Survivor Profiles

Quarterly, a patient will be featured that we feel would be inspirational to other ovarian cancer survivors. We would like to introduce you to our first patient:

Susan Arnold

DIAGNOSIS

My ovarian cancer was diagnosed in early July of this year (2005). Talk about ironic- I fell down a flight of stairs and went to see my doctor just to make sure everything was OK. My doctor recommended a cat scan because my abdomen was distended and it felt a bit lumpy to him. He thought it was probably a hematoma, which is a collection of blood that would eventually be absorbed by my body. I wish! After it was determined that my abdomen was filled with fluid and there were dark areas of "something" in there, there was an instant flurry of phone calls to set up an IMMEDIATE appointment with the Johns Hopkins Oncology/Gynecologic team. I guess I knew I had cancer at his point, but not which kind. The only women's cancer I was familiar with was breast because of my history with fibroid tumors in my breasts. I had always surmised that breast cancer was in my future, so I kept a prodigious watch on them with semi-annual trips to my surgeon for evaluation, mammograms and sonograms. I was very smug and proud of myself that "I was on top of cancer"!!!!!

The day of my appointment at Johns Hopkins, I was concerned, but not overly frightened, thinking that this cancer was in one spot, a simple surgery would wipe it out, and I would go merrily on my way. I remember only a small portion of the of the doctor's conversation with me because the news just kept on getting worse and worse: I did have ovarian cancer. The scan showed that it had spread throughout my abdomen.  The survival rate was a number that I couldn’t cope with and to this day cannot remember. My husband was with me and he heard it all. What was there today? My surgery was scheduled and we managed to somehow drive home. I remember wondering how my husband was going to deal with this. It was difficult waiting the two weeks until the surgery. We tried to be positive, but at one point, I made my husband promise that if they should open me up and find the cancer so far advanced that it was only a matter of time, that he would tell me so I could make my final plans.

SURGERY AND CHEMO

The surgery was long, but uneventful and successful. My female organs (uterus, ovaries and fallopian tubes) were removed. The nursing staff was great and the team of doctors kept me informed about everything. Dr. Gardner, the surgeon, met with my husband after the surgery and felt positive that in the 7-hour operation, she had removed all the cancer that was visible to the naked eye. My cancer had NOT spread into the other organs or into the lymph glands. This was a HUGE piece of good news for us. But this was just the preliminary pathology report. At the next meeting, she was concerned that my cancer cells included a second type of cancer and was hoping that this, too, would respond to the chemo. She was more optimistic at our next meeting and said this was definitely treatable. I didn’t ask what she meant. Actually, I never asked what stage of caner I had. (I eventually found out it was Stage III). My asking was not going to change the stage and it was what it was. This was very unlike me-I always went through life CONFRONTING problems and asking ALL SORTS of questions in order to gain all the information I could. Now, I shield AWAY from questions and from reading the information I was given. For months, I would awaken each morning and hope this was just a bad dream. And then I would get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized it was not.

It was decided that my chemo would entail six 3-wek cycles totaling 18 weeks. In each cycle, the first week consisted of an overnight stay whereby I had a 24-hour IV drip of taxol and then a 5-hour abdominal infusion of a different chemo. The second week, I had outpatient chemotherapy for 1 day, and the third week was a ‘vacation’ of sorts where I only had a doctor’s appointment and blood work but no chemo. I found the nurses and doctors at the Weinberg Center where I had my overnight stays to be experts in the chemo field, and as time went on, I came to know most of these health care professionals personally. Same with the physician staff. They all went out of their way to make this as easy as possible for the women. I was fortunate- I had very few, if any, side effects from the chemo for my first 4 cycles (about 3 months). After that, the side effects kicked in and it became a bit more difficult: stomach aches, acid reflux, loss of feeling in my feet, hands, and nose and a deep wariness. The good part was that at this point, I told myself that I was almost finished and then these side effects would be gone!!! I HAD gotten up the courage to read SOME of the information on ovarian cancer—the booklet on chemo and nutrition, which were a huge help, and also the basics of ovarian cancer. I read what I needed to know for each particular stage I was going thru at the time-nothing more.

I am now finished with my recommended 6 cycles of chemo. A cat scan will tell my doctor if I will need additional rounds of treatment. That possibility is not something I look forward to, but if it increases my chances for survival, how could I refuse it?

MY THOUGHTS

AS you have probably guessed, I do not see out statistics for my chances of survival. Statistics are based on PAST studies. Real statistics change daily.  I don’t care about the past, only my present and future.

There are scientists and researchers who are this very moment making discoveries that are increasing my odds of survival. This is huge-don’t ever forget this. I will make my own statistics based on these and future discoveries.

Everyone has dark hours. The important thing I have learned is to keep the darkness for only these few hours and then go forward. Every nurse I talked with at the Weinberg Center related specific incidents in which positive-thinking patients attained greater survival rates than those with negative feelings and outlooks.

I have been humbled by outpouring love, thoughts, support and prayers not only from my friends and relatives, but from people I hardly know. Every day brings a card, email or call from someone who cares. My husband has set aside his life in order to be with me in this experience each step of the way. His emotional support has been invaluable, as has that from my children.

There are numerous sources of support out there for all women with ovarian cancer-take advantage of it. Remain positive. Go forward.