Diagnosis

Like many women, I was diagnosed with HPV a few years ago. A couple of times I have had abnormal pap smears and they have had to do something called a colposcopy where they clip off the suspicious looking cells. Or maybe they scrape them off. It always feels like they are doing it with nail clippers. I know, ouch. That's why it's so important to get regular pap smears, because those suspicious cells can slowly mutate into pre-cancerous cells and then malignant cells and then full blown cervical cancer. It's a very preventable disease and trust me, I am super conscious about my regular gynecologist appointments.

So when Mom, Dad, Braden and I went to Duke for my diagnosis conference, I was prepared for suspicious cells in the tumor and some malignancy that would be taken out of my body and I would be free of pain. I felt confident. What I was not prepared for was what the doctor was telling me. I have an incredibly aggressive epithelial sarcoma on the left side of my neck and the bottom of my head. I have cancer. There, I said the word. The Big "C", as the Midwesterners call it. Southerners always whisper when they say it, as if the devil is listening and going to make it worse.


My sarcoma is extremely rare; It is usually found in the elderly and on young people it's found on limbs and extremities, not on the neck. There are only a handful of cases in this location have been documented. In fact, when Dr. Bagley came in to share the diagnosis, he spoke about how him and his colleagues had a meeting the previous morning discussing "my case" and how it's an anomaly. I'm pretty sure that I will end up in some medical journal as "Caucasian 25 year old female." (I did not want to be famous for this!) So I am so happy to be in the best academic institution in the world, where I know they will be all the more aggressive and precise with my treatment.


So this is going to be a challenging surgery. It is not in or on my brain or spinal cord, and we can all be grateful for that, but the tumor covers a sensitive area near a significant artery, the occipital artery, I think. So an angio surgeon (or whatever he is called) will have to analyze me before the surgery to make sure that the team of doctors takes special care around that artery. The surgery will require metal studs to stabilize my neck. There will be reconstruction of muscle tissue and a plastic surgeon will make my neck look beautiful again. So this is Big Potatoes. I will likely be in the hospital at Duke for at least 3 days to a week. And will spend 2-3 weeks taking it easy and slowly easing back into life the next 3 weeks. I have to meet with the oncologist next week to discuss radiation after I recover for six weeks. Thankfully, because we believe the tumor is isolated, I will probably not have to have chemotherapy. But if I do, I do. Hair grows back.


Taking it all in yesterday was like having the wind knocked out of me, and watching my mom and dad mentally collapse was hard to take as well. Mom had to leave the room, and I understood. Dad looked exhausted and shocked. Braden was strong externally. He kept looking at me the whole time and mouthing "I'm here" and "I love you" and "I'm not going anywhere." He held me the whole time and the more the doctor talked, the weaker I felt. And he kept holding me tighter and tighter. Never has an arm felt so safe and strong. If there ever was a reason to believe this is the man I am meant to marry, this is it. It was so much information, I was writing it down like a madwoman, trying to take it all in.


I asked the doctor to leave the room before my scheduled CT scan to have a moment with my family. Dad went to find Mom. I stood up and cried. "I HAVE CANCER," I wailed. "I COULD DIE." And Braden just looked at me and said, "You cannot think like that. You will beat this." Mom and Dad came back in the room and we all made a pact to be strong for each other, as we will all have our weak moments. But we all have to be strong in our own way.


Before the full body CT scan, I had to drink some fluids and wait an hour. Thankfully it is 60 degrees in February in North Carolina so Braden and I sat outside. It was surreal. We wanted to talk and didn't want to talk at the same time. We reminisced about the first time he knew he loved me. A couple of weeks or so when we started dating, we had been out at The Station having some drinks, like we do. It was summer and it was pouring rain. So we decided to go somewhere more intimate. We were soaking wet running to the car. He said he knew of a gazebo on a lake...somewhere where we could be alone, but when we got there, it was just a deck with a picnic table. I guess the gazebo part had burned down. It didn't matter, we made out in the rain, my embroidered hippie jeans soaking wet, his plaid collared shirt slightly unbuttoned, and we kissed for what felt like hours. That was when the spark happened.


We talked about how we've got a long life ahead of us; marriage, road trips, careers, kids, house. And how I would pull through because my life is just not ready to be over yet. How blessed I am to have such a wonderful man to help me through this ailment.


I retreated to my room that evening for some alone time. I sent out emails to my respective families, friends, theater families, professors and the response has been overwhelming. Some people have even forwarded my message to others...people I haven't spoken to in ages. For someone who has had long time issues with loneliness and insecurity, this outpouring of love and concern from so many is emotionally overwhelming and exciting and makes me cry happy tears. I had no idea. I really didn't. I never have.


There's a passage in James in the Bible...I don't have it verbatim, but essentially it says that through the Lord we can face always adversity, and there will be peace. And I truly believe it. Yes, I have cancer and yes, there are risks and the surgery is intense and frightening, and yes, there is a part of me that is scared, but for the first time in 6 months, I do, in fact, feel a sense of peace.