11 Years Cancer Free

11 years ago today, on April 15th, 2008, I received the devastating news that I had ovarian cancer. At first I didn’t realize how big of a deal it was, but once it sunk in, it was awful. The diagnosis and treatment were a nightmare, but my journey ironically started as a different nightmare 4 days earlier.

In a room at the doctor’s office my mom and I waited for some test results, as I had pulled a muscle in my stomach during track a month previously. It didn’t seem to be healing fast enough so we had gone in to make sure it was ok.

The doctor entered the room and asked my mom to leave, saying she wanted to talk to me alone. Once my mom had left and the door had closed, she broke it to me. “You’re pregnant.” I was so caught off guard that my first reaction was to giggle, until I could say, “What? …how?” She replied, “Well, how do people get pregnant?” I said, “Umm… sex, but I’ve never had sex.” She dismissed me with, “Well honey, that’s exactly what they all say.” At that point I realized it was serious. She was serious. My mind was racing a million miles per hour. I was so confused. All I could think was, HOW? I’m not sexually active… how is this possible? I pulled it together and told her, “No really, you don’t understand… I am not lying. I haven’t had sex. How could this be possible?” She inquired, “Have you been to a party within the last month or so and woken up somewhere that you don’t remember?” I said, “I guess I went to a party a few weeks ago, but it was in the middle of the day and it was all girls.”

At this point my doctor moved on from the “how” and suggested that I consult a professional before making any decisions regarding the baby. She said there were many alternatives to abortion. Blindsided again, I thought, hold up — what?! How did a simple checkup escalate this quickly? I’m over here processing how this is even possible, and now she’s talking about options for the baby?! I started swearing, so she said, “Well, there’s one way to find out for certain. I am going to order an ultrasound, but they aren’t open until Monday.”

It was only Friday afternoon so I had to wait a whole weekend to find out. It was the worst weekend of my life. The whole time I was pulling my hair out, racking my brain and calling my friends to piece together how this could have happened. I came up with nothing; no one had any ideas. It just wasn’t possible.

Monday finally arrived and I went back in with my mom. Up to this point I had somehow managed to keep my immaculate conception a secret from her. If you knew my mom you would know I absolutely did the right thing by not telling her until I was positive.

As I laid on the bed waiting for the ultrasound, my heart was pounding. My thoughts swirled as I stared at the screen. There is no way this could be a baby, but damn… what if it is? Another Virgin Mary case? Finally, the moment of truth. The screen turned on and the technician swept the wand over my stomach. “It’s not a baby… is it?” I asked, to which she replied, “No honey, this is much much worse!”

My first thought was, what could be worse than a baby? Confused, I asked further, “what is it then?” She replied, “it looks like a large mass.” I didn’t understand. A mass that is pretending to be a baby? What the heck? I had no idea that a mass or a tumor could mean cancer. I just thought I had a big lump, so I was pretty relieved. I asked again, “what do you mean a mass, what is that?” She said, “well honey, I am going to have the doctors talk to you.”

I had a large tumor in my lower abdomen that my primary doctor mistook for a baby. The tumor was growing on my ovary, which caused it to produce the same urine and blood markers they look for in pregnancy tests. It wasn’t until the doctors started to explain to me that a large tumor could mean cancer that I started to get worried. They said they wouldn’t know whether I have cancer or not until they remove the tumor and test it, and that cancer or not, I would need a huge operation to remove the tumor as soon as possible. Just like that, I was admitted to the hospital the same day, and the next morning I had surgery.

As I slowly awoke from my 4 hour surgery, I was heavily sedated and very drowsy. Realizing where I was and what had happened, I wanted to see where they cut me open. Did they cut me horizontally or vertically? I wondered if I would be able to wear bikinis again. I felt around as best I could, but my hands would barely move. I was bandaged up too, so I couldn’t tell what kind of incision they used, but I discovered something else. They had shaved my vagina bare! I tilted my head towards my mom in horror and whispered, “Oh my gosh mom! They shaved me down there!!” She burst out laughing. “That’s what you’re worried about?” she chuckled. I thought, of course! They saw my private parts! How embarrassing! They didn’t even tell me they were gonna do that! Then I thought, wow… they really went to extreme lengths to get this tumor out. This must be really serious!

