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 Saving MyselfPosted by Heather McCollum Sep 6 2012, 1:31 am in Crisis, Diagnosis, Ovarian Cancer, Survival, writing  Battling cancer with chemo and Nutterbutters March 26th 2011 “Sure, but lay down first,” Jenny, my nurse practitioner said. “Where are you going?” “Grove Park Inn spa. I can’t wait!” Silence. Pressure. Ouch! “Does this hurt?” “Yeah, off and on.” The ceiling is white and ugly. They should paint something up there to look at. “Sorry…Heather, I have to do a pelvic exam.” “For a broken hand?” My giggle stops short. Jenny’s easy smile is dead flat. “Okay,” I say. “Now? I have my annual GYN visit in another couple weeks and I was just there for some spotting five months ago and everything was fine.” “We need to do a pelvic exam. Now.” March 27th 2011 “Did you drink a lot of water?” the technician asks and dims the lights. “I’m about to burst.” She laughs. “This won’t take long and I’ll let you go.” “I hope I don’t pee on the table.” “Well it’s happened before, but we’ll try to let you go real soon. Sorry, this might be a little uncomfortable.” Wow – another unexpected invasion of the hoo hoo. The transvaginal ultrasound isn’t nearly as much fun as the ultrasound to see a new baby. “How long have you been feeling this pain?” “Off and on for about a month.” “Is it sharp or more of an ache?” “More sharp when I feel it, but I’m starting to feel a little heavy down there.” “Hmmm…” God, I have to pee! “Okay, go use the bathroom.” She has a sweet voice, like high-pitched honey that I’ve only heard in the south. Thirty minutes later I sit in a chair in my thin, guard-your-butt gown. “Do you want something to drink, sweetheart?” “No.” “A warm blanket?” “Sure.” I bundle up in the heated wrap that reminds me so much of the hospital after the birth of my babies. No wonder the kids like it when I heat up their towels in the dryer after a bath. I rest my head in my hands. “Are you okay?” The technician must be watching me. I rub my hair in my lap as I nod. “You can get dressed, sweetheart, but don’t leave. Just wait out there. Is someone with you?” “My husband brought me.” “Good.” Good? Why is that good? 30 minutes later “We can’t get through to her GYN, but she needs to be seen right away.” “Let’s go,” he says and helps me to the truck. “What’s that mean,” I say when he starts it up. “A large mass? Is that the size of a pea or the size of a grapefruit?” “It’s on these films. I’m taking you right to your GYN.” “It takes months to get an appointment.” “We’re going now.” 1 hour later “That’s big.” Braden holds out two hands. “Like 5 inches.” Dr. Hawk nods. “I want you to see a GYN oncology surgeon. I could remove it, but since it looks complex, it would be best if we send you to Duke Hospital.” “But I’m going out of town tomorrow.” “They’ll see you at 8:30 AM.” “But we are leaving at 8.” “We’ll be there at 8:30,” Braden says. 30 Minutes Later I shake my head, unable to speak. “Is it bad?” I nod and the tears start flowing – the precise start of my rainy season. “Oh my God,” she says and pulls me into her chest. I rest my head there. “It’s a mass on my ovary. 5 inches. I’m seeing an oncologist tomorrow,” I squeak out. “Oh my God,” she says and holds me. I hear my 12-year-old daughter, Skye, behind me talking to Braden. They whisper and I feel her hand on my back. “Are you going to be okay?” What do I say? “Mommy, mommy, mommy! You’re home!” my four-year-old, Kyrra, vaults outside to grab my leg. “Hold me!” she demands. “She can’t,” Braden says and picks her up, but she reaches for me. “Why are you sad, Mommy?” What do I say? “Hey Mom!” my 10-year-old son, Logan, calls from the house. “Can I have TJ over? What’s wrong?” What do I say? Braden and I sit on the back porch together, next to one another but not touching. We stare out at the lawn that needs to be mowed. It’s sunny. The birds dip and soar, searching for bugs. I stare out, letting the world absorb my numbness for a while, letting the fear of what could be lay like a wet washcloth, cold and musty, in my stomach. I breathe in, not knowing if I’d been doing that all along or not. I guess I have. It’s funny how everything feels so still, so muted, like the world is holding its breath, yet the birds keep moving. The trees watch. The house behind me is unusually quiet. My mom has taken Kyrra to her house to play. “Wow,” I whisper and see Braden nod out of the corner of my eye. “Yeah.” “Amazing how suddenly everything seems different,” I murmur, barely moving, not wanting to set everything in motion. As if I’m on a precipice and know that as soon as I look over the edge, everything will start moving way too fast as I head toward the ground. “It could just be a mass. Easily taken out,” he says. “I’m not tired. I run every day. It grew way too fast to be cancer, right?” “Yeah. I don’t know.” He reaches for my hand. It’s as if we are looking over the edge of the cliff together, waiting, hardly moving, to see which way the wind will blow us. 2 Weeks Later “We can do this,” Braden says. “So many want to bring