, I was released from hospital jail to heal on my own recognizance. On October 10, my oncologist called with the lab results: stage IIIC ovarian cancer. She was brimming with hope when we saw her in the office a few days later, promising, “I can keep it in remission for a long time.” Not knowing any better, I accepted the chemotherapy that I thought would cure my cancer. My spirits were as high as the sun shining in the clear Carolina blue sky when we left the office that day.
February 2023 with Sunrise HopeAs I healed from surgery, instant menopause launched hot flashes and rage regularly across my radar. I couldn’t bend or lift or even lay flat in bed. My husband of 12 years, Chuck, walked on eggshells, not know what would set off my burgeoning temper. We slowly lengthened our nightly walks and I was finally able to wear pants just as my chemotherapy was scheduled to begin on November 2. My oncologist had prescribed six three-week cycles of carboplatin and paclitaxel which offered the possibility of a variety of mostly-minor side effects. But it was the hair loss that frightened me the most.
I could handle the baldness and weakness and the endless tooth-brushing and hand-washing if the result was being cancer-free at the end of my 18 weeks of treatment. But at the end of December, I received a copy of a treatment consult. My hopeful oncologist had NOT indicated that the cancer could return quickly and I could undergo more chemo. My hopes sank. Why was I bothering to get well? I’d lost my sickly elderly cat before starting treatment so my husband decided that adopting a new furball would cheer me up. Her name was Sunrise, which was particularly fitting, since she liked to wail outside our bedroom door in the wee hours of the morning. I added a middle name: Hope, because I hoped to live longer than her. A new snuggle baby helped take my mind off of my body and we had a quiet and happy, although bald, holiday season at home.
March 2023 at a MercyMe concertOn January 5, 2023, my oncologist hurled a wrecking ball at my fragile hope. She marched into the exam room on the day of my fourth infusion like a warlord spewing a vile version of my prognosis. My world waited until that day to implode. When I stopped comprehending the onslaught, my oncologist began explaining the maintenance medication to my husband instead. The remainder of the day was a blur as I waited for the comfort of home before grieving the loss of my hope and my future. Three days later, my husband and I watched a documentary about plant-based diets and decided to give it a try, starting immediately. I clawed my way out of my pit of despair and began discovering a new way to cook. Along the way, I researched numerous other lifestyle changes. And I found a new oncologist. That spring, I sang along with my favorite song, MercyMe’s Say I Won’t, at a nearby concert to celebrate the completion of my chemo.
October 2023 in Hell on Grand CaymanIn the span of twelve months, I traveled from the hell of cancer and chemotherapy to Hell, Grand Cayman. Over three years later, I am still cancer-free and healthier than I’ve been in decades. But I’m still regularly frustrated that conventional medicine completely and utterly fails to recommend evidence-based lifestyle changes. I desperately want other cancer survivors to know that they too can heal their immune systems simply by changing daily behaviors (find more insight on the Lifestyle Changes and Blog pages). Instead of shouting this hope from the rooftops, I’m writing a self-help memoir about my physical and emotional healing journey. And I’m not sitting home; I’m traveling the world. That lanyard you see around my neck? It’s my digital camera strap so I can capture photos of our cruise travels.