Cindy Plummer

January 2017

In the summer of 2015, at the age of 58, I made a doctor’s appointment to discuss what I thought was a sinus infection. Of course it cleared up before my appointment, but I did not cancel, because I had a couple of moles I wanted the doctor to look at. I had a pretty quick appointment, diagnosed with seasonal allergies and the moles were fine. My doctor did say I was due for some routine blood work, and asked me to stop in the lab within the next week or so to get that done. I went to the lab on my way out.  A few days later, my doctor called and said “you are severely, severely anemic.”  And that is how it started.

So began a battery of tests. I am extremely lucky to have great insurance and a good primary care physician. I had taken a lot of aspirin because of what I had thought was a sinus infection, so the tests began with an endoscopy to check my stomach. Then onto a head CT to check my sinuses. It seemed like the tests took forever, and that they were going too fast. The worst part was that it was obvious something was wrong, but what? I started to dread hearing the phone ring and knowing it was my doctor. Finally, an abdominal CT confirmed a mass. It was located, possibly, near my ovaries but it was hard to tell for sure. Then back to the doctor, then the ultrasound, then to a gynecologist who told me the only way to know what it was would be surgery. Either he would perform the surgery, or I would be referred to a Gynecologist Oncologist.

I was referred to a Gynecologic Oncologist which was both scary and reassuring.  I asked that my surgery be scheduled after my husband and I took my son back to Tennessee for his final year of college. I had several more tests before I left; I also got an iron infusion to get my red blood count up and give me at least a little energy. I declined the opportunity to hear any test results while on my trip. I was glad my son was not going to be home until Thanksgiving. That was one less thing to worry about.

I’m not sure what was scarier, the Pre-Op appointment with my surgeon or the Pre-Op appointment where I signed the consent forms. I vaguely remember the surgeon telling my husband and me that the mass was the size of a cantaloupe. That seemed too impossible to believe. He also told us all the things it “could be” and that it could also be benign.  My CA 125 was 79, which is high, but apparently not that high. The PET scan showed something, but it didn’t “light up”. The consent forms included permission for a colostomy and removal of my spleen among other things.

The night before the surgery was the longest night of my life. I really was scared. At some point I wrote a letter to my husband and son. (I was happy to tear them up later.) I was scheduled for first thing in the morning, so arrived at the hospital at 5 a.m.  After that, everything is a blur. I don’t think I was really aware of what they found or what was going on until a day or two after my surgery.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I realized I needed to talk to a good friend of mine who happens to be a Gyn Onc. After years in solo practice, she has been taking time off to be with her children as they finish high school. From the moment she found out about my diagnosis, she stepped in and became my advocate. Angel! She explained things to my husband and me that we had trouble understanding; told us what questions to ask and spoke to my surgeon. She got my lab results and called and told me the diagnosis — Ovarian Cancer, Stage 1C.  She explained the good news, Stage 1, the bad news, C.  She told me I would need chemotherapy treatment. 

The rest of the story is probably typical of Ovarian Cancer treatment. One month after my surgery, I began six rounds of chemo. What is different about my story is that I happened to have an amazing friend who is also a gynecologic oncologist. That friend went to every doctor’s appointment and chemo session with me. She has stayed with me through the 30, 60 and 90 day checkups. She was the life raft that kept my family afloat! My other friends and family supported me in more ways than I can count. Chemo buddies made the sessions almost like a party. The visits, meals for months, cards and notes and countless other acts of kindness gave me strength when I needed it most.

I tell people that it was the worst year of my life, and the best year of my life. Cancer sucks, but not everyone gets the opportunity to appreciate and love their family and friends the way I have. I know how lucky I am to be diagnosed at Stage 1. I tell everyone who will listen to keep routine appointments with their doctor and take the routine tests they recommend. While anemia is not typically a symptom for ovarian cancer, it was a symptom of mine. 

Of course I hold my breath every 90 days when it is time for the dreaded CA125 blood test and checkup. The fear creeps back in. But I think about how much better this summer was than the last one. I think about how nice it is to have hair again. I got to see my son graduate from college. I appreciate every day and every season. And the fear fades into the background.