One evening a little before Christmas in 2020, I found a streak of blood on my toilet tissue. As a 74-year-old woman, that was a big shock. I knew something must be terribly wrong. I called my doctor that next morning. If you are here reading this, you know what happened next. I was examined, tests were ordered, and all the nail-biting waiting for results began. As those test results trickled in, I watched my confidence in my good health slip away before my very eyes. I learned that there were cysts on my ovaries. The specter of ovarian cancer was the concern. That streak of blood turned out to be my only symptom.
Because of the pandemic, I was alone when Christmas morning rolled around. Though it was stormy, I knew I needed to take all my fears with me and do my regular dawn walk on the Mendocino headlands near where I live. So off I went into the storm. The waves were crashing, the wind was blowing a gale, and even the birds struggled to fly. Soon it was pouring rain. I trudged along, realizing that the storm I was walking through perfectly matched how I felt inside.
As I walked along, the lyrics from that old song from the musical Carousel kept repeating in my mind; “When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high and don’t be afraid of the dark.” You can hear the whole song below:
I hadn’t thought about that song for years, but I needed its message that morning. My unconscious mind made the connection and offered me the gift of that long-forgotten song from my childhood. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until it was as if I had walked into the eye of the storm. While rain and wind swirled around me, inside, I was suddenly peaceful and calm. I heard a voice speak from deep inside of me, Marilyn, this is all going to be OK. Whatever happens, you will be able to deal with it. I knew at that moment that even if this turned out to be a worst-case scenario and these events were the harbinger of my death, I would be able to deal with it.
Certainly, not every part of me agreed, but the fact that those words were anywhere inside of me was a tremendous help as I moved forward on my medical journey. That morning on the headlands was the first of many moments when that inner voice rose up to inform and support me.
I was referred to a gynecologist, and in February, I had a laparoscopic hysterectomy. When they took my tissue to the lab during that surgery, they diagnosed me with Low-Grade Appendiceal Mucinous Neoplasms (LAMN) and referred me to a gastrointestinal oncology surgeon. I was lucky that I had only a small volume of disease in my abdomen at the time of my diagnosis.
I found everything one might hope for in a surgeon with Dr. Mohamed Adam at the University of California Medical Center in San Francisco. Still, from the very beginning, it was crystal clear to me that that was only half of what was needed. I couldn’t just passively become Dr. Adam’s patient. To me, finding my way required taking an active role in my own healing. That meant focusing on all of the medical information so I could make informed decisions, but it meant more than that. I felt I needed to reach into the center of my being and call forth my own deep healing energy. If I could do that and be met with Dr. Adam’s expertise and healing presence, I hoped I could heal.
I was 75 years old when I learned that the CRS/HIPEC surgery was what I needed. I was a healthy, active older woman, still seeing clients in my expressive arts therapy practice. Just the year before I had published my first book Finding the Wild Inside: Exploring Our Inner Landscape Through the Arts, Dreams, and Intuition. I had dedicated my work life to helping others in these regards. Now it was time for me to turn all my knowledge and experience toward my own healing. I dedicated myself to focusing on all the ways I knew to access my deepest knowing. I wanted the decisions I made as I proceeded to be grounded and come from my wisest self.
After my initial doubts about going through the treatment at my age, I came to understand that my hunger for more life was greater than my fear of what might lie ahead, so I agreed to have the surgery.
I prepared physically by taking my daily morning walks, eating a healthy diet, doubling down on stretching, and strengthening my muscles to aid in my recovery. Still, I also doubled down on preparing myself psychologically and spiritually for what was about to happen to me. Everything in me was certain that my inner life could support me as I met this serious physical challenge to my body.
When I awoke from the surgery, everything struck me funny. That was a big surprise because there I was with tubes and IVs providing me with everything I needed. I think I was just so relieved to come through it all. I had excellent care in the hospital and excellent pain control. I really couldn’t believe that was possible. I left the hospital on the 9th day feeling lucky to have escaped all the scary complications that I knew were possible.
At my recent 2-year follow-up appointment at UCSF, I got the good news that all of my blood tests fall in the normal range, and there is no sign of the neoplasms returning. I am feeling great and enjoying a full life, but I’m surprised to find that fully embracing my good health has been a challenge. I’m just now realizing that somewhere deep inside, I’ve had a belief that my good health died the day I got my diagnosis. I don’t think that is a useful way to think about health. I’m coming to see that our health is much more dynamic than that. Of course, I know that anything can happen, but for now, I am healthy, and it is that, that I want to keep in the forefront of my mind. That is what I want to hold in my heart and celebrate.
These last two years have brought amazing changes in my life, too many to tell you about, but the most important change is that I am a more loving person. I hope that you will allow yourself to be changed by all your experiences and that you will surprise yourself with who you are yet to become.