On January 9, 2017, I underwent a complete hysterectomy after a biopsy (which occurred during a dilation and curretage or D&C) revealed pre-cancerous cells in my uterus. I talked about my hospital experience in this post. Since that time, I have been seeing a gynecologist every six months for checkups.
Not long ago, my gynecologist decided to leave, and my care passed to a different doctor. Today, I saw him for the first time. As is his practice, he wanted to see me in a consultation first, then he would leave the room and give me time to get ready for the exam.
During the consultation, he went over my medical history. All was pretty much as I expected until he mentioned off-hand that I had been diagnosed with stage one uterine cancer.
What? I asked for clarification.
He backed up, explained some more, and let me see the report that came back when they sent my uterus to a major hospital in another city for analysis. I saw the words, "stage one endometrial carcinoma," where "endometrial" has to do with the inner lining of the uterus, and "carcinoma" ... is cancer. The guy who had been seeing me for a year and a half after this operation made no mention of this information. As far as I knew, all I had was pre-cancerous cells.
Of course, all of that makes no difference now, because the uterus and all the other reproductive equipment is gone: ovaries, Fallopian tubes, and cervix. But the 17-month-old news somehow set me back on my heels and made my knees feel weak, like you feel when you have almost gotten into a car crash and narrowly escaped it. Or that you petted a dog that only later you found out had rabies.
I had been that close to one of the most dreaded diseases of our era, and I had been completely oblivious to it. And unknown to me - it had touched me on the way by.
I have not been able to get those words - endometrial carcinoma - out of my head ever since. Because of that diagnosis, he said, my chance of getting cancer again is 5% - which I know means that I have a 95% chance of NOT getting it. So I have to keep going back for re-checks until five years after the surgery date, which would be 2022. Fortunately, this man is an oncological gynecologist - specializing in cancer followups like these.
The feelings are a jumble of left-over fear, gratitude that I no longer have it, anger that I was not told this sooner, and incredible vulnerability. I guess I just need to sit with this knowledge, make peace with it, and move on. After all, nothing has changed ... except my perception.
But it might take a while.
Not long ago, my gynecologist decided to leave, and my care passed to a different doctor. Today, I saw him for the first time. As is his practice, he wanted to see me in a consultation first, then he would leave the room and give me time to get ready for the exam.
During the consultation, he went over my medical history. All was pretty much as I expected until he mentioned off-hand that I had been diagnosed with stage one uterine cancer.
What? I asked for clarification.
He backed up, explained some more, and let me see the report that came back when they sent my uterus to a major hospital in another city for analysis. I saw the words, "stage one endometrial carcinoma," where "endometrial" has to do with the inner lining of the uterus, and "carcinoma" ... is cancer. The guy who had been seeing me for a year and a half after this operation made no mention of this information. As far as I knew, all I had was pre-cancerous cells.
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| Image from Pixabay |
I had been that close to one of the most dreaded diseases of our era, and I had been completely oblivious to it. And unknown to me - it had touched me on the way by.
I have not been able to get those words - endometrial carcinoma - out of my head ever since. Because of that diagnosis, he said, my chance of getting cancer again is 5% - which I know means that I have a 95% chance of NOT getting it. So I have to keep going back for re-checks until five years after the surgery date, which would be 2022. Fortunately, this man is an oncological gynecologist - specializing in cancer followups like these.
The feelings are a jumble of left-over fear, gratitude that I no longer have it, anger that I was not told this sooner, and incredible vulnerability. I guess I just need to sit with this knowledge, make peace with it, and move on. After all, nothing has changed ... except my perception.
But it might take a while.
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