Last October, I became part of a group I never wanted to join. At 40, I’m a wife and mother of a toddler. I’ve worked as a journalist for 15 years. Now, I’m also a member of the cancer club. Right after my birthday, I received a diagnosis: metastatic appendiceal cancer.
The moment I heard the news, my mind went blank. My oncologist mentioned scientific terms and listed potential chemo side effects. I couldn’t believe it. Appendix cancer? From an organ I never thought about?
As the diagnosis set in, emotions like fear, despair, anger, and betrayal washed over me. Why had my body done this? The story began in June with a dull abdominal pain. I never thought it could be cancer. It’s common to dismiss it, especially for someone young like me.
I self-diagnosed online, blamed my diet, and continued with summer plans. But the pain worsened. With 40 years of living in my body, I recognized this pain was different from cramps or pulled muscles. My doctor initially thought it was diet-related too, but ordered a CT scan, just in case. That decision led to the discovery.
The evening after the scan, my doctor called. Her quick response was unexpected. She advised seeing a gynecological oncologist immediately. It could be ovarian cancer. Alone with my daughter, I was numb from the news.
Fear and confusion filled the next days. I consulted Dr. Nicole Saphier, a colleague, for her opinion. She almost confirmed it was cancer, though the type remained unclear. There was a visible mass, but its location was uncertain.
Within days, I met an oncologist at Memorial Sloan Kettering (MSK). A month of tests, surgeries, scans, and tears followed. The final rare diagnosis came after this exhaustive process.
Two years ago, I faced another health crisis. While pregnant, I needed emergency lung surgery for a rare lung disease called Lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM). It seemed inconceivable to be struck by two rare diseases in such a short span.
Considering my history of good health, this felt unfair. My husband and I speculated if the lung disease was related, but it wasn’t.
Before starting chemo, I declined to harvest eggs. I’m thankful for my daughter, especially after my earlier ordeal. I wanted to begin cancer treatment immediately for her sake. I’ve completed seven out of 12 chemo rounds. Surgery may follow. Chemo is tough, but I’ve been fortunate to recover quickly between treatments.
During periods of feeling well, I live life fully. Those moments are crucial for my mental and physical health. My family and I celebrate post-chemo milestones. These celebrations help counterbalance treatment’s harshness.
Pushing forward is essential. Dwelling in fear isn’t an option. While treatment is central to my life now, cancer is just part of who I am. I’m eager to one day say I’m a cancer conqueror.
Every morning I thank God for good health to chase my energetic toddler. Faith over fear is my motto, though it’s tough. Occasionally, my thoughts drift to darker places.
My daughter brings me immeasurable strength. Her existence is a testament to miracles following adversity. I also draw strength from my cousin Kelsey, who defied medical odds to overcome cancer twice and have a child naturally.
Cancer, as daunting as it feels, is not my whole life. Before cancer, life was cancer-free for 40 years. I am a mother, wife, daughter, sister, journalist, and lover of the outdoors. Cancer may be part of my identity now, but my hopes remain for someday identifying as a cancer conqueror too.
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