Last week, my mom was diagnosed with Primary Peritoneal Caner. The doctor referred to it as a Well Differentiated Carcinoma on her Omentum, most likely in stage 3A.
While previously I would have been afraid to ask questions and find out the information I did not want to know, I am now inclined to agree with what everyone has told me: knowledge is power. I would advise asking the right people, and not the world wide web for this. What I’ve learned so far? There is no such thing as a silly or dumb question when faced with something like this.
After speaking with my moms doctor (who is completely amazing, by the way), I began calling everyone I knew that worked in the medical field, or had experience with cancer. I spoke with friends who have had parents with cancer - some of whom survived, and some of whom did not. I spoke with friends who are survivors. I spoke with friends who are nurses and doctors. I asked the same questions over and over again, and I will continue to ask, question, and educate myself in this process.
My mom’s cancer is microscopic, not gross - meaning the naked eye cannot see it, but rather a microscope is needed. This is a good thing. Her cells are well differentiated, as opposed to poorly differentiated. Well differentiated means that the cancer cells and the normal cells look completely different, making them easily recognizable. They tend to act more like normal cells, meaning they *hopefully* respond to treatment better. Poorly differentiated cells mean that the cancer cells and the normal cells look the same. It’s really difficult to determine which cells are good, and which are bad. Thankfully, my moms cells are behaving themselves (to an extent). This is also a good thing.
As of now, we have the beginnings of a plan. My mom’s surgery is set for April 3rd, 2014. She will be having her uterus, fallopian tubes, omentum, and ovaries removed, along with lymph nodes. Everything will be biopsied. It is at that juncture that they will be able to pinpoint where the cancer originated from (as of now, they aren't sure), the exact stage it’s in, if it has spread anywhere, and what the next move is. She will begin chemotherapy 2-3 weeks after the surgery takes place, and she will (as of now) receive 6 rounds every 3 weeks, totaling in about 4 1/2 months of chemo. The doctor's hope is that the chemo will be preventative, and that the surgery will have removed all the cancer. However, everyone’s cancer is different. As a person who despises uncertainties and unknowns, this is a phrase I am already starting to completely detest.
Where am I today, only a week later? For starters, I have constant questions running through my mind - why wasn’t this testing rushed more from the beginning? Didn’t you check for ovarian, cervical, and uterine cancer? If so, why did nothing come back positive until now, at stage 3? Is stage 3 bad? Is it too late? Can we beat this? Can you save my mom? Is my mom going to be okay? Can you tell me my mom is going to be okay?
"Everyone’s cancer is different."
I have never been an extremely religious person, but I have always believed that things happen for a reason. At this point, I am struggling to find a reason. The only thing I can think of is that this is just a “shit happens” fork in the road. Some things don’t have reasons. I find myself filled with constant ups and downs. I am walking the tightrope between being positive and hopeful, and breaking down and screaming “why” at the top of my lungs to some unknown source.
I went back and forth, debating whether or not I wanted to share this. As of this morning, I wanted nothing more than to keep this between my family, my close friends, and no one else. In the end, that seemed really selfish. My mom needs all the love, support, and good thoughts she can get. Not only that, but PPC is a relatively rare cancer. Statistically, only 2,000-10,000 people (mostly woman) a year are diagnosed with this specific cancer. While there is some information out there, there simply is not enough. Knowledge is power. While “everyones cancer is different”, everyones' struggle with it is real. Sometimes, reading someone else's journey can ease just a smidgen of pain. I know it helped me, reading other people's stories. And who knows, it may help me process and cope with what is to come. So that is what I am here to do. I am going to share my moms journey (with her permission, of course). I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and this is going to be a joke. Other people’s mom’s get cancer. My mom doesn’t get cancer.
Well, my mom has cancer. And my mom is going to beat cancer.
