The Envelope Please

Friday April 12, 1991

I slept well after finally managing to drink that gallon of awful stuff which will cleanse my bowel in case they have to remove some of it today in surgery. They will do a laperostomy and a biopsy, then draw an envelope. Inside will be the decision to remove the cancer or wait six months and have chemotherapy first. I would much rather have chemo first.

Last night I talked to my mother, my daughter and my son and other family members who love me. They are all praying for me. That means so very very much to me.

God and I talked alot and I felt Jesus was right there with me. I am very much at peace with my cancer. I'm not worried or sad. I feel challenged to a fight and I'm going to do my best to win.

My stomach looks like I'm going to have a baby as I'm wheeled into surgery.

Mom told us right up front that her chances of surviving Stage III ovarian cancer were very small. She felt like being part of the study meant that her journey would mean something for future women receiving this diagnosis. I recently went to a seminar at Kaiser Permanente as well as consulting with my gynecologist. Unfortunately, screening for ovarian cancer has not improved since mom was diagnosed in 1991. She had abdominal pain for 2 years and every time she went to the doctor about her pain she was told it was probably indigestion and to try taking Maalox. Finally, her belly swelled so much she looked like she was 6 month's pregnant. She went to the emergency room and told the doctor there she was not leaving until they found out what was wrong with her.

I am so happy that mom felt Jesus was right there with her and she was at peace with her cancer. I remember the day I got that phone call and I was definitely NOT at peace. I cried for 3 days. I was already grieving for her.