meals,” Margaret says and smiles though her eyes glitter with tears she won’t shed. “You’re fed for four months already.” “My little girl,” Mom says. “You will do this. You are strong.” “I’m selling my sea glass jewelry to give the money to Ovarian Cancer research, Mom,” Skye says. “Read this poster I made, everyday okay? I am a survivor. I am a fighter. I am stronger than the world!” “Promise me you won’t die. That’s all I ask. Just promise me,” Logan says in the glow of his nightlight, his big eyes full of brave, big-boy tears. “Who will you play with in Heaven if I’m not there with you?” Kyrra asks as I kiss her goodnight. What do I say? I creep back to my room. Each step is a reminder of all the hurt my body is enduring. The tears on my cheeks are a constant. I don’t even look for tissues anymore. I stop by my bed in the dark. The house is quiet, again holding its breath. The demons of fear and panic growl in the shadows, waiting for me to let them in. I lower to the floor, my side where they scraped away the cancer is a piercing, lightning wound inside. I am on my knees and lay my head on the bed. I. Know. What. To. Say. “Dear God,” I whisper and the stillness leans in. “Dear God, please.” I think of my wonderful husband, my three kids, my rescued dog, my mom, my friends. “Oh God, please…please let me live.” **** I couldn’t write my fiction, no romance with a guaranteed happy ending since I wasn’t sure I would have one. In fact I couldn’t read either. I tried, but after a couple chapters I’d put it down. I couldn’t lose myself in another world when mine was so gripping, so full of life and death struggle. I was smack dab in the middle of writing my fourth novel and couldn’t write another word. “You have to write. It makes you happy,” Braden told me. “I can’t.” “Write something. Write what you know.” So I did. I wrote my story. I wrote what was going on inside me. How it felt to deal with questions from my kids. The pain of going from independent mom to very dependent friend and neighbor. Of being furious about not being able to taste the salt in my tears because I lost my taste buds with my hair. About realizing that the victims in the chemo ward were the strongest warriors I’d ever met. I wrote about battling from the front lines. I poured my heart and fear and desperate prayers into my posts. I bled them out of me onto the page. And you know what? It helped. A lot. This post was going to be all about how to go on with your career even when something terrible smacks you in the face – divorce, death of a loved one, illness, disaster. But I still need to bleed, still need to heal, still need to write about it. Today is the first time I’ve written the very beginning, the day the first tears fell, and I cried through writing most of it this afternoon. Cathartic. It’s how I heal. And I thank God for giving me this gift so I can help myself do so. If you find yourself in a mess, a terrible mess, remember to use your gift. Do what you love to do even if it’s in a new way. If you can’t write fiction, try writing about your experiences and what you learn along the way. It has been a huge component to my healing. I am in remission. No sign of cancer : ) And I refuse to knock on wood. I beat it. I am healthy, and I’m not afraid to say it. I’m owning it, wearing it and strutting around in it. I am living a long and healthy life! September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month and teal is our color. It is the deadliest of the GYN cancers because there are no good tests for it and it is usually caught in Stage III or IV, giving women only a 20% and 5% chance (respectively) of living five years. Those numbers are horrendous and we are raising money for research to find a detection method (a PAP smear does NOT detect OC) and a cure. Until then your best defense is knowledge. The symptoms of OC are: Bloating that’s persistent Other symptoms may include: fatigue, constipation, menstrual irregularities, back pain, pain during intercourse and indigestion. Pass along this information. We have started the SHOUT Against the Whisper! campaign because the symptoms are mere whispers in a busy woman’s life, and we will SHOUT until everyone knows what they sound like. If you have questions or comments, please post or e-mail me off line at Heather@HeatherMcCollum.com. We must not cower away from cancer. We must look it in the face and use all our tools to crush it without crushing our spirits in the process. Hugs! And remember to SHOUT Against the Whisper! 99 Responses to “Saving Myself”Leave a Reply |
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You are my hero, Heather McCollum. What a wonderful post. Cathartic indeed. The doctors have suspected cancer for me twice now, and wow, does the world around you change. But I was one of the lucky ones. *beats on wood* Hopefully my luck will hold. I am just so glad you are doing well and can share your story with us. We love you so much, sis! ~D~
Thanks, Darynda : ) And please stay on top of those tests/doctor’s appointments. We don’t want anything to happen to you.
