We’re never ready for tragedy to strike, are we?

      I mean, that’s how it should be. You can’t go around every second preparing for the sky to fall. That would suck the joy out of life. But it does mean that when bad news hits, it can knock the air out of your lungs. I’m a lucky girl. Life derails me less than the average person. Bad things happen, of course, but it usually happens around me…not to me directly. 

This year has been an exception. Crisis dropped into my world and imploded my life. It’s been hard, but I recently made it to the other side of Chaos Mountain, and I’m reflecting on the journey. One thing I’ve learned is when you’re in the middle of turmoil, it can feel isolating. That’s why I want to share my experience: to educate but also to help others who are struggling feel less alone.

I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer. To say it was the shock of my life is a major understatement. I was divinely guided because there weren’t any obvious symptoms. I didn’t wake up one day and feel different. I went to the doctor for a completely unrelated reason. I’d been working on my health and not seeing results. The nutrition coach I was consulting had been racking her brain for new things to try. She finally decided that if I was eating and exercising correctly, but the scale wasn’t moving, it had to mean something else was wrong.

She honestly saved my life.

We began looking at the health of my sleep and emotional well-being. While making those improvements, we discussed menopause. I’d been menopausal for a couple of years and suffering the usual symptoms: difficulty sleeping, weight gain, mood swings, hair loss, joint pain, and brain fog. My coach convinced me to talk to my gynecologist and see if there was something I could do to balance my hormones and get some relief. Then, I would sleep more soundly, have better mental health, and hopefully, see results.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I made an appointment and waltzed in, thinking I would get some form of hormone therapy and finally see progress. Frankly, I was proud of myself because when it comes to doctors, I usually play the avoidance game. I have an amazing doctor, but I still get super anxious. So I found myself over-sharing all the ways symptoms were impeding my life. Imagine my utter surprise when he interrupted me after mentioning the most insignificant symptom. The one symptom I didn’t think was important and only mentioned on a whim. See, about six months prior, I’d begun spotting off and on. I didn’t give it a second thought. I was under the impression that at the beginning of menopause, your period could be unpredictable and a bit all over the place. But I was VERY misinformed. The moment I mentioned spotting, my doctor stopped me. He explained there weren’t a lot of reasons a menopausal woman would begin bleeding again, and many of those reasons weren’t very good. He took me down the hall to get an ultra-sound to check the thickness of my uterine lining. Anything less than 5 mm would be acceptable, but to my shock, my lining was 21 mm. We scheduled a D&C for the following week so he could get a sample, and two days later, on a Friday night, my phone rang.

 When I saw he was calling after-hours, I should have seen it for the red flag it was. I didn’t. I thought he was taking the time to call me so I wouldn’t spend the weekend worrying. In reality, he wanted time to answer questions and put me at ease. He didn’t want to hit me with bad news and run. He did his best to walk me through the next steps and settle my nerves. My test had come back as low-grade cancer with a preliminary grade of 1-2, which, according to my doctor, was good news. But I’ll be honest, at that moment, it didn’t feel good.

When I hung up the phone, the silence brought a thick, numbing layer of fear over my body. Who do I call first? What do I tell them? I don’t want this. This can’t be happening. I don’t have time for this. I have plans… All of this and more swirled like a violent tornado in my head. So what did I do first? Somehow, I found myself in bed with the covers over my head. In the movies, when a character gets bad news from the doctor, the camera focuses on her while the doctor’s voice and the world around her fade away. It’s an accurate depiction of how I felt. At that moment, it was just me and my body. It’s lonely and confusing and scary. Before the phone rang, I was fine. I had plans and a busy life. After the phone call, my life came to a screeching halt. Nothing had changed, but everything was different.

If I could give advice here, it would be this. When you get life-altering news, and you need a moment to hide under the covers. Hide. You get overwhelmed, and you need to cry? Cry. Take a time-out to feel what you need to feel. Don’t bottle up your emotions and pretend you’re fine if you’re not. But after you’ve had your moment, stand up and take the next step. Which, for me, was telling my husband. And then I had to call and tell my family. Out of every part of this journey, telling the people I love that I was sick was the hardest part. Once that part was behind me, I felt better. More settled.

My sister gave me valuable advice, which I used daily. When I started “catastrophizing” and dwelling on all the things I couldn’t control, I stopped myself and thought about something I could control. I had to narrow my bubble to my immediate surroundings and something I could do. I couldn’t do anything about the test results, but I could listen to some music and take a bubble bath. I couldn’t control the surgery, but watching a funny TV show, 

scrolling on TikTok, or reading a book, I can do. It helped tremendously. The moment I started spiraling, I would put on a face mask and meditate on something exciting I would do after this was behind me. I would picture myself doing those things: traveling, building a home with my husband, signing up and attending my first book convention, or finishing writing my next book. It would chase the nerves away.

