Once I got the doctor's voicemail that I was a-ok, I felt great. The bleeding stopped entirely. Entirely. I was walking on air.
I spent my last few days in the NYC office feeling sentimental about the people there, the city I grew up in, and life in general. I called friends I hadn't talked to in years, and I went out. I had fun.
I flew back home Friday July 30th, excited to get back to normal life. I hadn't stayed in touch properly with my friends there and it was summer - all two months of it.
I landed in Sea-Tac airport feeling good but a little sad. I always feel a little sad when I arrive home from trips (and I travel a lot for work). No one to welcome me. I see the large "welcome home!!" signs and balloons for other passengers, or at least the car service signs with people's names on them. That's not for me. I have a pug at home. No one to eagerly await my return - at least no one who wants to wait at the airport gate. Poor me, right? Well, I think so.
I went to bed that night tired but so glad to be in my own apartment with my dog and my sheets and my kitchen.
I woke up late the next day, Saturday. I called a couple of friends. At around 10am I got a call from an unknown number.
I ignored it. Then I got a voicemail notification.
"Hi Ingrid, this is Dr. Shin. I'm not sure where you are but I'd like to talk with you. You can't call me unfortunately because it's Saturday and the service isn't at work but I'll call you back."
Oh God. Why didn't she leave an "everything's fine" voicemail like before? Why is she calling me on a Saturday morning?
I call my sister Lizzie immediately.
"Lizzie, it's Ingrid" I manage, in between intense body consuming sobs.
"Ingy, what's wrong??"
"I got a voicemail from the Dr in NYC and she didn't say everything was fine and she called on a Saturday and I'm just sure something..." [BEEP]
"Oh my God Lizzie, she's calling back, I need to go." [CLICK]
"Hello?"
"Hi Ingrid, it's Dr. Deborah Shin. How are you?"
"I'm fine thanks."
"Are you still in NYC or have you gone back to Seattle?"
"I got back to Seattle last night."
"OK, well I would ordinarily deliver this news in person but since I can't we can do this by phone."
"What news?"
"Well your biopsy results have come back and it looks like you have endometrial cancer. But you should know that this is one of the friendliest cancers there are. 85% of people survive and your cells are low grade which means they are very slow growing."
Silence.
"I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm so sorry. So sorry."
"What do I do?"
"Well, the standard treatment is a hysterectomy. That usually takes care of it."
"Will I lose my ovaries?"
"It's a good chance that you will, to be safe. I'm so sorry Ingrid."
"What stage am I?"
"We can't stage the cancer without surgery and a proper pathology report. Your cells have a Figo score of 1 to 2, which is very good - very slow growing. The cancer is staged based on how far it has spread into the uterine lining, then the next stage is cervix invasion, then ovaries, then lymph nodes and all other organs which would be stage 4. But again, your cells are very slow growing and your ultrasound didn't show any obvious tumors so you are very likely stage 1, and again, with slow growing cells."
"Will I need chemo or radiation?"
"It's not likely if it's stage 1. You might need some radiation if there are any cells in your cervix."
"OK, well, I can't think straight right now, but thank you for everything Dr. Shin. You've been fantastic."
"I'm so sorry again, Ingrid. Call if I can help with anything."
"Thanks."
So, it wasn't menopause.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Anemic Performance
I took a taxi to work. So tired and hot. Late for work, even though I was working in the NYC office and my boss would be there - no wiggle room. I usually don't mind being a few minutes late - it balances out the days I wandered into the office insanely early or logged on to the company's web portal from home at 6am. I don't worry about my commitment to work. I know I'm there when I need to be and go above and beyond when I think excellence is at risk. I'm also descended from crazy Germans who tend to be ridiculously early - not late.
But here I was, late for the fourth time in my second to last week in NYC. I wasn't sure if a taxi would be faster than the subway, but I couldn't handle the subway that morning. I was late and stressed out and tired. Very, very tired. And, notably, not hungry at all. My lifelong, glorious appetite that had at one point managed to make me 205lbs (at 5'6") was gone. At least that's a positive, I thought.
I was still bleeding, but I had decided to wear a full, white summery skirt and a black t-shirt that day. I was sick of my same old black skirt or dress, and the spotting was lighter that morning. It was July 22, a Thursday, and I wondered if my period would return in full force soon (my last full period was June 17th). Oh well, a white skirt can be bleached if necessary.
