Mother & Daughter. And The Hope To Ovarcome. 
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by
Ovarcome
Mother & Daughter. And The Hope To Ovarcome.
My name is Annie, I’m 44 years old. I’ve been married for 17 years, and me and my husband have three wonderful children together, ages 15, 12, and 9. We live in the East Bay with a 90lb American Bulldog who think she’s a lap dog.
By all accounts, we have been living a quiet, comfortable family life up until the events of the last couple of years which have been quite difficult for me. It absolutely changed the course of our lives, it tested my strength, and my faith.
It started in March 2016, when I received a call from my Mom. She has been in and out of the clinic for a few months for all sorts of tests. She had been very tired, and have had trouble sleeping due to back pains. That morning, she was informed that her scan results suggested advanced cancer, which subsequently was confirmed as stage 4 ovarian. The news came to both of us as a shock. While I sensed the sadness and distraught in her voice, she delivered that news to me with such grace and calm.
Mom’s tumor was too large to remove without massive risk, so the doctors decided to give her 6 cycles of paclitaxel and carboplatin, to shrink it first. After the 6 cycles, she went under the knife for a hysterectomy, and then followed again by 3 more cycles of chemo. I accompanied Mom to all her treatments, appointments, and hospital stays. I was her caregiver, her support system, and her prayer warrior.
The experience taught me so many things. I learned about ascites, and about CA125 levels. Through her, I had been up close and personal with CT scans and infusion clinics. I learned about the proper nutrition for a cancer patient, the realities of chemo’s side effects, all that is visible and invisible. Little did I know, this knowledge and experience were in preparation for my own diagnosis.
In January of 2016, I woke up with a sharp pain in my left abdomen. It was so painful that I had to call the doctor’s office to report it. They asked me a few questions, prescribed me an
over the counter pain relief, and that was that. Since that morning, I’ve always had that pain, never loud, always just dull, always in the background.
That same year, while my Mom was mid-treatment, I sat down with a substitute gynecologist. It was August, and my regular OB was on maternity leave. I told the sub about my abdominal pain, my intermittent back pains, my now relevant history of ovarian cancer,
and my concerns about my own ovaries. I used the knowledge I gained from my Mom’s situation, and I asked for a CA125 test, as well as a pelvic ultrasound. It took some pressure and convincing before they scheduled these tests, I was told these were out of protocol for my age and condition.
The pelvic ultrasound showed my right ovary, but they could not see my left. My CA125 came back north of 1900, but these two results were brushed aside as false positives for any concern. I was told polyps and benign cysts can trigger these results. My medical professionals were not concerned, so I also brushed it aside, trusting the system.
Later that year, when November rolled in, I was convinced something was truly wrong when my abdominal pain started to get more pronounced, and I started having multiple periods. I went in and out of doctor’s appointments, consulting with my PCP, and my gynecologist who’s now back from leave. Between the two of them I had undergone colposcopy, cervical screen, pap, an HPV test, and all came back normal. I was also advised to take hormone supplements to take care of the extra monthly periods (I declined to do this). I was also advised to take fiber supplements, to move my bowels, to take care of my pain.
When 2017 arrived, my belly began to swell, and this is when I knew something was terribly wrong. I demanded a CT scan, which ultimately confirmed the cancer inside me. February 2017, I was officially diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer. I was livid. I felt so defeated knowing that I have advocated for my body very early on, and still ended up in that horrible situation. I kept asking myself, and I asked my doctors too – “how could this happen?” I asked the right questions, I demanded the things I demanded, and still ended up with Stage 3 cancer. In my heart I was scared for others. Other women, who didn’t know what questions to ask, other women who didn’t have a voice, or didn’t have information. I had all of those, and I still found myself sick, and helpless in that hospital room.
At this point, while somewhat obvious, we still went ahead with genetic testing as we were advised. My Mom and I were confirmed as having both the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes.
I was wheeled in to the operating room in a week, they performed a complete hysterectomy on me. After 6 weeks in recovery, I started by 6 cycles chemotherapy. While my Mom was in remission, it was my turn to be infused with the liquid poison that was meant to kill th even darker poison inside me.
My final cycle was July 2017, and I have been on clinical trial since then. I’m on a PARP inhibitor, similar to Lynparza. I meet with my oncologist every 2 months, and they monitor my CA125 levels. Every 4 months I undergo a PET scan to watch for any new growth, and I’ve been very fortunate and blessed that I’ve stayed stable and clear.
My Mom on the other hand, wasn’t as fortunate. Her cancer came back after being in remission for almost a year. The return was fierce, and there was nothing that her medical team can do for her. The tumor latched on to her liver, and it spread like fire. We spent last new year’s eve at the hospital, hanging on to a miracle. Eleven days later, she passed on, in my home, holding my hand, while we shared our final prayer together. I was with her during her final breath, and I was broken, but I also knew there was a reason and a purpose for that moment. And whatever it was, it will unveil in time.
Today I’m here, and I’m blessed. If I can leave one thing, and only one thing – it would be this: God bandages the wounds He makes; His hand hurts you, and His hand heals. I’m a living miracle of that.
Our heartfelt thanks to Annie and all OVARCOMERS that come forward to share their stories to encourage, inspire, and uplift. Together, We Can OVARCOME!