As you know, your writing was the first to bring me back to reading and I thank you so very much for that gift. You have an amazing talent!
Hugs, Heather
Oh thank you so much, Heather! You’re pretty frickin’ talented yourself!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you are such an amazing writer! I can’t wait to read the rest of the story even though I’m walking by your side as you live it. I’m also thankful for your gift of writing… and that you are such a wonderful friend….. Johanna
I never get tired of hearing it, Johanna! LOL! Love you Dragonfly-Sister!
I can’t believe your story can still make me cry! I feel very fortunate to have been able to make this terrfiying, crazy, life changing journey with you. You are truly a blessing to all of us. I can’t wait to read the book you are destined to write. Shouting Against the Whisper!
Love ya! Keri
“Without tears, the soul would have no rainbows.” We’re a teary bunch ; ) Love you too! Dragonfly-Sister
Heather, Thank you for sharing your story with us and the reminder to listen to our bodies. A few of the sisters, myself included have first hand knowledge of the big C, as we refer to it in our house, either having it ourselves or a love one.
The moment you hear the word, your world turns completely upside down. Everyday is a battle. I pray each and every day, like small pox, all forms of this disease is erased from our world.
Kudos to you for kicking big C’s butt. ((((HUGS))) sister.
Oh Autumn, I know you and your husband are dealing with all this right now and I pray for your happy ending too. One step, one day, one breath at a time.
Sending healing blue light and prayers your way.
Heather
Heather, I can barely type through the tears. That was amazing. We’re so happy you’re here with us!
I’m so glad I made you cry : ) Well, you know what I mean – LOL! Laughing and crying are the ying and yang of healing. Great for the soul.
Hugs, Heather
Okay. So that’s my allotment for a good cry for a while.
You are an amazing woman.Your will and strength is paramount. Thank you so much for sharing your story, Heather.You are a real hero!
And thank you for reminding us we should all be vigilant when it comes to the health of our bodies.
Jenn!
Thanks, Jenn!
Now that I’m on this quest to SHOUT, it’s amazing to me how many woman just haven’t been told what they need to know to protect themselves.
I don’t know why I got cancer, but I’m sure going to do something with it. Making evil work for good – sounds like a fabulous plot!
Hugs!
What a beautiful piece of writing, Heather. I know we’ve talked before about the unexpected gifts, the silver linings, that fighting serious illness can bestow. Primary among them, for me, was discovering just how eff’n STRONG AND RESILIENT I was, even at my weakest. There’s something so oddly empowering about coming out of such a serious fight a little beat up, but still standing. Winning.
Big thumbs up on the Nutterbutters! My food of choice when dealing with a Crohns flare is Cheetos. In that “write what you know” sense, the heroine of my latest release, Lorin, always has a bag of Cheetos at hand. As do I.
Love you, sweetie.
You are so right! When you work and punch and pick yourself off the mat, victory is sweeter than cotton candy. I’m convinced that a “good life” isn’t meant to be an easy life.
I know this period of struggle will show up in my writing. Our heroines are warriors just like us : )
Huge Hugs! Heather
You are a real heroine.An inspiration to us all. Thank you for sharing your story.
