About a year ago I noticed that I’d gained weight in my stomach. There was a jump on the scale of about 5 pounds, seemingly overnight. A kindergartener at school asked me about “the baby in my tummy”. (No, there definitely wasn’t one.) I made it my goal to lose weight last summer. I exercised and I cut calories. But instead of losing weight, I gained a few more pounds.
I had an appointment with my primary care doctor last fall. I expressed concerns about weight gain. She said, “Well, you’re in your forties now, and your metabolism is slowing down. Cut your calories and exercise more.” But I’m already doing that, I protested. She ordered a thyroid test, but my thyroid was fine. “Watch your calories!” she repeated. I rolled my eyes as I walked out the door of her office. We’d just been through Hurricane Helene, the worst natural disaster I’ve ever experienced, and it wasn’t like I’d been sitting around eating junk food. I had more muscle tone in my arms than ever before, thanks to carrying buckets of water for weeks.
In January I saw my OB/GYN. At the beginning of my visit she asked if I had any concerns. I told her about my weight gain and, again, I heard the spiel about metabolism slowing down in your 40s. I had trouble containing my annoyance as I said, “I know that happens, but this feels different.” I explained that I’m generally a pear-shaped person; I don’t usually gain weight in my stomach. My doctor did an exam, and as she pressed on my belly, she said…”Hmm, it feels like you might have a uterine fibroid. It might actually be a large one. Schedule my next available ultrasound.” Her next available wasn’t until late February. The ultrasound confirmed the fibroid, which my doctor said was about the size of an orange. I felt mostly relief and a sense of validation; I had known that something wasn’t right, and this confirmed it. My giddiness about being correct lasted for about half a minute, until she began talking about my options. “You’ll probably want to schedule a hysterectomy. That’s what most people do when they have fibroids this big.” Wait, what? I shook my head in disbelief. She handed me a pamphlet titled ‘One day and your hysterectomy’s over. One week and it’s old news.’
I side-eyed the 2006 publication date of that pamphlet. “That’s a major surgery; there must be something else.” She offered to refer me to an interventional radiologist for a uterine artery embolization, which would shrink the fibroid. The recovery time would be less, although the procedure would be painful. I thought it sounded more appealing than a hysterectomy, though, so I scheduled a consultation right away.
The interventional radiologist seemed competent and knowledgeable. We talked at length about the procedure. He said I’d be a good candidate, with one caveat - there was no way to know if the fibroid might actually be cancer, a rare but aggressive sarcoma. “But my OB/GYN said it looked like a regular old fibroid,” I insisted. He shrugged, and said it was hard to tell without taking it out and testing it. He wanted me to be aware of all the risks. I was pretty sure this was what I wanted to do, but asked him if he could refer me for another opinion, just to be sure I was making the right decision.
He referred me to a women’s cancer specialist. It was St. Patrick’s Day when I walked into Mission Hospital’s Hope Cancer center. It felt surreal to be there as a patient, sitting in the waiting room with women who were obviously in the midst of chemo treatments, while several of the employees ran around in green holiday garb. For a moment I imagined what it would be like to be diagnosed with cancer by someone dressed as a leprechaun, but thankfully, the doctor I saw was in normal clothing.
When I met with the oncologist, I wanted her to look at my chart and tell me for sure that the fibroid wasn’t cancerous. That didn’t happen; she said that the size of the fibroid was concerning. Cancer cells grow rapidly, and the fact that the fibroid hadn’t been diagnosed until it was softball-sized was a red flag. She said that an embolization wouldn’t be a terrible choice, but a hysterectomy followed by a biopsy of the fibroid would be the best choice. I cried while she went through all of my options, which also included doing nothing and letting it grow to the size of a watermelon. I showed her the ridiculous pamphlet my doctor had given me, and she laughed. When she jokingly posed the question I wonder how many men it took to write that pamphlet? I knew that this was the doctor for me. She told me I was a candidate for a robotic hysterectomy, which is less invasive than the traditional kind. She sent me on to her scheduling person, and I froze as her assistant talked about dates. “We just had a cancellation for April 2,” she told me. No way, that’s too soon, I thought. I insisted on scheduling a day when I could have the very first surgery, to maximize my chances of not having to spend the night in the hospital. That landed me in early May. (In hindsight, I should have just taken an earlier surgery date, because I ended up thinking about cancer almost every waking moment between that day in March and the day of my actual surgery.)
The surgery itself really wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I’ve heard varying opinions on Mission Hospital, but my experience was excellent. The nurses were all wonderful, and my surgery started on time. I was in terrible pain when I woke up, and they sent some kind of incredible painkiller through my IV. I went into a recovery room and ate a snack of graham crackers, peanut butter, and apple juice. I felt a bit like a preschooler as I fell asleep between bites. After about an hour, a nurse announced that I could go home. My mother, amazing woman that she is, brought me home and stayed with me for the next few days. I’m so grateful for her help, as well as for the numerous cards, emails, texts, flowers, soups and cookies sent by friends and family. I felt like I got a new lease on life when, 6 days later, I opened a message in my patient portal saying that there was no cancer found.
The one thing I learned from this whole experience is that if something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t. I can’t help but wonder, if my fibroid had been diagnosed earlier, would the outcome have been different? Maybe I would’ve had to have a hysterectomy anyway. There’s no going back now…But I do have to say, my surgery was just over a week ago, and it kind of does feel like old news.