Well, That Escalated Quickly
Yesterday served up a little plot twist I wasn’t exactly expecting: I have an 8cm tumor hanging out in my abdomen, and my doctor was pretty candid that it looks suspicious.
For the last eight months, I’ve been chalking up my bloating, stomach issues, and random back pain to the GLP-1 weight loss shots I’ve been on. (Because obviously, when you’re menopausal and doing your best impression of a hot, sweaty blowfish, anything weird must just be…menopause or medication, right?) But once I switched to maintenance mode and dropped down to one shot every five weeks — and still felt “off” — I knew something wasn’t adding up.
Add in a lovely family history of cancer, my own pre-cancer diagnosis a few years ago, the ATM gene mutation, and good ol’ menopause itself, and honestly, it’s like I hit the genetic jackpot you really don’t want to win.
So…off to the doctor I went, and it got serious fast. She didn’t sugarcoat it: there’s a significant chance it could be malignant. Cue immediate bloodwork and an unwise deep dive into Google, where within two hours, I somehow managed to convince myself I had a 15% chance of surviving the week. (Why do we do this to ourselves? Honestly, Google needs a special “Calm Down, You’re Not Dead Yet” filter.)
Meanwhile, my amazing friends were also feverishly googling like it was a group project in a very dark and twisted college course. But — good news — I got three out of four blood tests back and all came in the normal range. It doesn’t guarantee anything yet, but it definitely feels a lot more optimistic than it did during my self-diagnosed Google death spiral.
Even if it turns out to be malignant, I’m confident it’s early and very treatable. I’m feeling a lot stronger today than I did yesterday, when all I could think about was my mom. She passed away at 54 from colon cancer that metastasized, and I will never forget the heartbreak of her crying and saying, “I’m not ready to die.” Yesterday, that memory hit me like a freight train — because I’m not ready either. There’s too much more I want to do, see, and experience. I love my dog Snoozy (the most adorable English bulldog/snoring machine ever), my boyfriend, his kids, my bffs! my family, my friends. I’m not going anywhere without a fight.
My boyfriend and I were pretty gutted yesterday, not going to lie. But the bloodwork gave us some hope back, and today feels lighter, steadier, and more focused. This is something I can get through. I’m strong. I have the best support system. And let’s be real — I’ve gotten through worse than this. I can handle a tumor.
I’m heading off to Ireland on Sunday for a work trip (because when the universe throws you a curveball, you grab your passport, right?). I even extended my stay a few days to solo explore and recharge a bit. I’m so looking forward to some quiet time, some Guinness, and probably some crying into a shepherd’s pie — but mostly just reminding myself how much more there is to see and do.
When I get back, I’ll be having surgery and then we’ll see what else is needed. One step at a time. One deep breath at a time.
And if nothing else, at least now I have another excuse to buy new comfy clothes: “doctor’s orders.” Pretty sure that’s how it works, right?
Stay tuned — this story isn’t over yet. Not even close.