Got to work in a sweat and managed to appear normal-ish. In the ladies' room I mentioned to a co-worker, Ali, that I had been bleeding for over 6 weeks.
"What? That's crazy. You should see a doctor."
"I called my doctor and was told to wait until I get back to Seattle. Guess it isn't an emergency. The assistant told me I was probably in menopause or pregnant - which is impossible. Very annoying."
"Just see a doctor."
"I've actually tried. I called a couple of friends for referrals, but couldn't get an appointment."
"I'll find one for you. My doctor is in Long Island, but I have a friend who likes her gynecologist."
"Thanks Ali, but I think I'll wait."
"No, don't wait. You should go now and find out what's going on!" Ali was and is bossy.
"Ok ok. Got it. I'll call."
A few hours later my boss called me into his office to catch up. We talked for around 30 minutes and then I felt something. Wetness. Lots of it. I couldn't leave immediately so I squirmed to try and keep whatever it was from seeping into my white skirt. As soon as we were done talking I ran out of the office to the bathroom.
Blood. Everywhere. Up and down my legs. Soaked through my underwear, which I immediately stuffed into the sanitary pad trash can. Dripping, gushing blood. I was so scared. Weirdly, it hadn't hit the white skirt at all. Looking back, this may have been the first sign that I had damn good luck.
I clean myself up and go back to the office.
"Ali, get me a doctor's number. I need to see one asap."
In 20 minutes I had a number, and I called. They could take me that afternoon.
I went to a doctor on the upper west side, which was awfully convenient for me since I was living up there. It's worthwhile to note that this visit marked the first of nearly 50 times that I would be filling out the same three pages of basic 'demos' and health history forms.
I was bleeding heavily, not my favorite time to be in stirrups.
Dr Shin was very nice. She put a bunch of extra sheets under me in case I bled onto the table.
She proceeded to perform a pelvic sonogram and saw a normal looking cyst in one ovary and a slightly thickened uterine lining.
Pause: I thought that I wouldn't be experiencing or saying or typing the word sonogram until I was looking at my first baby. I flash back to my doctor's assistant telling me she thinks this is early menopause. I push the thoughts back. Way back.
She then decides to do an endometrial biopsy. It might be uncomfortable, she tells me, but since I'm already having my period my cervix should be pretty open already.
It hurt more than anything I've experienced in my life, and she had to do it twice. Shocking, piercing, mind-numbing pain that recalled scenes from civil war movies when soldiers had to have limbs sawed off without painkillers. Some women don't mind it. Some women say it's worse than childbirth. I don't know. It hurt a lot.
Then I was sent off to 'clean up and get blood taken.'
She told me I couldn't use a tampon for 24 hrs. I said ok. Then I thought about it: how can I even leave the house if I can't use tampons right now? As I walked out of the bathroom I dropped into Dr. Shin's office and asked her "what exactly will happen if I use a tampon? Will I die?"
"You won't die, but you could get an infection."
"OK, thanks."
Screw it, I thought.
I went back into the bathroom and put in a tampon and added one of the doctor's office-provided weak-ass pads.
Then this crazy rebel wandered down the hall to get her blood taken.
And that was it.
The next day I got a voicemail from Dr. Shin: "Great news - you are anemic, a bit, but otherwise your blood looked great. Your biopsy results should be back in a week. If you don't hear from me personally expect results in the mail."
But here I was, late for the fourth time in my second to last week in NYC. I wasn't sure if a taxi would be faster than the subway, but I couldn't handle the subway that morning. I was late and stressed out and tired. Very, very tired. And, notably, not hungry at all. My lifelong, glorious appetite that had at one point managed to make me 205lbs (at 5'6") was gone. At least that's a positive, I thought.
I was still bleeding, but I had decided to wear a full, white summery skirt and a black t-shirt that day. I was sick of my same old black skirt or dress, and the spotting was lighter that morning. It was July 22, a Thursday, and I wondered if my period would return in full force soon (my last full period was June 17th). Oh well, a white skirt can be bleached if necessary.
Got to work in a sweat and managed to appear normal-ish. In the ladies' room I mentioned to a co-worker, Ali, that I had been bleeding for over 6 weeks.
"What? That's crazy. You should see a doctor."
"I called my doctor and was told to wait until I get back to Seattle. Guess it isn't an emergency. The assistant told me I was probably in menopause or pregnant - which is impossible. Very annoying."
"Just see a doctor."
"I've actually tried. I called a couple of friends for referrals, but couldn't get an appointment."