Thanks, Rita! We all have our journeys to make. And when we hit particularly terrible spots along the way, we then have something to write about : )
Hugs, Heather
What a beautiful, horrible story, Heather. I can’t seem to call it anything else. Of course, I’m crying as I read it and also feeling so very proud of you, for what you faced, for how you handled it, and for how you survived. It brought you to your knees and helped you stand stronger than ever.
I’m off to share this post because it’s so important for all women to read.
God bless!
Oh Liz – thank you for passing the symptoms on. It is so important for women to arm themselves with knowledge. I don’t ever want to scare anyone, just share with them and maybe give them a little shove to take care of themselves.
Have a wonderful rose-smelling day!
Heather
Heather thank you for this poetically direct post. And thank you for reminding me to do what I’ve put off for a couple of years now. (How can it be two years since I’ve been for an exam, I say to myself as I look at my calendar? How? Because I’m the mom and I put everyone else first, and it’s been easy to put off in the shuffle.)
No more. I’ve just made an appointment. Thanks for this very timely reminder.
Sending my love, because it’s the strongest thing I’ve got.
Oh Elizabeth – that’s wonderful you’ve made an appointment! That’s what I was going for.
I had this “3 strikes” rule for myself (me only, the kids went to the doctor if they had a sniffle). I had to have 3 things wrong with me before I’d go see a doctor because Mommy didn’t have time. I’d hate to think what would have happened if I hadn’t thought I broke my hand.
I’m so glad you are going. Keep that on the calendar : ) Hugs!
Heather, this post really touched me and I have to agree with Liz. Beautiful and horrible. It’s amazing how you’ve been able to put such fantastic perspective around this experience. I was right there with you every step of the way, bawling my eyes out. Thank you so much for sharing.
Hi Kat,
Yes, it plays like an after-school special, doesn’t it. Ugh – I’ve always attracted drama in some fashion. This wasn’t what I had anticipated for my life however. But making the evil work for good definitely makes me feel better.
Thanks,
Heather
Heather. I cried through most of this. Thank you for sharing it.
I was right there with ya, Hope.
Thank you, Hope! You are so sweet. I’m so glad I made you cry! Well – you know what I mean : )
I do tell my kids that the “pen is mightier than the sword” though. Emotion through words is much better than nagging to get women to listen and call their doctors. I’m so blessed to be able to write and to have the avenues like this blog to reach women.
Have a blessed, full-of-life day!
Heather, what an emotional journey you just took me through. I can’t tell you enough how much I admire you. You’re a beautiful, talented woman and I’m so thankful and so proud to be a Ruby with you. You are a true survivor.
Thank you, June! I’m so glad you can’t see my dirty house right now though – not so inspiring : )LOL!
Hugs! Heather
Heather it has been amazing getting to know you at Entangled and your cancer experience. You are a trooper and strong willed woman. You story lets us in to see what really goes on and I commend you.
Thank you so much, Babs! You’ve been a great cheerleader for me. I’m so happy to be part of the Entangled family : )
Remember to soak in the sun, dance in the rain, kiss those you love, and really smell the roses!
Heather
Heather, I’m at a loss for words. The thought of facing my children, not knowing what to say to them, is devastating. That you’ve come through the other side is a precious miracle and a sign of incredible strength. God bless you and your family each and every day.
I’ve suffered from several female issues through the years (though none life-threatening), and each time I put off going to the doctor because I seem to always have the problems that have no direct solution. Or the normal solutions don’t work for me. But I’ve learned a few things through the years 1) Don’t let anyone tell you there’s nothing wrong if you feel like something is. 2) If your doctor doesn’t believe you, find another one. 3) Persist, even when you feel like no one is listening. 4) Try, try again – whether its another doc, another med, something homeopathic, whatever it takes. 5) Educate yourself.
Awesome advice, Dani! We, as women, were born with instincts. And even though we listen to them concerning the safety and health of our children, we often ignore them when the symptoms are our own.
We have to remember – if Mom is sick or gone, our kids will suffer greatly. Ladies, we must take care of ourselves.
Heather, this is such an amazing story of survival. Thank you for sharing your journey, and for spreading the word about ovarian cancer!
Hi Libby!
