SURPRISE
In 2004, I was 55 years old. I was a full professor, married 34 years, my children grown and embarked on independent lives, and the grandmother of an adorable little boy with two more grandkids on the way. I thought of myself as a healthy older woman. My primary care doctor had diagnosed me as perimenopausal, and so I was not alarmed by irregular and sometimes heavy periods. But in the fall of that year I had a couple of very heavy bleeding episodes, and was referred to a gynecologist whom I’d seen about a year and a half ago for some unexplained uterine and pelvic discomfort. He sent me for an ultrasound. When I asked the tech what he saw, he said an irregular mass. At the time, I didn’t know what a scary word “irregular” was although mass sounded bad. I was still hoping it was fibroids.
After the ultrasound, the gynecologist said I needed surgery. I remember saying to him in an attempt at lightheartedness, “You have to keep me alive for this little guy” and showed him a picture of my 18 month old grandson. He didn’t promise that he would, which was also scary.
I wanted a colleague at UCI to do the surgery, but he was out of the country and wouldn’t return for two weeks. When I emailed him could I wait until he returned, he replied, “I wouldn’t advise it.” He referred me to a community gyn-onc.
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