A Journey of a Million Moments

“Will I lose my hair?”

“Yes.”

Sitting across from my surgeon in an oversized gown at Memorial Sloan Kettering, “MSK,” I thought, ‘She is probably wrong. I’ll keep my hair.’

Of course, I think you can guess the end of that story.

It’s a funny thing when you are told you have cancer. It wasn’t a big dramatic moment. It wasn’t a revelation that shocked my world. It was a series of little moments, steps, happenings. Things that led to what I already knew. It was just that it was articulated for that first time, three weeks after surgery. Five days into the new year. Seven years after the first time I was sitting in front of Dr. Long in that same gown.

In 2017 my world had been forever altered when I was told I had an ovarian tumor. Tricky bastards they are – because with all the science and innovation out there, we don’t have screenings for this. Or not ones that women are given regularly. 

“Probbaly ovarian cancer,” she said.

That’s the bad one you read about. I was in a fog. I went to get bloodwork and I cried while the nurse took my blood sample. She was kind, she told me that I didn’t need to fear the needle, it would be over soon. I didn’t have the strength or heart to tell her that I wasn’t worried about the needle. I was worried about surviving.

Fear shifted to action and planning, two things I excel at.

Within one week I had explored, interviewed and found my surgeon and I had the tumor removed eight days after the ultrasound. The news? Not cancer. A borderline tumor. So also not, not cancer. Odd cells. Cells we don’t like, so we remove. And life moved on.

But even though my body was ‘healed’, it was not business as usual. This event, in an incredible way, ended up blowing everything up for me. I had dodged a bullet with this tumor – we found it; we removed it [1]. 

But in that removal something was left inside of me. A realization that I disliked my career. I was stressed and focusing my energy on all the wrong things. I wasn’t healthy or taking care of myself (I had been a competitive figure skater growing up but over the course of my 30’s, I focused more and more on work and less and less on myself). By 2019 I had changed everything. I was out of the rat race of New York advertising. I was traveling, dating, spending time with friends. I was eating well, working out. Creating. Hiking. Walking. I got certified in yoga and I leaned into being open and gracious to life and experiences. I said ‘Yes’ to every opportunity and through it, I met Brook! 

All this to say, the first cancer experience helped to build the foundation for how I have taken on life – its ups and downs. And how I faced chemo in 2024.

So that moment sitting with Dr. Long, asking about my hair, it came about through a series of these little moments. Each one sending me towards the next. After 7 years of great reports, an elevated CA-125 led to an ultra-sound. The ultra-sound showed that there were calcified implants[2] in the pelvic area (and floating around). That meant surgery to remove them (and see what they were). That surgery happened on Dec. 20, 2023. I was 47. And once again, it was one week from the time I had the CT scan to when I was in the recovery unit at Sloane. And less than three weeks to learning the pathology[3] on a Friday morning (January 5, 2024) in mid-town Manhattan.

The doctor explained to me what it was. Low-grade serous ovarian carcinoma. LGSOC. A rarer type of ovarian cancer. The good news… it’s low-grade. Slow growing. They caught it early. And the surgery had removed every possible visible cell that existed[4].  And for this type of cell the surgery is the primary treatment, followed by preventative chemo and a hormone blocking pill.

My surgeon is unbelievably excellent. She does 250 ovarian surgeries a year at Sloane. At that appointment, while I simultaneously had a million questions and a lot of nothing swirling in my mind, I knew most of the details would be addressed later.  So the question I asked after, “will I lose my hair?” and the one that I didn’t want to ask but had to was, “What are my chances?”

She is always honest. To the hair question, it was a simple. “Yes. Yes, you will lose your hair.” To the latter, while no one will ever make promises, she agreed that living 50 more years was a very realistic goal.

I took off my ridiculously oversized gown[5] and put on my right-sized pants [6]. This was still a moment in a series of moments that led me to my next. Some were a little shittier than others. But I thought, ‘Let’s get through this part to get to experience each and every one of my moments for the next 50 years’.

And so began my journey into chemo.

When I got my diagnosis, I immediately started researching. My research turned into a singular focus – how do I strengthen my mind and my body before, during and after chemo? What do I need to do to be the best I can throughout all of this so I can thrive in the areas of my life that I want to?