Thanks so much for stopping in. And thanks too for being a fabulous editor and cheerleader for me : )
Don’t worry, I am working on TANGLED HEARTS as soon as I finish answering these wonderful blog comments ; )
Heather
Thank you for sharing this Heather! I will mop up the puddle on my desk and go make an appointment right now. I cannot thank you enough for sharing your journey and hope that it will reach women EVERYWHERE. I’m off to share
And big time congrats on kicking cancer’s toosh!
That is the biggest compliment I could get – that you are off to make an appointment! I so don’t want to scare anyone, I just want to share and give women the little shove to maintain their health.
If my mess gets women to doctors and helps them survive to be moms, daughters, wives, sisters, and friends – then this is all worth it.
Thank you!
Thank you for sharing your experience with all of us. And congratulations!
Kathryn Jane
25 year Cancer survivor
Wow – 25 years! You are “owning” it too! I pray that one day I will be able to say I’m a 25 year survivor. Way to go, warrior!
Heather, I’m breast cancer survivor and I identify with so much of your post. I was healthy when it happened – even after I got the diagnosis. Yet I had this cancer. It felt like my body betrayed me.
We do what we need to do to survive. You said this so eloquently. Thank you for sharing.
Hi Edie,
I’m so happy you’ve beaten the BC beast! And yes, I understand the feeling of betrayal. I started saying “I love my body. My body is good, healthy, and strong” out loud every day. It helped me forgive it/me for somehow getting the wrong signals to grow malignantly. I’m not totally there yet with the forgiveness, but I’m much kinder to it now.
Hugs!
Beautiful and heart-rending. Thank you for sharing your story.
Your welcome, Mags!
Have a fantastic day and stop to watch the birds swoop and soar. I never did before all this and it’s very peaceful.
Heather
Thank you for sharing! My mom was diagnosed with Stage I Ovarian Cancer in 2009. Yes, STAGE I! It was already 5 inches as well. It was taken out, along with a complete hysterectomy. Lucky for her, NO CHEMO OR RADIATION!! We thank God every day that she made it through! Many prayers to you and your family, you can do it!
Wow, Tanya! That’s wonderful that they caught it so early. So even though it got large, it stayed in the one ovary – fantastic!
Now you know – you are at risk for OC and breast cancer because they are linked. My mom had breast cancer and I the ovarian. I had the BRAC testing done and it came back negative – no genetic link, but I still think there must be.
Please be watchful.
can barely type for the tears, congratulations and thank you for sharing.
Sorry, Diana. Although I’m glad the story came across with the emotion I was feeling.
Tears are good though. They clean everything out : )
Hugs (and a cyber tissue) Heather
What a powerful post. I have been on your shoes when it came to the ultrasound. I too had a HUGE cyst on my ovary. Not cancer but still, very scary.
You are so brave.
You are my hero!
Yikes, Cynthia, very scary. I’m so glad it turned out benign and easily remedied. It must have felt so amazing when you go the call that it was okay : )Like breathing again after holding your breath way too long.
Have a wonderful, life-filled day!
Heather
You are an amazingly strong and beautiful “warrior” inside and out! And it goes without saying but I will say it anyway – you are an incredibly gifted writer as well. Thank you for sharing your story with everyone. You saved others too with your writing and your warrior attitude.
Hugs!!
Hi Marcia!
It was so great to see and hug you the other night!
Thanks so much for stopping by
Big cyber hugs!
Heather
Heather, your post brought the memories rushing back. Getting the call from my surgeon that the obstruction in my colon was a cancerous tumor was one of those slow-mo shifts that I will never forget. I was blindsided, much like you were, struggling to figure out how to react. And I was *so* scared for my children–not wanting to sugarcoat things, but how do you tell your children you might not be there for them?
One time I was sitting with my son and he asked, “Mom, what was the best day of your life?” and I said, “When you and your brother were born.” Without question. And then he said, “What was the worst day of your life?” and before I could even respond he replied, “Mine was when we found out you were sick.”
I wasn’t able to do much writing during chemo. I just couldn’t seem to focus. But I’m here because of my boys’ smile, the way they would make me laugh when I didn’t think I had anything to laugh about. I’m here because of God’s amazing grace, and the unending support from my Rubies and my best friend/CP who wouldn’t accept anything less.
