Carissa Thompson

December 2024

I was diagnosed with stage 2B ovarian cancer at the age of 28 earlier this year (2024). The journey to my diagnosis was long and extremely difficult at times. It began after a miscarriage in 2021. After healing from our loss, my husband and I began trying again for a baby. When month after month of tracking my cycle led to negative test after negative test, I started to make appointments with my OBGYN. My cycle has never been regular, so my doctor tried to help me navigate when my true ovulation was, and so we continued trying to get pregnant for a few more months. I became resentful of my body and felt like I was failing. I was taking so many ovulation tests and pregnancy tests every month that I thought that seeing a “negative” result would stop being so painful. But with every result, my heart sank lower; I felt so broken. My husband and I both went in for bloodwork and other tests to check our fertility, all of which came back in normal (if not great) ranges. What became even more frustrating was the constant response from my care team, “You’re young and healthy (it will happen).”

I continued pushing my provider for more tests. An ultrasound showed a small mass on my left ovary that was chalked up to being a benign cyst that we would continue to monitor. During an HSG test to check my fallopian tubes, they found it challenging to observe the left side of my uterus, left fallopian tube, and left ovary. An MRI showed that I had a septate uterus (a septum splitting my uterus into two chambers), which they thought to be causing my infertility. During the months it took to get the HSG and MRI, I was consistently having ultrasounds to look at the mass on my ovary every three months. Every ultrasound, we found that the “cyst” was slowly growing. My MRI and ultrasounds were sent to oncology to rule out cancer. I was not concerned at all about cancer; I thought, “It couldn’t be cancer.” They came back with the result that the mass was not consistent with a cyst, but it appeared to be an irregular benign tumor. At this point, I went in for surgery to retract the septum in my uterus, hoping and praying that it was going to solve our fertility issues.

After that first surgery, my doctor said he was unable to remove the full septum because of excess bleeding, making it difficult to see. We then scheduled another surgery to remove the remaining tissue. I asked, “At what point do we remove the mass?” because I was having severe pain in my abdomen, traced back to the growing tumor. Also, it was scaring me to have something in my body that was not supposed to be there…and it was growing! One of my doctors said, “It’s up to you.” This added to my ever-growing frustration because I wanted some direction and answers. I asked the same questions to the doctor who was performing the upcoming surgery, and he encouraged me to get the tumor out at the same time we went in for the septum. This immediately put my mind at ease, knowing we were taking care of everything.

A few days following my surgery, I received the call at 7pm on a Thursday night to inform me that the biopsy from my mass came back as cancerous. I sat and cried. I cried with my husband. My parents came over that night, and I cried with them. I cried on the phone with my sister. It was one of the absolute worst days of my life.

Less than four weeks following that phone call, I had surgery to remove my left ovary and fallopian tube. My oncologist biopsied a few surrounding areas and found that the cancer had spread to my uterus and bladder microscopically, putting me in the stage 2B category. After sitting with this information, my husband, the oncology team, and I decided the best course of action to reduce the chance of recurrence is to have a complete hysterectomy and remove my remaining right ovary and fallopian tube, followed by BEP chemotherapy. Ultimately, this meant that I would not be able to carry a child. Again, my heart shattered.

Before the big surgery, my husband and I created embryos in hopes of utilizing a surrogate after I completed my chemotherapy. My BEP chemo schedule was very intense, and my body is still very much recovering, but overall, I handled it pretty well physically (so they tell me). Mentally, it was a lot to work through (and still is), but I am so happy to have completed it! I had to tell myself, “One day at a time,” often because thinking of returning to the infusion clinic each day got harder and harder. I knew I could make it if I just focused on getting through one more day.
During the three months of chemo, my sister went through the process of becoming a surrogate. At the start of it all, when we were just having difficulty getting pregnant, my sister offered to be our surrogate. I brushed it off because I never thought that would be something we would need to consider. Fast forward to my diagnosis, she brought it up again. We discussed at length what this would look like for our family and her family, especially as she and her husband have two littles at home. We now have a tentative transfer date in January and could not be more excited! I will forever be grateful for her selflessness, love, and support through everything life has thrown at us. The sacrifice my sister and her family are making for us to have a chance at having our own biological child will be something we never take for granted.

Throughout the ups and downs, I am lucky to have been absolutely spoiled and comforted by my husband, family, friends, and the community I live in. Without them, I know I would have spiraled. Cancer has completely flipped my world upside down, but I am grateful we caught it early and are taking steps to grow our family. There is a lot I could be upset about or resentful for, but I choose to be thankful, grateful, and excited for the life I get to look forward to. Just taking it one day at a time.