I keep thinking that I’m ready to move beyond cancer, to seize the day, to do so many of the things on my list that piled up this year that I spent in bed. And then, out of nowhere, I’m blindsided by a latent side effect, a new medication, a complication.
This week, it’s ovarian cysts. I have two, you see, nestled side-by-side like twins on my ovary, 4 and 5 cm across. The one, we found out today, is a simple cyst and may resolve on its own. The other is a segmented cyst, which the doctor says could be anything. It could be nothing, or it could be a problem.
Of course, with my history, a problem is a big problem. So today he took blood for the Ca-125 test and a new screening panel for ovarian cancer. Tomorrow I call about the gene test (for BRCA-1 and BRCA-2, since they are the link between the increased rate of ovarian cancers in breast cancer patients and vice versa), and then next week we decide whether to take my ovaries out.
Whether in anticipation or reaction, we will probably decide to take my ovaries out.
I had hoped to avoid this decision for a little longer, to give my body a chance to heal, to recover. To have a carefree summer with my kids.
But we don’t always get what we want, do we? If this works, it will give me more summers with my kids, so it’s worth it no matter what. It’s a wake up call — but I really thought I was awake already.
Everything’s been a little mixed up since I heard those words from my GYN this morning as he gave me the results of my ultrasound:
It looks suspicious.