Thanks for sharing this today! ((Hugs))
Oh Cynthia…what is it about the sweet innocent comments from children that pull the tears right to the surface? Ugh – I’m so sorry you had to go through that. You too have faced the demons of panic and death, and those little faces and their huge hearts make fighting hard that much easier.
I hope neither of us have to go through that again.
Hugs! Heather
Heather,
BTDT and the t-shirt is ugly! I had cervical cancer and while it was caught early enough that I only had to go through a hysterectomy, that doesn’t alleviate the sheer terror of hearing the diagnosis. I did the same thing you did. I wrote the numbness, the fear, the heart-agony in a journal.
Thank you for sharing your battle with us. And yes! Make those Pap smears and gyn exams a priority!
Oh I agree – not a fun t-shirt to own. Although the survivor one is great! I’m sorry you had to go through your horrible journey too. So glad though that they caught it early. Yay for Pap smears!
Hugs!
Dear Heather, thank you so much for posting this! You are an amazing, amazing woman and what you have written is so very important – for your family, your friends and any woman who reads it and gets those nagging symptoms checked out.
You are in my prayers every day. Courage is never the absence of fear. It is being afraid and doing whatever you have to do in spite of that fear. Your life is yours. Live it every day on YOUR terms. Cancer can just kiss your paper-gown clad butt! (((HUGS)))
Hi Louisa!
Funny – I don’t feel so amazing, but thank you : ) My pastor said when I was diagnosed – “You have all these things coming at you that you can’t control. The only thing you can control is your response to them.”
I’m just trying to respond in a way that makes evil work for good so I can find a purpose in all this mess. I don’t know if that’s amazing, but it keeps me going : )
Hugs, Heather
I couldn’t finish reading it, got halfway through and started crying and I’m sitting in the hairdressers processing.
You have been amazing through this whole ordeal! It was sooo great to see you last week. You look SO good!! Hope to be seeing more of you soon!
Lots of Love!
Cynthia
Thanks, Cynthia. I’m sorry I made you tear up at the salon : ) Just say it was the hair color fumes in the air.
It was so wonderful to see your smile the other night. I know people must tell you that a lot, but you sure light up a room with your positive energy.
Hugs!
Thank you for sharing your story. Such sharp moments; such grace.
Thank you, Nicky. Grace is definitely not a physical characteristic of mine : ) I’m glad it comes across in my writing : )
Have a life-filled day!
Heather
Thank you so much for sharing your story, Heather. You’ve brought me to tears, but in such a good way. You are such brilliantly, amazingly strong woman. I love your attitude – “I am owning it, wearing it, and strutting around in it.”
Simply amazing.
I hope this post brings many woman here to learn about the symptoms. Thank you for being the kind of person to share it!
I used to say “the cancer is gone, I hope” or “knock on wood.” I’ve always been superstitous when it came to jinxing a situation. But I’ve decided to celebrate without qualifiers. If it comes back I’ll fight again, but right now I’m “owning it.”
Glad you liked that. It feels good to stop playing down the triumph.
Hugs!
Sitting here with a tissue, happy for you and your beautiful family. I lost an aunt (many years ago) and a dearly-loved cousin (her daughter, who fought it valiantly for years) to OC, so when I had the more easily treatable endometrial variety a few years ago, I was glad to have my surgeon take everything out.
Tears for those we’ve lost, and cheers for all the survivors.
Kay, I am so sorry. OC is so quiet and vicious. It sneaks up and tries to take over. And I hate it, hate it, hate it.
If it gets ahold, it might take over our bodies but we will never let it take over our spirits.
Hugs!
I know you don’t like to hear it, Heather, but you’re an inspiration. And amazing inspiration. For the woman that you are and what you have given so many people through your suffering and courage, I am so very grateful. I can’t wait to walk with you on Saturday and keep SHOUTing Against the Whisper!!
xoxo
Oh Katie! What would I do without you?! You literally carried me up the hill during the walk last year and you continue to help carry me on this journey.
Thank you. See you Saturday : )
Hugs!
Thank you for sharing your story. I am so glad for you and your family that you made it. One of my dearest friends did not and we buried her the day after her 43rd birthday.
Ovarian cancer is a vicious, silent killer and you have survived an encounter and have the guts to share it with the world.
Thank you for your bravery.
