...continued

September 5th, 2008. Mallory's 3rd birthday. The day my life changed forever.

I was at work that morning trying to keep my mind off the fact that I had an appointment later that afternoon with Dr King to review my biopsy results. This time I was smart enough to have lined up some people to come with me, even though I was sure it was nothing and that we would all just be there to celebrate good news. There was Rachel, my sister whom I also worked with at the time, Libby and Stacy, two of my best friends, and Jeff. Little did I know these people along with my friend (and co-worker) Kristin were going to become my "cancer posse". The morning progressed as a usual Friday morning at work, busy. Later in the morning I received a phone call that still sends chills down my spine. It was Froedtert calling to ask if I could come in before my consult to have some scans done. My heart jumped, no flew, into my throat. I couldn't breathe, I started choking up, I knew what this meant. I knew because when I first met with Dr King he told me that if it was malignant they would need to make sure it hadn't gone anywhere else.

I got off the phone and I froze. I called Jeff immediately and he said he would meet me at the hospital. People at work started wondering why I was so upset-they thought I was just nervous about my appointment. They tried to assure me I was going to be fine. "No," I said. "I know its not fine." and I told them all about the scans.

Rachel and I left work immediately to make our way to Froedtert. I don't remember much about the car ride there or even the scans themselves-it was all such a blur. I remember IV catheters, oral contrast (tasted pretty good actually!), IV contrast (blech-makes you feel like you peed your pants), and lots of machines. Chest x-rays, CT, MRI.

After the tests we were shuttled upstairs to meet with Dr King. When he and his "team" (you know, the team I never wanted) came in he started with, "Well the good news is it hasn't spread anywhere." hmmm. "The bad news is it's a very rare, very aggressive soft tissue sarcoma. An Epithelioid Sarcoma to be exact. Proximal-type if you really want to be specific. Only about 100 cases a year." (He may not have said all of this the way I'm writing or the order in which I'm writing, but I'm kind of taking bits and pieces of what I know and piecing it together.)

"The location of the tumor (my right groin) makes surgery extremely difficult so we need to try to shrink it first. Usually this type of tumor is not very "chemo-responsive" but considering the size of it, how deep within your leg it lies, it is already Stage III. And because you are healthy, young and have 2 small children at home we are highly recommending you try it. You need to give yourself every chance. The chance of chemo being effective is between 7 and 15%."

whoa whoa whoa. what??? I thought chemo wasn't going to be necessary. Now I'm being told I have to give myself every chance for my childrens' sake?! Sounds like this tumor is a death sentence! I thought I just hurt my leg! What is happening here???!!! Stage III? Are you kidding me? These are the thoughts running through my head as I begin to cry. I look around the room and see my "posse" crying with me. Everyone looks sad and yet disbelieving at the same time. And then as if that wasn't enough, Dr King looks right at me and says, "You have beautiful hair...and you're going to lose it." Open the flood gates.

It may sound silly to some that realizing I was going to lose my hair hit me so hard. Anyone who knows me and especially knew me through High School knows about my long, thick, curly dark dark hair. My hair has always been an attention getter. Even when I didn't have a whole lot going for me in the looks department in HS, I still won "Best Hair" during one of our musical parties. My hair meant alot to me. Everyone says "Oh it grows back-at least you're alive." yeah, yeah i know. For me being bald was never something I could see myself embracing. I didn't understand how women could sport their bald heads all proud. (oh don't worry I got over it-i'll get to that later) In my mind it was the one thing that would stare me in the mirror everyday, reminding me of the monster that had invaded my body and the poison with which we were trying to fight it.