It was roughly one month after my diagnosis, and the shock never left me.
I had been waiting for another dreaded call, so I couldn't bring myself to answer the phone. My partner answered and I heard him say "Ok, so low grade?" Slightly relieved, I was ready to take the phone from him.
Right then, it was explained to me my biospy showed something called a low-grade muccinous neoplasm of the appendix. The words were said, but it was jibberish. I just wanted to know if it was going to kill me.
The nurse explained the cancer broke through the abdominal cavity from the appendix and spread to some cells in my tummy and peritoneal area. I still didn't konw what this meant and wanted to know the severity of this cancer. She went on to explain I am probably Stage 2 or 3 and will be referring me to a new hospital, Basingstoke located in Hampshire, England, due to the complexity of the cancer. My treatment plan was now unknown causing even more stress. I immediately went to "Dr. Google" and found only horror stories and found my potential surgery was called "The Mother of Surgery."
I lived in fear as I waited for my new cancer team from Basingstoke to call. Every moment I tried to keep myself busy while cancer was very much alive inside my body.
Now was the time to share with my brother and friends and I certainly didn't want pity. I didn't want the "Oh, I'm sorry" response. I just wanted this to be over.
In the weeks leading up to starting my new treatment and having surgery, I visited my original doctor and and he confirmed going this new route was the best way to go. This was reasurring, but everything felt surreal. He was honest and direct.
"Will this kill me!?"
He said no.
He explained this would be the "mother of all surgery" and that some patients would come back to him once the surgery was completed and have lived 5 and 10+ years.
So I asked again, "So this won't kill me?"
He again said no, and was confident with the plan in coordination with Basingstoke, but of course, "cancer kills but you have a very good chance." Right now, it seems at this point, my whole life was based on chance.
'This is my life now.' I thought, as my partner and I walked through the doors of the Macmillian Center in Redhill East Surrey Hospital. Walking through these doors felt like a massive reality check of bricks smacking me in the face. I now know how my my mother felt when she went through cancer. When I told the Macmillian nurse about my new diagnosis of "pseudomyxoma peritonei PMP" she looked at me like I was an alien. She quickly explained she did not have any information on this cancer because it was so rare. She offered me bowel cancer information and I was livid.
Only two years after losing my mum to cancer, I felt like I was sitting in a bubble and looking at someone else's life. I just couldn't believe it was mine. To say I was disappointed and frustrated is not even close to the fear and horror I was facing.
"How could they not have information on my cancer? How can they give me no hope!?" I walked back toward the car feeling the wind blowing on my face. I looked at my partner and said: "This is it. Now this is our reality. It's Do or Die."
It was at that moment, I took charge of how I would handle this experience. I was Fighting Pretty through it all.
In loving memory of my mum (Gillian Keight)
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