Ovarian Cancer

I started my #Recovery journey in 2014 and I found a new way of life immediately. No one warned me the NEW was NEW Chapters of Life, Chapters which would not finish before the next starts….
In 2014 I had to have a #lumpectomy from my right #breast .
In the beginning of 2015 I was served #Divorce papers. By the end of the year we reconciled.
In 2016 when I should be excited my eldest is graduating from High School, simultaneously my second born had to have #OpenHeartSurgery .
In 2017 second born lost his first grandmother and I got to fly him from CA to ME to see her take her last breath.
In 2019 I was the proud #homeowner with my #husband of 10 years. We were finally making the #americandream .
In April 2020 I get a phonecall my father has had a #brainstemstroke I had to come home to Maine to assist with #lifeendingchoices .
In May 2020 my Mother is diagnosed with #OvarianCancer .
I am now temporarily living with my mother, being a #Caregiver , yet my #husband #mycaregiver #Abandoned me and then requested to take #fullcustody of #ourdaughter via the #Divorce .
In July 2021 my Mother sadly passed away. I have become an #Orphan too quickly. #Grief and #Depression is all too real now.
In March 2022, My second son has now come down sick. Doctors spend months trying to figure out why. It takes until July 2022 to diagnose him with #Sepsis #Endocarditis he spends 2 weeks #hospitalized and another 8 weeks on a #PiccLine at home.
In Dec 2022 he is given a clean bill of health and decides to come live with me in #Maine .
In Feb 2023 he starts to become tired easily, slight cough, and finally passed out in March.
March 10th he passed out at home. We called #911 and the #localer #Misdiagnosed him.
March 13th I took him to #mainemedicalcenter where he was hospitalized for 7 days with #Pneumonia and possible #Endocarditis where he was then transferred to #boston .
March 19th upon arriving to #brighamwomanhospital - #shapirocardiovascularcenter he underwent dozens more blood testing, procedures, exams, etc.
Today March 27th he is having #OpenHeartSurgery Number 2 to replace the pulmonary valve, pulmonary conduit, remove large vegetation.
In a couple of days as scheduled I am also supposed to exchange visitation with my daughter so I can visit with her for Spring Vacation. However my ex is trying to knit pick about my schedule and if I have ample time to spend with our daughter while my adult son is in ICU. Our daughter is 11 years old.
I really feel in the last multiple years I have had one catastrophic event after another without time to process.
I have other things like major moves, loss of therapists, and other medical mental health issues. I am so exhausted today scared sick for my son.
I am so annoyed how some people enjoy kicking others while they are down.
I don’t even know when I am going to sleep again right now. I have so many thoughts, concerns, to do’s in my head - I can’t sleep it is going to drive me crazy.
I am so sick of being in a chapter book that doesn’t let the chapters end.

Hi, my name is 1Shalom. I'm here because I'm caregiver to my wife, fighting ovarian cancer

#MightyTogether

Hi, my name is musicfestivalgirly. I'm here because I was recently diagnosed with a form of Ovarian Cancer called a high grade immature teratoma. I’m 23 and going to be starting chemo within the next couple weeks and am just looking for community and help navigating these next steps in my life.

#MightyTogether #Cancer #Anxiety

An open letter to my Adenomyosis,

You’ve stalked me for years. I felt you since the moment I started puberty. In the shadows you were there watching, slowly taking over my uterus.

I remember when you’d cause me to bleed through all my favorite clothes and ruin my sheets.

I remember when you took my high school Sophomore dance from me.

I remember the first gynecologist to dismiss me and say period pain is “normal” and to just take birth control and that was the same response I got from many more uneducated gynecologists.

I remember during that year in high school I was convinced I had ovarian cancer because Doctor Google was all I had due to no doctor being able to provide me actual answers as to why I was in so much pain.

I remember all the invasive pelvic exams you’ve put me through that had me once scream so loud my family heard me from the ER waiting room.

I remember all the financial sacrifices I’ve made for you to keep you content despite at the same time you kept me from earning a livable income. All while you take over more and more of my uterus because you’ll never be satisfied.

I remember the relief and the tears that fell when a doctor finally validated my experience and assured me they’d do everything in their power to help me get out of the debilitating pain you’d put me through on a daily basis because once a month wasn’t enough for you anymore.

