Some patients refer to this as their cancerversary. With two years in the rear-view mirror, I’m calling it my Everything-From-Here-On-Out-Is-Gravy Day.
BY Kelly Irvin
PUBLISHED January 17, 2018
Kelly Irvin is a multi-published novelist and former newspaper reporter who worked in public relations for more than 20 years. She retired from her day job in 2016 after being diagnosed with primary lateral sclerosis, a degenerative motor neuron disease, and stage 4 ovarian cancer. She spends her days writing and loving her family.
Jan. 13 was the second anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. To be more accurate, it was the day my oncologist told me I had ovarian cancer. A biopsy on Jan. 8, 2016, revealed I had cancer, but the chest CT scan and subsequent biopsy of a mass in the pleural lining of my lungs didn’t allow the doctors to see where the cancer originated. A PET scan was needed to nail down the exact diagnosis.
Some cancer patients refer to this as their cancerversary. With two years in the rear-view mirror, I’m calling it my Everything-From-Here-On-Out-Is-Gravy Day. I didn’t realize this until just now – not until I contemplated how far I’ve come in two years. This month, I will celebrate my 60th birthday. Next month, my husband and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have thought that possible. I’ve traveled down the road from a stunned, grief-stricken, fearful, and yes, darn it, angry woman to a joyful, hopeful, blessed person who has learned to treasure time minute by minute, day by day.
Right before my diagnosis, I took a two-week Christmas vacation. I came back to work three days into a brand-new year to find a message on the voicemail from Dr. Kazhdan. Something about masses in the pleural lining. Lung biopsy.
“We don’t know what it is. No one knows.”
I still have that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach when I remember that message. My heart pounded. My stomach roiled. My hands were sweating around the landline receiver. Then my WebMD degree kicked in. False positives happen with CT scans all the time. They could be benign. Anything’s possible. Until it isn’t.
Some cancer patients refer to this as their cancerversary. With two years in the rear-view mirror, I’m calling it my Everything-From-Here-On-Out-Is-Gravy Day. I didn’t realize this until just now – not until I contemplated how far I’ve come in two years. This month, I will celebrate my 60th birthday. Next month, my husband and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have thought that possible. I’ve traveled down the road from a stunned, grief-stricken, fearful, and yes, darn it, angry woman to a joyful, hopeful, blessed person who has learned to treasure time minute by minute, day by day.
Right before my diagnosis, I took a two-week Christmas vacation. I came back to work three days into a brand-new year to find a message on the voicemail from Dr. Kazhdan. Something about masses in the pleural lining. Lung biopsy.
“We don’t know what it is. No one knows.”
I still have that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach when I remember that message. My heart pounded. My stomach roiled. My hands were sweating around the landline receiver. Then my WebMD degree kicked in. False positives happen with CT scans all the time. They could be benign. Anything’s possible. Until it isn’t.
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