Noel Rademacher

May 2020

In 2012 my fairytale was taking place. I was 36, engaged to a wonderful man, and I found myself managing an Apple Store and planning our wedding. In February I had my annual exam and carried on with my busy day to day life. My father was a stage 4 colon cancer survivor, and my parents lived back east; so we decided to have two weddings—one in Lancaster and one in my hometown of Spokane. I worked out 4-5 times a week, put in 60 hour work weeks, and was a dog mom to our puppy. I found my wedding dress that spring, and by the first wedding in July we were counting the days for the next big day. Everything was falling into place. Somewhere in that 30 days I found myself having a hard time trying to urinate. It was painful but not like a bladder infection. The pressure made me have to stop mid stream and start again. I chalked it up to not important enough to say anything.

On August 25th 2012 I stepped into my wedding dress for the second time. I had not gained weight, but when my sister went to zip up my dress, the zipper got stuck when it got to my abdomen. This struck me as odd. I have a picture of the exact moment that thought went through my mind. I brushed the feeling aside and carried on to marry the man of my dreams to become Dr. Thomas And Mrs. Noel Rademacher. We left for Bora Bora a week later, and then the bloating took over. This sign’s excuse was eating too much delicious food and not working out. I returned home, and my husband tickled my waist. It was not a laughing moment, it was painful, and something was seriously off. The next morning I went to pilates class and just waited in my car until my doctor’s office opened.

“I want you to get an ultrasound,” she said in a very serious tone. I had never had one before. I had seen them only on TV. Having to drink 30 ounces of water and hold it was extremely painful. I was led into a dark room; I knew the tech was measuring something but I just didn’t know it was a 15cm cyst. My doctor called as I was driving to work and asked me to pull over. I just kept thinking I was going to be late for work. As for my doctor, she sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher–all white noise. I begged her to call Thomas, as he would understand.

Thomas called the ER and asked for a gynecologic oncologist’s phone number. She was on an 80 mile bike ride. She returned his call, and together they scheduled a CT scan and a CA125 blood test for Monday and surgery on Tuesday. My doctor explained that they would take my left ovary, fallopian tube, and appendix. This would leave me with the right ovary if I was wanting to conceive. She also explained that the cyst was large enough and that it was pushing my uterus flat, meaning she couldn’t see my right ovary. She concluded the appointment by asking for permission to give my husband the right to make the decision for a full hysterectomy if it was needed.

I was still going to have one ovary if I wanted to be a mom. I woke up 5 hours later than they told me I would. My anesthesiologist was sitting next to me, and she was not wearing scrubs. To me this was a sign that my surgery was long. She told me there was also a cyst on the right ovary. My doctor entered the recovery area and took my hand. As my husband was holding back tears, she explained that there were tumors, not just one, but a second on my right ovary. She went on to explain that I had an incision that begins right below the center of my ribcage all the way to the center of my pubic bone. She then explained they left a small piece of the right ovary, hoping there would be enough follicles to have eggs taken for IVF. At that moment the bells in the hospital rang, as they always did when a new baby was born. I wept.

My doctor returned to my room at some point during my nine day stay to tell me that the cancer had not spread. I was stage 2c. She then explained the stages as if my ovaries were chicken eggs. This time my husband wept as he hugged me. I went into menopause shortly after. One nurse in particular shared, “I know what you are going through, I had breast cancer.” It devastated me. I asked if she had children. She replied yes. I asked how it was the same. She sat in silence and then said she was sorry. My husband started making me get out of bed; there were nurses that walked with me. I hated it; it was painful. Yet, it got me moving. My doctors, my nurses, my aides who helped me get well enough to go home were beyond kind. You never know someone’s whole story; be kind, listen. We don’t want to be in the hospital, but a patient medical professional can at least make our stay less lonely. In my first surgery they left my uterus and a small sliver the size of a pinky nail of my ovary, hoping the follicles would be able to stimulate enough estrogen to get some eggs. But, within five days my hormones were compared to a 55 year old woman. We then partnered with a Seattle fertility clinic to locate a donor who was willing to help us. I went on to have two successful pregnancies and then a full hysterectomy

I had one goal: My goal was to start a group in Spokane so other women would have access to survivors. Together with two other survivors, our doctors and our hospital, we did just that. This cancer robbed me of my chance to have children that are genetically mine, it stole my entire sex drive, and almost single handedly ruined my marriage. Even though I was alive, I was broken. I have slowly pulled myself back up; I am no longer the shattered shell that I was seven years ago, but your sexuality can disappear. Your ability to lose weight is a constant struggle—the new norm. l was blessed with two girls, but my marriage will forever be strained because of the aftershocks of menopause at 36. Open communication with our doctors, therapists, and our partners are key for survival. The journey is real. Talk about it. Listen to your body!