About three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with RPS, and my first thought was....I have no clue what it is, but I know what a sarcoma is and that is not good. Originally my tumor was found during my yearly pap smear. I am very good about going to the ob/gyn every year and didn't think much about it. I mean, women have cysts on their ovaries all the time. So I put off the ultrasound until the first of November.
I show up at the radiology department, and the woman doing the ultrasound gets this odd look. She tells me she hasn't seen anything like it, but thinks it could be a dermoid on my ovary. Well I am not one to freak out too much, but it sits in my head and as I am pulling up my jeans and buttoning them up, I am already planning my google searches when I get home.
So off I go into the internet, looking and searching for answers that really aren't going to come. I meet with my surgical ob/gyn the next week, two kids in tow. The nurse gives them a box of crayons to draw on the paper that is laid over the exam table. They were very proud of their work, as was I. *smiles* He prods a little, and then using his own ultrasound machine looks at this growth on my ovary. He schedules surgery for the next week.
Well now, I am supposed to lose an ovary to this thing growing inside me. WTF? I am only 33 and I have to have one of my body parts cut away because of this. This does not make me a happy camper, but still....it is what it is and it has to be done. So I get all my ducks in a row, and my estranged husband comes in to take care of the kids. We will get into that story later, and it's a doozy.
My mom and dad come to see me through the surgery. They show up with coffee in hand at 5 am and since I can't have anything to eat or drink, I am rather jealous of their coffee. Through a sheer act of will, I abstain from downing the precious nectar and wait my turn to be called. We wait, and wait some more ....and to make a long story short, I wake up from surgery to find out that my ovary is still there as is the mass.
During the surgery, it obviously wasn't what they thought it was and after calling in a few surgeons to look at my insides, they closed me up. So now I am groggy and irritated, cause anethesia tends to make me grumpy. Well if its not a cyst or dermoid, what the hell is it? That would be the million dollar question.
After talking to my surgeons, a CT scan is ordered. Lovely, more tests with radioactive liquid that tastes like chalk. Least they could do is put some booze or something in there. *laughs* This is done on a friday, and for some reason none of my doctors are around to get the results. Have I mentioned I am incredibily impatient?? After putting in a call to my ob/gyn's office, I get a phone call around 6 o clock pm. It's one of the docs in the office and there is this tone in her voice. She gives me the results....the differential is a probable retroperitoneal sarcoma. The only thing I knew was anything ending in "oma" tends to be cancer.
I was glad she called, glad that this woman took the time to not let me wonder all weekend what the heck was inside me. *deep breath* I am not one to jump to conclusions but neither am I one to pooh pooh the seriousness of this. Monday morning comes with a flurry of phone calls, my doctors looking for a sarcoma surgeon here in NC. Finally they find one and set me up an appointment. Now, we play the waiting game again. Is it perhaps a misdiagnosis?
So off I go to the Blumenthal cancer center in Charlotte. My dad insists on going along with me and for some reason, I didn't really want anyone to going. I don't know why, perhaps some insane reason that if my family goes...it makes it that much more real. I tend to be quite good with denial.
Sitting in the waiting room, I looked around at the all the people in there and couldn't help but wonder...what the heck do you have? I didn't ask, I figured that would be rude. Now, as I said, I am far from perfect...and my New Year's Resolution is to quit smoking, but I admit...I went downstairs, lit up, and smoked a cigarette. Leaning against the concrete wall, I just couldn't believe I was here, at a cancer center...smoking a cigarette *laughs*. What a turn in my life.
Back upstairs to be called in, weighed, blood pressure taken and then sitting in a room with my dad and waiting. Yes, the waiting thing drove me up a wall. Finally the doc comes in after what seems like forever. He shows me the tumor, and explains why it looks like cancer. It's dirty, heterogenous. (his words). We won't know the exact type until the surgery. So, I ask some questions as does my dad, but of course there aren't ever enough answers. It's wrapped around my illiac vessels and my aorta, and that means it won't be completely resectable. Though my doc is going to be sending my CT's and MRI's to Sloan Kettring and MD Anderson, two major cancer centers to see what they say.
Tonight, is my MRI. I find it amusing that I will be spending New Year's Eve laying in a machine to look at this thing inside me.
More I am sure later....