I walked into chemo with a lot of information. I also walked in with a lot of unknowns. I had all the theoretical facts. I saw some of the support online. But nothing fully articulated many of the details that I wanted. Like what happens when the hair falls out, what actually happens? What’s the experience? I learned a heck of a lot in the moment. 

For those facing chemo, I have a very detailed guide laying out everything I have learned. Feel free to contact me (evelyn@justusskincare.com) and I can share.

But here are a couple highlights:

Attitude. What I realized over time is while there are many things that are hard to control, we can choose HOW we approach anything mentally.

• I never once thought for a second that I couldn’t or wouldn’t get through it
• I didn’t worry about what was to come – which side effects would pop up, if I would get a reaction. I just felt it and dealt with the symptoms in the moment.
• I focused on what I could do to prepare and strengthen my body and mind. Not on how bad I would feel.

Looking backwards, pondering what it could have been, why it happened, why it is you – none of this gets you where you need to go. If anything, it takes away from the precious energy you need to have the best possible outcome.

Your body is going to be doing its hardest to work to fight the chemicals you are ingesting. Don’t make it work any harder by having to talk your brain out of a spiral.

Integrated Medicine. YES. Modern + ancient heralded wisdom. Our calling card. And so immensly helpful in managing symptoms and keeping my body strong. For me this included acupuncture, anti-oxidant foods and supplements such as mushrooms, berries and teas. This topic is a book in an of itself. 

Dogs Save Lives. Sure, they are cute and IG-friendly. But, two amazing things I gained included learning that my little rescue who I had for 6 years sensed when my body was weak, when I didn’t feel well and when I got stronger. At my worst she would lay across my stomach or press against me. As the symptoms improved, she moved further away and was less protective. The second was that I had a reason to walk every day. Multiple times a day. And I had little potentates who didn’t wait till I finished resting. Getting up to take them out, while sometimes grueling and simply the worst, helped improve my strength, my energy, my mood and my overall body.

Diet. Again this is a full course of information -- i regulated everything throughout the day. But the short lesson, eat to survive chemo. Meaning, if you body craves it, eat it. Then after that change or maintain a diet that is focused on the fight to keep cancer the heck away. 

The biggest thing I learned was movement. And water (drink as much as you can). Walk. Walk. Walk. It heals you in so many ways. Your body knows its alive. It gets the systems moving. Head is clearer. Digestion is better (and that is EVERYTHING in chemo). 

Chemo-you (on the higher symptom days) is shuffling along one-to-two short city blocks, thinking the whole time ‘OMG I wish I were at home under my electric blanket’ and huffing and puffing like a 3 pack a day smoker, and when chemo-you gets home, you feel like absolute wheezing trash and dash to have a seat. BUT THEN you feel more awake, more vibrant, less achy, and are filled with a huge sense of achievement. I vowed to myself that I would move every day. At least one proper walk (out of the house) and movement throughout the entire day. I’m proud that I achieved that. No matter how I felt, I went outside and did my paces.

Is there a big lesson to this? I'm not sure. Probably. But right now the main lesson I have for anyone is that if you are facing chemo, you can do this. You got it. 

__________________________ 

[1] Actually, we removed more than the tumor. I chose to have a total hysterectomy and oophorectomy. That means that they removed the uterus, ovaries, cervix, and omentum.

[2] One of the big lessons I learned. Don’t look at the healthcare portal with test results if they are potentially scary, confusing or something unexpected. I opened my CT scan results the evening before my appointment with the surgeon. They showed calcified implants. I proceeded to do the worst thing you can do, scan the internet and Chat GPT to understand all the potential things those could be, what that means. None of it was relevant to the conversation with my doctor and the course of action. It just made me crazy for the night.

[3] For many ovarian tumors and growths, you do not know the outcome of what the cells are till after surgery (they do a quick pathology during surgery and then they do extensive pathology after that takes up to two weeks). In my case, prior to the surgery they could only tell me it was either a recurrence of borderline cells or the cells had mutated and become cancerous.

[4] The surgery was more extensive than the first one due to where the cells were – they removed the implants around the pelvic area, but also around the diaphragm and they removed both my spleen and a very small part of the intestine.

[5] I mean honestly. Why are there not at least 2 sizes of gowns? Nothing makes you feel more vulnerable than sitting on a table with a thin piece of cloth that can wrap around your body twice with arms larger than your head. Also, its freaking cold. Give a girl some fabric that has some heft.

[6] Leggings