I am so, so sorry about your friend, Laura. Like you said, OC is so silent that we don’t hear the whispers until it’s too late. If I hadn’t hurt my hand and gone in and mentioned the twinge of pain, I very well may not be here.
I don’t feel very brave, but thank you : )
Heather
Heather, you are such a strong woman. I love you so much. Thank you for sharing your story so honestly. Never a dry eye when I read your posts, and I feel inspired to be a better person every time I read something from you. You are an inspiration.
Hey there fabulously successful new mommy! I hear you are doing wonderful : )
Thanks for your kind words. Speaking of inspirational – you are an inspiration to so many, including me. I’m so glad I got to know you at Nationals in Disney. Boy has our lives changed so much in so little time. Isn’t life grand!
Hugs!
Heather, thank you for sharing your story, and in such a poignant way. You must be a writer.
You were diagnosed about the same time my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I thought about you so often this past year, and drew from your strength. I’m in tears today, but it’s a cathartic release, and I appreciate them for the gift they are. The part that got me the most was your kids. My three are about the same age as your three, and the thought of not being there for them scares the bejeezus out of me. I’m so, so thankful you’ll be there for yours.
And thank you for the reminder that writing (and reading!) is such a powerful gift…a strength to pull us through some tough times. I had a friend who lost her mother to breast cancer. She said the only thing that cheered her up during that time period was reading copious amounts of romance novels.
Hugs, Ruby Sis, and hugs to your amazing family.
Yes, talk about scared. I could barely breathe at night when I thought I might not be here for my kids. And my husband’s mom died when he was 9 of breast cancer so he was scared too. But this time he was old enough to fight, so we did it together.
The only thing that scares me more than the thought of dying and leaving my kids without a mom is the thought of losing one of them. When I’d get so scared, I’d start saying “at least it’s me and not one of them.” Strangely knowing that my possible death wasn’t the worst thing made me feel better – huh, weird : )
Hugs!
“…at least it’s me and not one of them…” SO TRUE.
Sounds like your husband might have gotten some catharsis from this experience, too, if he went through it with his mom at such a young age. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but how powerful that you’ve all gained such strength from beating it.
Heather what a moving story. The repeated “What do I say?” really got to me…made me call my daughter who’s just gone to college to tell her I love her…made me hug my son who’s still at home. Thank you for the reminder to be vigilant and to listen for those whispers.
Thanks, Tina! We can’t help, with all our to-do’s, to take our lives for granted. It’s weird that it took me fighting cancer to teach me to start really living and loving. Now I celebrate everything. Even being able to walk to the bathroom in the morning – which is still no easy task : )
Heather
Heather,
Thank you for sharing something so personal. You make us all stop and take our own personal inventory. You are an inspiration and I am lucky to call you a friend.
As usual, your writing evokes emotion and thought.
Thank you and big hugs!
Kelly
Thanks, Kelly! And you’re still invited to the luncheon tomorrow – LOL!
Love you!
Amazing post. My mother died of ovarian cancer 13 years ago this November. She was 41 years old. It’s a disease that needs better detection methods, and with hope and research, one day a cure. I am glad that your post has a happy ending. Hugs to you and your family.
Oh Tina, I’m terribly sorry. You are right. There are no real detection methods which is what makes it so deadly. OC can take those we love so swiftly that we are so stunned and unable to SHOUT about the symptoms and need for more research.
I’m walking in an annual OC walk in Raleigh this weekend to raise money for research and awareness. Prayer and SHOUTing is all we can do. Every step toward a cure helps honor those warriors we’ve lost.
Please stay on top of your own health as OC runs in families (and is linked to breast cancer).
Hugs. Heather
A powerful and important post.
I remember when you had come to tell the Ruby sisters about what your battle with ovarian cancer. At the time I was worried about some issues of my own and scared to face them and get checked out. Your words really made me wake up and realize I had to take care of myself. I didn’t have cancer — it was only massive fibroids — but the message you gave me was so important. We want to overlook these small signs because 1) we’re afraid of bad news 2) we get swept up taking care of so many other things. I’m so glad you didn’t ignore the warning signs and are here to tell your story.
Heather:
Thank you for this post and for SHOUTING so loudly for women to take care of themselves. It’s been said so many times – throughout the comments here and on other posts – we’re always so reluctant to take care of ourselves and we need to pay attention to the signs of our bodies.
