My story.

Hey everyone.

Welcome to life as seen through the eyes of a 26 (and a 1/2) year old female Cancer Survivor. I like to use the term "Survivor" because Patient sounds so terminal. Those close to me know my story but for those who don't, or those who just enjoy my witty and sarcastic sense of humor, I'll share what's been my life for the last 3 years up until now. I intend to give only the blunt truth while documenting my story so if you can't handle it, don't read it.

In late July of 2008 (23 years old), my then boyfriend of 5 years text messaged me saying he thought I felt "swollen" the last time we had sex. Mind you the last time we had sex was seriously like, over a week prior to this message so I wasn't sure why he was telling me days later. I told him he was nuts thinking he was talking about some sort of yeast infection - which I knew I didn't have - and continued on along my work day not really giving it a second thought. Later that night in the shower I decided to check myself. What I found was that I wasn't swollen as he had described it, but there was a hard mass about the size of a golf ball "down there." I freaked out, called my OBGYN and had an emergency visit the next morning. I was informed that this mass was in fact a cyst and that it was extremely common in women of all ages, being so close to a gland that is prone to getting clogged. I was told that I could have it removed or I could just live with it. Being so young I decided that I definitely didn't want to live with a cyst that large so I was given medication to shrink the size before having it drained. After a month of medicine, the "cyst" almost doubled in size. On August 21st, 2008 I went into the operating room for a 15 minute cyst removal and came out over 2 hours later, being informed that it turned out to be a tumor extraction that was about the size of a baseball. However, I was told that the tumor was benign and that I shouldn't worry about it. What happened next was the perpetual nightmare I still can't seem to wake up from.

Two weeks after my surgery I received the phone call that would change my life forever. The hospital where my surgery was performed could not diagnose the tumor and the mass was sent to Johns Hopkins University shortly thereafter. There, it was finally decided that I had Vaginal Leiomyosarcoma - I had cancer, and an extremely rare form on top of it all. At 23 years old, this was absolutely devastating. No one I knew around my age had cancer. All I could think of was how much longer I had to live.

After a lot of phone calls and a lot of waiting, I was able to get an appointment at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in NY. On September 22, 2008 I finally had my first visit at Sloan. I met with multiple doctors, being probed and prodded and basically living life through a heavy fog of depression and anxiety. They informed me that because my last doctor basically "scooped" my tumor out, they weren't sure if all the margins around the tumor were cancer free. My second surgery at Sloan was scheduled for October 14th, 2008 with my new doctor. Six days later, while meeting with a representative from Medicaid to discuss my deteriorating financial situation, my mother received a phone call with the best news we had heard in a while - my results were negative. I was cancer free!

Although this was great news I still had to deal with going to NY every freakin' 3 months to get CT Scans of my chest, abdomen and pelvis - along with a plethora of needles (which I have a phobia of...lucky me...) being stabbed into my arms countless times, on top of multiple doctors seeing/examining every body part I have. No room to be bashful here, folks. Xanax became my best friend during these times.

Two years went by of 3 month visits to Sloan, each time receiving CT Scans and physicals, and each time having anxiety attacks that my results would come back positive. Not to mention it's a rare event to see someone my age waiting for their appointment at Sloan. Every time I go I feel like I'm on the set of Night of the Living Dead. It's not exactly the most comforting thought.

Although there were a few small scares, everything always turned out fine. It was decided after my second year that I could move my visits to every 6 months. I was both extremely happy and extremely terrified. What if something happened within those 6 months and the tumor grew so rapidly, as it did the first time? Although I always kept this in the back of my mind, I was finally starting to feel "normal" again. I had made it almost 3 years with no signs of cancer. I decided that since my anxiety level was so super high every time I had to go for an appointment in NY, perhaps it would be better to visit the NJ facility. Two days before my appointment with this new doctor I received a call stating that he would not be in the office that day for my "consultation" but I was still scheduled for my CT Scans. Um, excuse me? I book these appointments 6 months in advance to make sure things like this don't happen. Not to mention this was not just a "consultation". I was pissed.

On June 3, 2011 I went for my 6 month visit and two days later I received a call that there was a mass in my left lung and I was scheduled to meet with a lung specialist at Sloan in NY two days later. This was not good news. I had a few times where things had shown up on my CT's before but was never asked to see another doctor. I already knew what was coming. So much for trying to stay away from NY.

On June 8, 2011 I was told that my cancer was back - the same kind; Leiomyosarcoma, a little bigger then the size of a quarter, now inhabiting my left lung, attached to an artery. As a singer, this couldn't be more heartbreaking news. I was told that until I was cut open on the operating table my doctor would not be able to tell if I would lose my entire lung or only a part of it. After getting over the fact that I was once again a Cancer Patient, that I would have a 6 inch scar on my side, would spend 5 days in the hospital and 6-8 weeks recovering, I held onto one comforting detail - I would not need treatment. This diminutive bit of relief was crushed two days later when I was informed that an appointment had been made for me to meet with an Oncologist to discuss treatment options on June 16, 2011.

With bated breath I stressed and cried and begged God that I wouldn't lose my hair. As vain as it might sound I felt that having Cancer was bad enough - I didn't want to look like I had it as well. I mean, come on. Could I catch a break? Not being in a serious relationship is one of the main reasons I didn't want to worry about being bald. How was I supposed to meet someone new, go on a few dates with this awesome flowing beautiful hair (known as a good wig) then get into the bedroom and suddenly be bald? I mean, I'm not one to embarrass easily but that's just too much to handle. I couldn't help but wonder, what would happen when I started to lose it? Would it come out in chunks? Would my eye lashes fall out? These are AWARD-WINNING eye lashes, people. A million thoughts ran through my head including - should I shave it? What would be the point where I would just feel the need to get rid of it on my own before having it fall out without my permission?

Anyway, I sat in Sloan's reception area (for over two hours due to the Oncologist running late - talk about stress) repeating over and over in my head, "please let me keep my hair" and for ONCE something good happened! My Oncologist stated that because my tumor was operable, it was decided that at this time I would not need chemo. If it was needed in the future, the type I would probably get would not cause me to lose my hair. I was ECSTATIC. I was hysterically crying saying, "I'm so happy!" It was the best news thus far. I completely forgot about the fact that I needed to stay another 4-5 hours to get my PET Scan (which would require yet another needle) plus have the hour+ drive home back to NJ. I didn't even care. I got to keep the hair that I consistently have a love/hate relationship with...yet I've informed everyone I see on a daily basis to knock me upside the head should I ever complain about it again.

So this is where I stand now, people. I am once again a Cancer Patient, working towards becoming a Survivor yet again. My surgery is one week from today on June 28th. Now the only thing running through my mind is hoping that I will get to keep at least part of my left lung instead of losing the whole thing. I need these lungs to sing!
I figured a good way to get through this upcoming journey is to document it. Maybe some "good" will come out of this whole thing...if that's even possible.

Stay tuned.