By Hannah Brown, 32, Ovarian Cancer
Just because you have two masses, one on each ovary, doesn’t mean it’s cancer. When bad news appears, people tend to grasp the ‘what ifs.’ I tend to lean into the worst case scenario which typically doesn’t serve me…but in this case, it sped me through to the reality of the situation.
That reality was a surgery to confirm that what was showing up on the MRI was indeed cancer. Our oncologist was tentatively hopeful that it could be endometriosis, a disease in which tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows elsewhere. I am only 32 years old; the typical age for ovarian cancer is 55. I have never had a health issue in my entire life, I live a healthy lifestyle and this cancer doesn’t run in my family. So, yeah, tentatively hopeful makes sense.
It feels as if you are thrown into a different frequency of life when you receive shocking news that requires you to focus all your attention on it. Your brain chemistry begins to heighten certain things and dull others. Hours are slow but days fly by. Nothing except the problem in front of you is important. Everyone else around you has stayed at their normal frequency, so you immediately begin to feel disconnected.
The idea of surgery crumpled me with fear. As someone who hasn’t experienced anesthesia for something as small as wisdom teeth, the medical world was one I hadn’t come close to beyond typical check ups. The date was set and days became a blur of regretting going down the rabbit hole of googling things and managing panic attacks.
Around this time began the silver lining to all of this that continues to wrap me in strength: the pure kindness of people. I watched those around me show up, each of them filling the pieces of me that went dull. Cancer might suck but the kindness it brings out in people will forever be something I am grateful for.
And just as I began to feel the kindness wrap around me, the surgery was here.
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Originally published on CURE Today.