Another piece of advice that really helped was to stop looking at the entire problem. Instead of looking up at the whole scary mountain I had to climb, just look at the next step. That’s it. Just the next step…nothing else.

My next step was a CT Scan followed closely by a PET scan. These tests were looking for cancer anywhere else in my body. The surgeon wanted to be sure the cancer hadn’t spread, specifically to the lymph nodes in my groin. These scans aren’t painful, but that isolation I was talking about earlier really crept in here. When you’re alone in the room, and the machine is clicking away around you, it’s glaringly obvious how alone you are. Your family and loved ones can support you, pray for you, and take care of you. But in those moments, it’s just you and God. No one can take those steps for you. So I had to be brave, focus only on the next step, and lean on my loved ones for support everywhere else in my life.

Once the scans were done, the next step was a total hysterectomy. This was the scariest step for me. It’s the biggest procedure I’ve ever had. I made the mistake of using the internet to research things I would need during recovery. This sent me down a rabbit hole of all the horrible things that could go wrong. I do not recommend this at all. I wasted a lot of time trying to bring my mental health back to a better place after reading about things that I actually didn’t need to worry about. I should have just listened to my doctor. Thankfully, the scans showed no cancer anywhere else, and honestly, that helped me mentally leading up to the procedure. My surgery was done robotically, which made recovery easier. I won’t lie, and say it was easy, but it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. When I woke up, I was pretty comfortable. Pain meds and anesthesia were working overtime, which I appreciated. I was sore and swollen, but not hurting. It’s been almost a month, and I feel almost normal again…maybe even better.

The last step in my cancer journey depended completely on the results of my hysterectomy. Endometrial cancer is given both a grade and a stage. The biopsy gave me a preliminary grade of 1-2, but I couldn’t get my official grade/stage until they tested everything the doctor removed. It was a long week of waiting. I practiced all my pre-surgery tricks and tips to stay positive, and when the call came, I was ready. I couldn’t have asked for better news. My official Stage and Grade was 1A. It was caught so early that I didn’t have any more steps. No chemotherapy. No radiation. I just have to get regular check-ups. That’s it. I don’t want to trivialize the serious nature of what I went through. It was scary and difficult. But it could have been so much worse. I’m one of the lucky ones. Please, please, please listen to me. If you’re menopausal and begin bleeding again, or you have PCOS/endometriosis and you bleed between periods, consider it cancer until a doctor has cleared you. It’s probably nothing, but this cancer, if caught early, is curable. Just make the awkward appointment, ladies. It’s uncomfortable, but it could save your life.

I’m not 100% yet, but I’m well on my way to putting this experience behind me. As I reflect on how this has changed the course of my life, I have to admit there’ve been some positive outcomes. Before that fated phone call, I thought I was busy living life. But in reality, I had been stuck. I’d fallen into a rut of day-to-day tasks that weren’t taking me toward any of my goals. I spent a lot of time thinking about my dreams, but day after day would pass, making no actual progress. During my cancer journey, I meditated often on what I would do once I felt better. Now I’m better. So how do I approach this second chance? I’m going to apply the same tips I used to get through the hard stuff. I’m going to focus on the next step. The one I can control and brings me the most joy. For me, that’s writing this blog post and spreading some cancer awareness. I’ve started my next book, which is exciting. I’ve even signed up for my first Author Convention, and I’m busy planning my book signing table for next spring. Each day, I take a baby step toward something meaningful to me. It’s made life richer.

When I think about my entire life, including this experience, I’ve noticed something about when the bad stuff hits. It tends to act as a “kick in the pants” to get me moving again. I don’t think God struck me down with cancer. But I do think it becomes an opportunity to get “unstuck” and get back on the path you’re meant to be moving down. I don’t know what the future has in store for me. I’m sure there will be more good times and bad, but for now, I’m excited to be moving forward again. If you find yourself going through something hard, please know I’m sorry. I pray you’ll read my experience and draw hope from my words. Focus on the next step and what you can control, reach out to friends and family for support, and feel what you need to feel. And for the love of all that’s holy, if something about your body has changed. If something feels off. Don’t ignore it. Make that appointment. This is your sign to do it. As for me, I’m going to sit here and write. I can’t wait to see what comes next.