I have cancer

I'm not writing this for pity. I'm not writing this so you worry. I'm not writing this to illicit your well wishes or concerns. I am writing this for informational purposes only. And I am writing this for me.

In March 2007 I was diagnosed with an Intraocular Choroidal Melanoma in my left eye. In North America six out of a million people are diagnosed with this each year. Only six ... in a million. I'm one of the "lucky" ones. It's a malignant tumor that grows inside the eye. The tumor was found as part of a routine eye exam (stop reading and schedule your eye exam now). I had 20/20 vision but had not been to the eye doctor in many years so I made an appointment and went. The only symptom I had was some floaties in my eye that seemed a bit out of the ordinary. Everyone said floaties were normal yet I was worried that I needed glasses ... ha!Intraocular Choroidal Melanoma is treated a few different ways depending on the size of your tumor and who your doctor is. Luckily I live near Boston and was able to see the world's most renowned specialist on this exact diagnosis. Dr. Gragoudas developed one of the treatments for this cancer 30 years ago.

I had surgery in April 2007 to suture tiny metal clips onto my eye around the perimeter of my tumor. These clips can be seen by x-ray but I will not set off the metal detector in the airport. These clips were placed in order to set a “target” for the Proton Beam radiation to directly hit the tumor. After a short recovery period I went to Mass General for five straight days for treatment. My face was placed in a mask made especially for me. My head was strapped into a machine that looked like a medieval torture device. My eyes were propped open with eyelid clips and it was extremely important I kept my eye completely still as the beam was shot into the tumor for what seemed like and hour (it was in fact minutes).This treatment for me was mostly painless with a few side effects … a radiation burn on my eyelid (it’s healed quite nicely) … and the loss of half the eyelashes on my left eye (they are never coming back). I have lost some vision in my left eye. I get blurry sometimes. I occasionally get headaches, floaties and flashes of light but the alternative makes it worth it.

This cancer can spread (metastasis). The most common cases are found in the liver or lungs. Luckily only 2% of patients are found to have their melanomas spread to other parts of their body at the time diagnosis of their eye tumor. The size of the tumor is the most important predictor of a patient's risk for metastatic melanoma (spreading to other parts of the body). My tumor was medium in size. I have been tested for a year now with no signs … 4 more years to go in order to be considered no longer at risk.

I wrote the following paragraph in April 2007. I was dealing with the diagnosis and what it meant to me. I learned a lot from my father when he was sick. He taught me how to be strong yet compassionate. He taught me how to turn adversity into opportunity. He taught me how to fight ... even though he didn't win. My Dad taught me to never give up. My strength comes from my kids, my family and friends. I make it through each day surrounded by the people I love. Thanks for reading.

“I have cancer. It's difficult to get my arms around that fact. I'm too young. I'm a single mom. I have kids who need me. I am never sick. I am never down. And even when I'm sad I find laughter. Then sometimes out of no where it hits me … I have cancer. How can that be? There are so many things I need to do. There are so many places I want to see. And there are so many important events planned for the future. I have cancer. That sure puts life in a different perspective. My job sure doesn't seem as important as it was just a few short weeks ago. Spending time with my children, playing in the rain, going on adventures and just being silly all seem much more important than working for this clothing company. My friends, my family … that's what means the most. I have cancer. And I have a positive outlook. I am strong but I am afraid. Terrified. Sometimes I lay alone in my bed in the dark and cry. I have cancer and the unknown is frightening. Overwhelming. It makes me feel vulnerable and unsure when usually I am confident and strong. Waiting and wondering is arduous. The five year mark is a big one they say … well I'm at week four. I have a long way to go. I have cancer but cancer doesn't have me.”