The oncologist was able to see me that afternoon. Mason met me at the cancer center. And suddenly I felt very grateful we live in a university town with a research hospital and insanely talented doctors, and all I had to do was drive from my office and deal with the annoying parking garage. We spoke with the resident first, went through our history, and she asked what we knew about the situation. Then the oncologist came in and we repeated what we had been told, she looked at the pathology report (which I now know was an interpretation of the Mayo clinic’s report from my doctor’s office – not the actual Mayo clinic report) and said their conclusion was a bit “wishy-washy”. She explained she would want to order a few more tests and have her pathologist look at the results before we came up with a treatment plan.
And then I just asked the question because it was killing me – “So, do I have cancer?” She said we couldn’t determine that yet and for now, we could only really refer to this as Gestational Trophoblastic Disease. She explained that Placental Site Trophoblastic Tumors are very slow-growing, and because of this, tend to be resistant to chemo (apparently you need a fast-growing tumor for chemo to attack the way it’s supposed to). For women who were done having children, the best course of action would be a hysterectomy to just eliminate the organ in question, but ideally, we would preserve fertility in my case since we wanted more children. We talked through several other treatment options including another D&C, more methotrexate, other kinds of chemotherapy that would have more typical side effects such as hair loss, and of course a hysterectomy was not off the table. She sent us downstairs for full blood work and scheduled an ultrasound for later in the week. We left the office in stunned silence. Telling my parents this information that evening was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I guess I am privileged to not have understood how difficult it can be to share bad news with your family and friends. It’s gut-wrenching and you just end up feeling like you need to comfort them, through absolutely no fault of theirs. It’s just what happens. I can’t tell you how many times I broke this news and immediately said “…but it’s OK. I mean, it’s not OK. But I’m OK. Actually, I don’t know if I’m Ok or not, but it is what it is”.
I spent the rest of the day researching Placental Site Trophoblastic Tumors and trying to tame the panic attack I felt building up. There is a note in my journal from a few days after my meeting with the oncologist that says “did more research – bummed myself out 😦 ” We spent the rest of the week updating family and waiting to hear about test results.
Life One Step At A Time 