What they never told me

When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I had the benefit (if you can call it that) of having seen every woman in my family battle breast cancer along with seeing my step-dad battle colon cancer.  Therefore, I was blessed with tons of support from family members who had been through it (some more than one time).  I was given tips and tricks for dealing with chemo, hair loss, foods to eat, etc.  I am also blessed by having the support of friends, co-workers, and my bosses as I near the end of my routine treatments. With any luck, I will stay in remission. However, there are things that I have learned during my journey and I’d like to share some of them in case anyone may benefit from them.

No one ever told me (in no particular order):

  • Some of my friends and family would distance themselves and while others I didn’t expect would be a source of support.
  • How unimportant some things are when my life was on the line.
  •  I would have a ‘front butt’ after tumor debulking surgery and that my belly button would be moved in the process.
  • My incision from the surgery would not heal right away and I would end up with a seroma.
  •  I would find a new use for maxi-pads when my seroma started gushing on a Saturday.
  •  I would teach oncology nurses and a resident how to ‘wick’ a seroma.
  •  Potential side effects of chemo included removing my ‘filter’ when I had something to say.
  • How nice it was to not have hair.  I could not have a ‘bad hair day.’ I went from 20 minute showers – shampoo, conditioner, shave, rinse out the conditioner – to being able to shower in 90 seconds flat.  I had no hair to style, no eyebrows to pluck, and no lashes to put mascara on so I had more time to sleep.
  • I would save money because I was not buying hair products.
  • I would look in the mirror and not recognize myself.
  • How really big my head is.
  • It’s o.k. to sleep at odd hours.
  • I could stay clear of negative people.
  • It’s o.k. to go to the store in my pajamas.
  • I could do things I want to do and not feel guilty.
  • Once I was in remission, people would stop calling me, emailing me, and asking me how I am doing.
  • Being diagnosed with late stage cancer doesn’t mean terminal cancer.
  • Being ‘sick and tired’ takes on a whole new meaning.
  • Losing energy and stamina so quickly when chemo started did not mean that it would come back as quickly.  In fact, it takes a very long time to return.
  • Complete strangers would pray for me.
  • I could sweat so much.
  • My fight against cancer would serve as inspiration to some people to eat healthier and to exercise.
  • I could have pain from numbness.
  • I’d be labeled for the rest of my life. My own PCP has the sphincter police answer his phone and I have to be assertive to get in for a regular visit.
  • About the kindness of strangers, random acts of kindness, & the power of prayer. I can truly feel those around me.
  • If there’s ‘a small chance’ of something unexpected that might happen, it would happen to me.
  • Some people stared & others made no eye contact when I wore a scarf.
  • It’s o.k. to ask for help.
  • I would go to a conference where I knew absolutely no one and leave with many friends.
  • I would go to Capitol Hill to speak with the staff of U.S. Senators and Congress to advocate for research dollars and awareness of ovarian cancer.
  • I would meet Miss U.S.A.
  • I would complete a half marathon exactly one year after my tumor debulking surgery.
  • Being on a dance floor with a boatload of cancer survivors belting out Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” would be one of my most-treasured memories.
  • There are no more bad days – there are now only good days and great days.  As far as I’m concerned, the only bad day I’ll have is the day the good Lord takes me to His home.
  • My teenage son would not be embarrassed to be around his bald mom and would also wear a teal ‘Fight Like A Girl’ t-shirt to school on my chemo days each week for 18 weeks straight.
  • My retired Navy sweetie would keep his head shaved in support of me, also wear a teal ‘Fight Like A Girl’ t-shirt on my chemo days, and be my biggest advocate.
  • I would start a blog – for myself as a form of therapy – and that it would be read around the world and help people.
  • I hadn’t truly lived until I realized I might not be around to see my son grow up.
  • I’m stronger than I knew.

These are just a few of the many things that I’ve learned.  If you are a survivor, I encourage you to share your thoughts here as well. We all have something to offer to help others who are on this journey with this insidious disease.

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