"I'll find one for you. My doctor is in Long Island, but I have a friend who likes her gynecologist."
"Thanks Ali, but I think I'll wait."
"No, don't wait. You should go now and find out what's going on!" Ali was and is bossy.
"Ok ok. Got it. I'll call."
A few hours later my boss called me into his office to catch up. We talked for around 30 minutes and then I felt something. Wetness. Lots of it. I couldn't leave immediately so I squirmed to try and keep whatever it was from seeping into my white skirt. As soon as we were done talking I ran out of the office to the bathroom.
Blood. Everywhere. Up and down my legs. Soaked through my underwear, which I immediately stuffed into the sanitary pad trash can. Dripping, gushing blood. I was so scared. Weirdly, it hadn't hit the white skirt at all. Looking back, this may have been the first sign that I had damn good luck.
I clean myself up and go back to the office.
"Ali, get me a doctor's number. I need to see one asap."
In 20 minutes I had a number, and I called. They could take me that afternoon.
I went to a doctor on the upper west side, which was awfully convenient for me since I was living up there. It's worthwhile to note that this visit marked the first of nearly 50 times that I would be filling out the same three pages of basic 'demos' and health history forms.
I was bleeding heavily, not my favorite time to be in stirrups.
Dr Shin was very nice. She put a bunch of extra sheets under me in case I bled onto the table.
She proceeded to perform a pelvic sonogram and saw a normal looking cyst in one ovary and a slightly thickened uterine lining.
Pause: I thought that I wouldn't be experiencing or saying or typing the word sonogram until I was looking at my first baby. I flash back to my doctor's assistant telling me she thinks this is early menopause. I push the thoughts back. Way back.
She then decides to do an endometrial biopsy. It might be uncomfortable, she tells me, but since I'm already having my period my cervix should be pretty open already.
It hurt more than anything I've experienced in my life, and she had to do it twice. Shocking, piercing, mind-numbing pain that recalled scenes from civil war movies when soldiers had to have limbs sawed off without painkillers. Some women don't mind it. Some women say it's worse than childbirth. I don't know. It hurt a lot.
Then I was sent off to 'clean up and get blood taken.'
She told me I couldn't use a tampon for 24 hrs. I said ok. Then I thought about it: how can I even leave the house if I can't use tampons right now? As I walked out of the bathroom I dropped into Dr. Shin's office and asked her "what exactly will happen if I use a tampon? Will I die?"
"You won't die, but you could get an infection."
"OK, thanks."
Screw it, I thought.
I went back into the bathroom and put in a tampon and added one of the doctor's office-provided weak-ass pads.
Then this crazy rebel wandered down the hall to get her blood taken.
And that was it.
The next day I got a voicemail from Dr. Shin: "Great news - you are anemic, a bit, but otherwise your blood looked great. Your biopsy results should be back in a week. If you don't hear from me personally expect results in the mail."
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Pre-Diagnosis Menopause
For reasons that I could barely explain to my boss, let alone friends and family, I managed to figure out a way to spend the month of July, 2010, in NYC. I stayed at my dad and his wife Martha's apartment on the upper west side and worked in my company's NYC office near Times Square.
It was a terrific studio apartment that they weren't using (in fact, they were selling it). What a lucky break, I thought, to be able to work in my company's NYC office for a month, see my NYC work contacts and friends, and theoretically prove some points I'd been trying to make about the futility of my efforts to raise my company's profile among media luminaries from my perch in our Seattle office.
In any event, the setting is NYC, July 2010. Very nearly one of the hottest in history (or, as the weathermen like to say "in recorded history").
I got phone calls and text messages from all of my friends in Seattle. How's NYC?? Are you out every night? Have you been sleeping with that married guy who hit on you a year ago?
The easy answer is, not really. I'm sitting in my dad's studio apartment with excellent air conditioning thinking: I don't want to go outside. I can't deal with this bleeding anymore. I'm so tired.
What's wrong with me?
My period had become annoyingly long in the last six months. Ten to fourteen days, in fact, but I'd ignored it. Now I was dealing with spotting that was happening constantly. CONSTANTLY. As far as I was concerned I had had my period for six weeks even though the spotting was light then heavy on alternate days. It was there every day. I wanted it to stop. I was sure of a million different reasons for it, including cancer, but I decided to ignore it.
Like so many women I know, I didn't know for sure when my period was supposed to start or end. I didn't really pay close attention to it. It came, it went, and I was just glad it was over. Usually it hit when my friends' periods hit. That was neat, and made me think back to my last one and confirm a general 30-35 day window. I'm normal, I would think.