You made me believe I was unlovable because I couldn’t provide intimacy which led to many unhealthy relationships where I allowed disrespect from the belief I deserved it. You were wrong because I found a man that loves me despite all the chaos you cause. It taught me there’s more to intimacy than intercourse and my value doesn’t depend on my ability to have sex.

You believe you’ve won from all the days I’ve had to spend alone in bed curled up, but in reality you opened me up to a community of amazing people that are warriors.

The reality has finally sunk in that you haven’t responded to any of the various treatments I’ve thrown your way and that the only way to fight you is by removing you and the uterus you inhabit.

Some days you feel like an all knowing overlord that has me strung up like a puppet moving me in whatever direction you want. Well I’m sorry to inform you those days are over. I’m taking my power back. I may be loosing an organ society puts a lot of emphasis on, but it’s shown me my worth and femininity isn’t tied to my uterus. I’m more than my ability to physically carry children.

I will be regaining my quality of life back and you won’t be able to hurt me anymore. I hope you’ve had your fun themighty.com/topic/Adenomyosis because I sure haven’t had any since you reared your ugly head.
Sincerely, The 1 out of 10 women you continually inflict terror upon

I have a ritual I do in November, no fail. Since I am mathematically challenged (and directionally challenged, but more on that later), I close out of social media sites, emails, and texts to focus on my calculator. I know when I solve this particular problem, I will stare at my screen in disbelief for a while.

I hurriedly type the equation—in this case, it’s 365 x 8–eager to know the answer, but then I stop myself, almost like I would before impulsively devouring another slice of pizza. Do I really need to do this? Why am I doing this? Anxiously, I resist the urge to round up and calculate quickly. Instead, I contemplate, with the proverbial Jeopardy music regurgitating in my head, but, inevitably, I bite. I need to know the final answer.

It’s 2,920, by the way…as in days I have lived without my mom.

During those days I have managed to go on without her impeccable and irreplicable brand of glorious love and unfiltered understanding, I have fallen, hard. I have failed, beyond miserably. I have made countless mistakes, relentlessly suffering from her cruel departure, from the silence I hear when I desperately need her guidance.

Of course, I expected this…the uncertainty of my footing after the seismic shift in my life, as she was always the one to steady me, to give me courage to take the next step, to convince me that I would eventually hit my stride. But I could never anticipate this feeling of going through the emotional inventory of the past 8 years, realizing what I have endured without her physical presence.

I have moved three times, once driving myself 1,357 miles, boy and dog in tow, to a place I didn’t know a soul.

I have loved my kids through the gut-wrenching death of their beloved dad.

I have experienced the true heartbreak of another failed relationship.

I have fulfilled my mother’s dream of becoming a children’s book author with the publication of two multi-award-winning books, Goodnight Star, Whoever You Are and When You Lived in My Belly.

I have experienced the absolute high of shifting perspectives and transforming lives by writing about grief, heartbreak, and parenting for various publications–including Scary Mommy!– in my authentic voice.

I have supported my family by working tirelessly, showing them that there are payoffs for being a dreamer.

I have laced my son up for every hockey game; attended my bonus daughter’s virtual graduation for her Master’s degree; adopted the most loving and loyal dog who was once a single teen mom living in a dumpster in Memphis; taken spontaneous road trips; logged thousands of miles on a book tour; and dabbled in the art of self-mockery to make my kids laugh when they needed it (and sometimes when they didn’t).

I have cried in the shower and still managed to get dressed, never forgetting the power of a good lipstick.

I have made holiday meals using my mom’s cherished recipes, remembering the techniques I absorbed working alongside her for decades in the kitchen.

I have been there for my friends, delivering random cards or gifts as pick-me-ups, listening to them until they felt heard, always showing up when plans were made.

I have survived the turmoil of an ongoing pandemic, doing everything in my power to keep my loved ones safe (and schooled).

I have smiled—without a filter—during times of internal conflict with her “don’t worry about something until there’s something to worry about” mantra ringing in my head.

I have belted out ‘80s classics at stoplights, completely off key, with wild abandon.

I have waited alone for the mammography, transvaginal ultrasound, and uterine and endometrial biopsy results, mostly required due to her #OvarianCancer diagnosis at age 52, steeling myself for the worst, but always hoping for the best.

Just like she taught me.

For the first time since I started my bizarre mathematical ritual, I realize I am simply not as alone as I always thought I was watching most of my friends enjoy life with their moms all these years.

Bruised and bloodied, there’s no doubt I have my footing. I am still standing. And it’s only because my mom continues to show me how.