The resurrection and re-archive of The Cancer Blog!

I started this blog post sometime after August 22 and envisioned it being a two-parter: one with some news, and one with the resolution of that news. Part 1 was finished, but I was waiting for one final detail. By the time I got that detail, there were medical appointments and loose-end tying and all sorts of other things to do, so I did not get part 1 out before part 2 was ready to be written. So I’ll just add part 2 to the bottom of this post. I am too lazy to retcon part 1 in the past tense, so just pretend you are reading it somewhere between August 22 and September 15. Thank you! 🤣

NOT ONLY THAT, but I also had a lot of people I wanted to tell personally before I sent out the blog post. Clearly, that did not happen. Sincere apologies if you are getting the news through this blog post, but thank you for your understanding. 💜

PART 1

“Why is Patty bringing back The Cancer Blog?” I hear you ask. Let’s see if you can guess:

a.      Vic’s ghost got cancer.

b.      Patty was not getting enough attention on her three other blogs.

c.      Patty has cancer.

d.      The Cancer Blog was feeling left out.

If you guessed (c)—and you should have, because (c) is always the correct answer—you are right!

Before I go too far into the weeds, though, I’m going to do the TL;DR:

I have phase 1 endometrial cancer. I am getting a hysterectomy on (or around) September 15, which should be all I need—no chemotherapy, no radiation. It has a 90% cure rate at this stage. I couldn’t be less worried, and you shouldn’t be, either.

But now I’m going to tell you more about it—which might be TMI, because it involves lady parts. If at any point you get uncomfortable, you already know that I expect everything to be fine. In fact, I’m guessing this blog will only be resurrected for two total posts—this one, and the one where I say, “I had the hysterectomy, and they didn’t find any more cancer in there.” So you can just skip to the bottom of this post, where I have an Important Message.

OK. You’re not skipping the details—that’s great! Because of how this all shook out for me, I want to talk about it so that it doesn’t shake out for you (or anyone you love) the same way. Here goes:

I started menopause around 50. As they do, my periods decreased in frequency and intensity (they were never that bad). But my bleeding never stopped completely, and I thought I was just still in menopause. (You are postmenopausal when you haven’t had a period for more than a year.) WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT MENOPAUSE ENOUGH, so I didn’t realize that active menopause shouldn’t last more than a few years. I did mention my bleeding to my primary care physician, but I downplayed my symptoms—it doesn’t happen that often, there’s not much bleeding, I don’t have any pain, etc.—so they did not see anything urgent about it and did not suggest that I do any additional testing to see if there was a problem.

In late April this year, I went to the zoo with my sister and brother-in-law as well as my niece (Margeaux) and her family. At the end of the night, Margeaux and I went to the bathroom together. Because I’m never sure about my bleeding, I wear a panty liner every day. I don’t really notice it most of the time, but I see it when I go to the bathroom, and it annoys me. I hadn’t bitched to Margeaux about it before, so I decided to whine. I yelled out to her from the bathroom stall, “I THOUGHT MENOPAUSE MEANT THAT THE MENO WOULD PAUSE!” And she said, “Uh, it does. Are you still bleeding??? Have you seen a doctor???” I told her about my PCP, and she said “You need to go to an OB/GYN. Now. Because you have a family history of endometrial cancer!”

This exchange with Margeaux was fortuitous happenstance number 1. What if I hadn’t decided to whine that night? What if Margeaux had responded with, “Yeah. Sucks to be a woman, doesn’t it? We bleed!”

So, with Margeaux’s concern ringing in my ears, I ask all my lady friends about their gynecologists—because at this point in my life, I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE AN OB/GYN! I had been seeing the nurse practitioner at my PCP for decades for all my lady business. I got what I hoped was a good OB/GYN recommendation and booked an appointment. The gynecologist was ... I won’t say alarmed, but definitely concerned. She was clear: menopause should not last a decade. (This was all taking place around the time I turned 62 this year, so around 12 years after I started menopause. She said menopause should only last a few years.)

Finding this gynecologist was fortuitous happenstance number 2. I’ve heard so. many. stories. about women who reported abnormal physical symptoms and were ignored or had their symptoms downplayed. Not my gynecologist. She took everything I said seriously and moved everything forward at an appropriate speed.

On my first appointment on May 6, she decided I should get a pelvic ultrasound (which is exactly as enjoyable as it sounds). I had the ultrasound on June 20 (it took a while to get scheduled). The ultrasound revealed fibroids and cysts in and around my uterus and ovaries—so much so that the ultrasound technician couldn’t even see the right ovary. Next step was a pelvic MRI, which I had on July 3. The pelvic MRI was most notable for the scrubs they let me wear home, so now I have a new Halloween costume.

Oh. I guess I should say that there were also notable medical findings: First, the MRI was able to visualize the right ovary, so that went off the plate as a concern. It noted that the fibroids appeared to be benign. But it also revealed that my endometrium was thick. And by “thick,” I mean thick. Normal thickness postmenopausal is around 5 mm. Mine was 20 mm. A thickened endometrium is a risk factor for cancer. So my gynecologist scheduled a hysteroscopy for August 22. Go up there with a camera, look around, take some tissue samples, check for cancer.