This time I knew it wasn't normal. I knew because it should have been over when I went to Alaska for a long weekend. I was traveling by myself because I'd always wanted to see the midnight sun during Solstice weekend (June 21st). My period was supposed to be over days before then, but I had experienced such long ones in the last six months I just assumed this was another example of that. But it was weird. It was more like heavy spotting, and it didn't stop.
Then I flew to NYC July 1st... and it hadn't stopped.
I was in "I'm not normal" territory.
I called my doctor in Seattle, a general practitioner who looks and acts exactly like Ned Flanders on The Simpsons. He's very nice. He didn't call me back, though. His assistant called. She said that unless I was filling a tampon every hour it wasn't an emergency. I might have an ectopic pregnancy, so I should do a pregnancy test, but the most likely cause is early menopause.
"Menopause?"
"Yes, menopause. It's not that common, but it can hit as early as 36."
"But I'm bleeding too much, not missing periods."
"Well, it sounds a lot like what I had when I experienced early menopause, so it's probably that. Don't worry. Set up an appointment for when you return to Seattle in August."
I was devastated. Menopause? And I have menopause because SHE had it? Sounded like bad medical advice, but I was willing to believe it. I spent that night crying about the fact that I wouldn't have children, and calling girlfriends.
So I kept on using tampons for medium spotting and went on with my life. I was freaked out, and tired all the time, but I was relieved that I didn't have to go to a doctor in NYC. It wasn't an emergency.
It was a terrific studio apartment that they weren't using (in fact, they were selling it). What a lucky break, I thought, to be able to work in my company's NYC office for a month, see my NYC work contacts and friends, and theoretically prove some points I'd been trying to make about the futility of my efforts to raise my company's profile among media luminaries from my perch in our Seattle office.
In any event, the setting is NYC, July 2010. Very nearly one of the hottest in history (or, as the weathermen like to say "in recorded history").
I got phone calls and text messages from all of my friends in Seattle. How's NYC?? Are you out every night? Have you been sleeping with that married guy who hit on you a year ago?
The easy answer is, not really. I'm sitting in my dad's studio apartment with excellent air conditioning thinking: I don't want to go outside. I can't deal with this bleeding anymore. I'm so tired.
What's wrong with me?
My period had become annoyingly long in the last six months. Ten to fourteen days, in fact, but I'd ignored it. Now I was dealing with spotting that was happening constantly. CONSTANTLY. As far as I was concerned I had had my period for six weeks even though the spotting was light then heavy on alternate days. It was there every day. I wanted it to stop. I was sure of a million different reasons for it, including cancer, but I decided to ignore it.
Like so many women I know, I didn't know for sure when my period was supposed to start or end. I didn't really pay close attention to it. It came, it went, and I was just glad it was over. Usually it hit when my friends' periods hit. That was neat, and made me think back to my last one and confirm a general 30-35 day window. I'm normal, I would think.
This time I knew it wasn't normal. I knew because it should have been over when I went to Alaska for a long weekend. I was traveling by myself because I'd always wanted to see the midnight sun during Solstice weekend (June 21st). My period was supposed to be over days before then, but I had experienced such long ones in the last six months I just assumed this was another example of that. But it was weird. It was more like heavy spotting, and it didn't stop.
Then I flew to NYC July 1st... and it hadn't stopped.
I was in "I'm not normal" territory.
I called my doctor in Seattle, a general practitioner who looks and acts exactly like Ned Flanders on The Simpsons. He's very nice. He didn't call me back, though. His assistant called. She said that unless I was filling a tampon every hour it wasn't an emergency. I might have an ectopic pregnancy, so I should do a pregnancy test, but the most likely cause is early menopause.
"Menopause?"
"Yes, menopause. It's not that common, but it can hit as early as 36."
"But I'm bleeding too much, not missing periods."
"Well, it sounds a lot like what I had when I experienced early menopause, so it's probably that. Don't worry. Set up an appointment for when you return to Seattle in August."
I was devastated. Menopause? And I have menopause because SHE had it? Sounded like bad medical advice, but I was willing to believe it. I spent that night crying about the fact that I wouldn't have children, and calling girlfriends.
So I kept on using tampons for medium spotting and went on with my life. I was freaked out, and tired all the time, but I was relieved that I didn't have to go to a doctor in NYC. It wasn't an emergency.
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