Once I was fully coherent the doctors told me the tumor was malignant and that I would need to start treatment right away. They told me they couldn’t save my left ovary and that it was removed out of necessity during the operation. Then the bad news got worse; chemotherapy was my best option but it was very strong and might damage my right ovary. This meant there was a very real chance I wouldn’t be able to have children. It was a hard choice, but they had to stop the cancer from spreading fast, so I accepted chemotherapy and the battle began.

Chemotherapy sucked. It literally felt like it was sucking the life out of me. I was weak, nauseated… just thoroughly and perpetually sick. I could see my body withering away. My weight dropped to 96 lbs, and my skin started bruising and peeling. For some reason though I never cried, not even when they told me I had cancer. I remember the two amazing doctors as they broke the news to me saying, “It’s okay to cry Addis,” but I didn’t need to. It wasn’t until the hair from my head and eyebrows had fallen out that it really hit me. Losing my hair was the worst. I saw myself and thought, wow I am really sick, and just bawled my eyes out.

It felt really good to finally let it all out and sob, but I did not like how I looked bald one bit. I was an 18 year old teenager that cared how I looked. I did get a few wigs, and never left home without them, but I hated how those wigs felt. They constantly made my head sweaty and unbearably itchy. The second I got home I would rip off my wig, chuck it on the floor, and start rubbing and scratching my scalp. It felt soooo good to get some fresh air on my bald head.

Seeing myself bald reminded me I was sick, so a big reason I didn’t want other people seeing me bald was that I didn’t want them to see me that way too and feel sorry for me. I especially didn’t want our cute next door neighbor (who I had a crush on) to meet bald Addis. Whenever someone knocked at our door I always put a wig on before answering. If my mom was around when someone knocked, she would help me find a wig before opening the door. It was a great system, but one afternoon our system failed. I was sitting at the computer, very bald and minding my own business on Facebook when someone knocked at the door. My little brother — oblivious to our system — ran to the door with my mom and I yelling, “No no no no wait!!” It was too late. As he started to open the door I realized it was my crush. I dove behind the couch frantically motioning for my mom to find me a wig. She hurried back from the other room, hiding a wig in a shirt and slipped it to me behind the couch. I put it on as fast as I could, popped up as though I had dropped something, and played it cool saying, “oh hey…” Luckily, he had no idea what happened and neither did my brother.

Even though treatment was awful, there are definitely some funny moments I can look back on and laugh. I had a really poor appetite and couldn’t keep anything down, so my doctor prescribed me something to help. I took a pill and fell asleep, but when I woke up I was high as a kite. I was tripping. I had no idea what was going on, but the medication I was on (Marinol) had hit me hard. I literally thought I was dying. I was screaming and yelling, “Mom, I’m dying! Call 911 now!” My poor mom, watching tv half asleep on the couch, jumped up in shock. She was freaking out but for some reason instead of calling 911 she started calling our closest family friends who had been helping us through this whole ordeal. I was screaming at her, ‘’Are you just gonna watch me die?! Why aren’t you calling 911?” But instead of an ambulance our friends arrived, and they helped me calm down until I fell back asleep. When I woke up I learned that Marinol is a synthetic form of THC, which is found in marijuana. My doctor hadn’t told me all this could happen when she prescribed it to me, and when she heard what happened she laughed so hard. She asked me if I wanted to keep the Marinol and just lower the dosage, but I quickly replied, “NO thank you!!”

After 3 months of intense chemotherapy I learned that my cancer was completely gone from my body, and the healing began. My hair slowly began to grow, I finished high school, went off to college and got a degree in social work. I met and married my husband, and had two miracle babies (third one on the way). It has been 11 years since then and I feel an overwhelming gratitude that God has given me another chance at life. I am eternally grateful for all the people who showed up for me and my family during a time where we needed help the most. I am forever grateful for the hard working nurses, doctors, and social workers who took care of me, and so thankful for everyone that prayed for me. I truly believe it was the prayers that helped me stay strong, calm, and fearless during my battle.