Assuming you read the TL;DR, you know the results of the hysteroscopy. [whisper]Cancer.[whisper]

The treatment for this cancer at this stage is a hysterectomy. Although they will take additional samples when they do the hysterectomy to see if there is any other cancer, they do not expect to find any, so the hysterectomy should be curative (meaning, no chemotherapy, no radiation). My gynecologist referred me to a gynecologic oncologist, whom I saw on Tuesday (September 2).

And this is my third fortuitous happenstance. This surgeon has been on paternity leave, so his schedule was fairly open. We got the consultation done quickly, and if I can get a CT scan in a timely manner, I will have surgery on September 15. The surgery will be done laparoscopically, and if everything is normal—which he expects it to be—the recovery will be swift. In fact, I should be home the same day! (The surgeon told me to prepare for eight weeks off work, but it could be less.)

My sister had this same procedure two years ago. She spent a week of her recovery with me, and she was fine. TIRED, but fine. I don’t see why my recovery will be any worse. I am not concerned in the least, and I am surrounded by caregivers, so I will not be lifting a finger throughout my recovery—except my yarn finger!

But as I said at the top, I have an Important Message, and this is it: If anything is happening to you or someone you love that seems like it’s not normal, go to the doctor! Or tell someone about it! Or do some research! Don’t downplay your symptoms! (When I told my new primary care physician that I thought I downplayed my symptoms, she made a note of that in my chart to help her be a better advocate for me.) Don’t let anyone else downplay your symptoms—especially if you know in your gut that something is wrong that aspirin or more sleep or whatever alternative is suggested won’t fix! Ask for a referral to a specialist if you are not offered one! And if someone you know mentions something casually that you think might be abnormal, gently recommend that they get it checked out. The day I got the cancer diagnosis, my very first thought was “What if I hadn’t made that offhand remark to Margeaux—and what if she hadn’t taken it seriously? I wouldn’t have discovered this cancer when it was still in its infancy and very easily treatable.

So although I have cancer, I come back to my default position of ... gratitude.

• So grateful my niece didn’t pooh-pooh me.
• So grateful my OB/GYN didn’t pooh-pooh me.
• So grateful for this nothingburger of a cancer. We all know how many other cancers would have worse outcomes or worst treatments or worse recoveries.
• So grateful my sister has been attending most of my visits with me. [Side note: What I’m most ungrateful for is not having Vic by my side as I face cancer—regardless of how much of a nothingburger it is. His first cancer was similar—tumor on the kidney, take out the kidney, you’re cured—but I was still there for him. 😂 ]
• So grateful for the outpouring of support I’ve already received and the support I know I’ll get from all of you. You remember what I like most, right? Pet and baby pictures and videos.

I always like to leave you with a picture, so this is the sunrise on the day of my hysteroscopy. I had to be at the hospital at 6:45 a.m. for that flippin’ procedure, and this is the only thing that made it worth it. That, and the fact that my procedure was right on time with a fresh medical team and I got out just in time for lunch. 

PART 2

As I expected and explicitly stated in Part 1, “I had the hysterectomy, and they didn’t find any more cancer in there.”

(NOTE: This part might have been a lot longer if I’d written it separate from part 1, but it’s already too long, so I’m just going to hit the highlights. 😁)

If you want a few more details, I can tell you that the tumor was 4 cm, grade 1, only 22% invasion—50% is where they start to be concerned. That the margins were clear. That they didn’t find anything wrong with the lymph nodes. That they didn’t find anything wrong with the ovaries. That I no longer have any of my internal lady parts, so no ovarian or cervical cancer in my future.

I can also tell you that I will have more frequent OB visits and more MRIs and CT scans for the next five years—just to be safe, not because they are concerned.

I can say that my recovery has been about as expected—lots of sleep and little action the first week, then just tired and sore at the end of the day since then. My support was also as expected—my sister took good care of me while she was here, and I got a lot of pet and baby pictures and videos as well as a fair number of nature pictures and videos, which were all lovely. (I continue to get pictures and videos from my dear family and friends, and every time I do, it’s a wonderful surprise.)

I am now in a cycle of work/rest/walk/work/rest/walk. I sit at my desk for about three hours a day—but not all at once. I work for about an hour, then I take a rest or go for a walk. Sometimes Bella lets me take her on a longish walk, sometimes not, and then I put her in the house and go around the block.

I received some DoorDash gift cards, so I have had some food delivered, and I received other donations for food. I’ve also had friends and family bring food or have it delivered—some restaurant food, some homemade, all yummy. So I have not done much cooking in the last couple of weeks, nor do I expect to do much in the coming weeks.

I’m not doing many of my other chores, either. One of my neighbors takes my trash out on trash day, my sister-in-law Alice is taking me to the grocery store today—I even had someone volunteer to pick up Bella’s poop in the back yard!

I received some flowers, and these brighten my day (they are all inexplicably still alive)—both because they are beautiful and because that’s something Vic might have done. 💖

As usual, it has been an embarrassment of riches, and I have no reason to complain about anything. (Not that I haven’t done my fair share of whining: “My incision itches! I’m hot! I’m cold! I can’t get comfortable! I’m not sleeping well!”) I am lucky my cancer was found early, that it required a relatively small amount of treatment for a short amount of time, that I have short-term disability at work so I can continue taking the time I need to recover while still getting paid, and especially that I have family and friends who have been so so so very supportive during this whole process.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.