On the next visit to my oncologist I related how disconcerting, uncomfortable, and mood changing the hot flashes were. If you’ve experienced menopause you understand the feeling, right? I’d been placed in the care of the head of the OB-GYN Department on the Air Force base since they considered my case rare, unusual and to them quite interesting. He looked at me then down at the cancer report then he scribbled out a prescription. Tearing it off, he handed it to me and said, “Your body’s not producing enough estrogen now. Take these and you’ll start feeling better.”
I didn’t know then but after much research later on, I found that estrogen is seldom recommended for anyone with ovarian cancer. The doctor mentioned to me at one point that the cancer was very aggressive because during pregnancy my body was flooded with estrogen. Thus the Death Watch began. Nobody ever said anything, not even the doctor, it was what they did.
The doctor prescribed hormone replacement to keep me comfortable even though it might not be the best thing for me. My parents called me more often though my dad hated paying for long distance calls. My in-laws did the same. Unusual, I thought. My parents and brothers came down to visit us when Laurie was six months old—bringing my grandmother! It sounds normal when I type these words but back then I knew they thought they were visiting me for the last time.
I didn’t know then the statistics about the death rate of ovarian cancer—no internet—but I instinctively knew what they were thinking. I, too, believed I might die. I was only twenty-two years old. Much too young to die and besides I had two babies to raise. I couldn’t die. Through all this, a decision that I needed to make, constantly came to mind—a momentous decision—and one particular day I realized I couldn’t put it off any longer.
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