Let this be a lesson to us all to do the right things for ourselves. When we do, we do it not only for ourselves, but for our loved ones, too.
Addison
You are an inspiration. May you remain cancer free.
God bless and keep you healthy, Sweetie. You’re a wonderful role model for not only writers but for all women.
Beautiful. Beautiful words and a beautiful spirit. Writing fiction will come back to you. It’s in your blood. I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2007. Like you, I wrote what I knew. I wrote about surviving, which I did. Coming up on 5 years, thank God. But I stopped writing anything new. I edited and sold 3 ms, but I didn’t complete my first, NEW ms until this year. So take your time. Heal. Live. Laugh. Love. And the writing and HEA’s will return.
Thanks for sharing your story. It was moving and informational. I pray you will heal quickly and beat this.
Prayers on top of prayers, lil sis. So glad you’re healthy and back with us. {{{Hugs}}}
Like everyone else, I just bawled through your post. And I’m so happy you’ve come out the other side, that the 15 months of chemo is DONE and that you’re cancer free.
My mom just finished her chemo (also ovarian cancer) and will get her PET scan in a few weeks–but we’re very hopeful that she was one of the rare stage I’s (they found the cancer–two cysts, one on each ovary) when she’d gone in for another problem. She’s actually visiting me in MD now and it’s *so* nice to have her here. Each day is a little better for her.
Hugs to you and your family.
Way to go warrior Mom! Elise, please give her a hug for me! She is so so fortunate to have found it in Stage I. There aren’t too many Stage I patients (I’ve only met one other).
If she ever wants to trade kale juice recipes or ideas for keeping OC away, please have her call or e-mail me at Heather@HeatherMcCollum.com. Would love to talk with her : )
And you know – you have a higher risk of OC and breast cancer (they are linked). So please stay in tune with your body. Hugs!
Hi Heather,
I’ll pass that hug on!
And I have been much more motivated to keep on track with my various check-ups. Mom has had *both* breast cancer (17 years ago) and ovarian cancer now, so I’m getting yearly mammograms and pelvic exams and have drilled the symptoms for ovarian cancer into my brain.
Big hugs back at you!
Incredible post, Heather. Every time I hear a woman complain about bloating, indigestion or frequent urination, I suggest a visit to her GYN. It’s scary how few real symptoms all gynecological cancers have until they become advanced. You are a true hero. I’m still praying for your continued recovery and remission.
Hugs!
This is tremendously moving, Heather. You’re an inspiration. Thank you very much for sharing.
Thanks for sharing this. You’ve reached into all our hearts with your words.
Heather, thanks so much for sharing your story! I’m sitting in my office, blinking back tears– first of fear for you, followed by ones of admiration for your strength of character and love for your family!
Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday to read this–I’m in my classroom now at lunch realizing I can’t go out into the hall for awhile because of how hard this made me cry.
I’m so happy and grateful that you’ve fought and beat this cancer!!
And I’m also going to go make an appointment with my gynecologist right now because (in busy mom mode) I’m another one who’s been letting that visit slide.
Hugs and love to you and your family!!
“Ditto”
You know I cried!!
I feel so honored to have met you and be going thru this experience with you.
You are Amazing and an Inspiration to everyone!
You are saving lives with everything you do, say and write about ovarian cancer.
You are Shouting Against The Whisper!!
See you at the Ovarian Walk!!
Hugs!!
Your story is so touching and hearbreaking and actuallly hits so close to home for me. Less than a year ago was told I had a 12cm mass on my ovary. Thankfully my mass was just a cyst and I had it removed. Reading your story makes me realize all over again how lucky I really was. I cried reading your story imagining what you and your family were going through. I am so happy you had a happy outcome.
Heather, thank you so much for sharing your story. Truly inspiring and moving.
Inspiring. So moving I cried with you and I don’t even know you. And I pray for my Aunt Reesa, who is about to start chemo in the next week for the same thing. I pray she can stand with you in the years to come and SHOUT, too.
[...] A fellow writer shares a touching memoir of her battle against ovarian cancer. She’s a survivor! http://www.rubyslipperedsisterhood.com/saving-myself/ [...]