It felt like D Day for me....
I had woken up on September 18th feeling scared and anxious. It was as though I didn't want to know, but I had to face whatever my fate would be.
Basingstoke was about a 1.5-hour drive from us, and the journey there had been a quiet one as I sat in my thoughts. I clung onto hope that these treatments would help me, wishing for the same outcome as Karen had had. It was hard not to compare myself with others; seeing people survive and thrive made me wonder, "Why can't that be me?"
We arrived at Basingstoke, and seeing words like "malignancy unit" and "radiotherapy suites" yet again hammered home the reality of my situation. It felt like I was walking in my mother's footsteps, knowing how she had felt during her own battle with bowel cancer. It felt like I was reliving her journey, though I had to remind myself that it wasn't the same cancer. They took my height, blood pressure, and weight before I saw my consultant. Entering the room, I saw CT scan images on his computer screen.
He explained to me that I had something called Pseudomyxoma peritonei, which affects around 2 in 1 million people worldwide each year. He outlined the operation, CRS HIPEC, where he would remove all visible evidence of cells and then apply heated chemotherapy directly into my abdomen while I was on the operating table. He said to me, "Unfortunately, you have a bit of a shopping list." I nodded, and he listed what needed to be removed – the gallbladder, spleen, appendix, peritoneum lining, and part of my small bowel. He also advised a full hysterectomy. When I questioned why, since I was told my ovaries were healthy and cancer-free, he explained the risk of recurrence in that area and the potential for cysts every six months or less if I didn't have them removed. He told me, with a grave look in his eyes, that without the hysterectomy, I was a ticking time bomb.
It was a lot to process, but here I was. He mentioned freezing my eggs, but I had never desired children; I was always very career-minded, so I told him to take whatever was necessary to make me cancer-free.
He explained that due to my recovery from a Laparotomy, he couldn't operate right away, aiming for around November. He estimated a hospital stay of 2-3 weeks. When I asked about the cancer's stage, he explained that they don't stage this type due to its behavior – it doesn't spread systematically or via lymph nodes; it stays localized in the abdomen. It was strange to wrap my head around, considering that all you ever hear about cancer is its stages.
I asked him if this would kill me. He said that from my scans, he was pretty sure he could get it all, but he couldn't see my large bowel, so I needed a colonoscopy before the surgery. I had avoided it until then, as it was how my mother's cancer had been found. It felt like "here we go again," following in my mother's footsteps. The thought of a colonoscopy terrified me, but he insisted I needed one. He mentioned that 80% of patients see no recurrence after the surgery, but 20% do, with a mix of low-grade and high-grade disease. He assured me he was available to answer any questions, and with that, my appointment concluded. I knew the next time I stepped into that hospital, it would be for the biggest fight of my life.
Faye Louise from West Sussex, England was diagnosed with a rare type of Appendix Cancer after having cramps from what she thought was her menstral cycle. Faye has been Fighting Pretty through her experience and shares story to provide hope and strength to all women diagnosed with cancer. As a model, flight dispatcher and fierce fighter, Faye is truly a bright light in this world.
To learn more and continue to be inspired by Faye, follower her on Instagram at: @faye.louiseuk