I was in the hallway when she told me.
It is cancer. Ovarian. She said into the phone in a calm way. She would remain calm over the next 112 years of her battle with cancer, unlike the panicked reaction I was expecting.
I had been struggling with my health for a long time, so it was for me as well, when my heart dropped to the floor. Many of the same symptoms were shared by us. I was worried that this fate would be my own.
She went to the doctor about her symptoms. She went to see two different ones. The first person to tell her it wasIBS was the one who told her. He didn't do any tests or scans. If he had seen the mass of tumors on her ovaries, I believe he would have taken action to save her life, or at least prolong it.
The doctor told her it was intestinal fissures. They just gave her antibiotics and sent her on her way. She didn't know what to think when a romantic date with her boyfriend ended in disaster when she collapsed on the bathroom floor.
The answers weren't what we were hoping for. To say the least.
Neither was mine, although not nearly to the same magnitude.
IIC is a chronicbladder condition that results instiffening of thebladder. When I met her, I wondered if we would have any sort of kinship, since we shared the same last name. I hated her. She was not comforting.
No one knows what causes bladder disease. She said that you would have to change your diet and that they could do bladder infusions. Was she chewing?
Will it go away? I held my paper gown to my chest.
It won't. She wrote something on a clipboard. This is a lifelong disease.
I cried all the way home.
I began my treatments very soon after. I changed my diet to be bland and tasteless. There were no tomatoes, acids, coffees, or lemons. I started getting anti-inflammatories into my bladder. I left each session shaking because of the pain. My symptoms were still there. They got worse if anything. I was stuck and desperate.
As I was finishing up my bladder treatments, Tori began her treatments. She bought wigs that flattered her pale skin after her hair fell out. She calmly focused on the things she could control, like taking care of her dog, and making sure her nails were always perfect.
Most 25-year-olds don't have to think about what's going on in their own personal health lives. She had a lot of sympathy for my situation, even though it was much worse than mine. She was also filled with it. Her surgeries were intense and painful, and she was 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 We joked that we were old ladies.
We sat in her apartment and looked out the window. Two older ladies in flip-flops looked like they didn't care in the world. She was weak from her treatments and I was hunched over in pain.
"I can't remember what it was like to walk like that," she said. We looked out at those women and thought about how much we had missed their comfort and ease.
My diagnosis felt like a death sentence. I was in constant pain and the treatments weren't helping.
I spent most days crying or falling down rabbit holes online, reading horror stories about people who had interstitial cystitis and how they were trapped in their pain, never to be released, even though they had a very serious cancer diagnosis and not many options. It felt like a death sentence, but my diagnosis was not a death sentence. I was in constant pain and the treatments weren't helping.
I did not have cystitis. I never did.
I had a severe form of endometriosis that had gone undetected because my symptoms presented a little differently than they do. How did I come to this conclusion?
After sitting through appointment after appointment and having my pain dismissed, I was told I had "IBS" just as they had told me, even after going to therapy because a male gynecologist suggested to me that my pain was coming from my emotions. I agreed to the exploratory surgery for endometriosis.
After a laparoscopic excision from one of the most skilled surgeons in Nashville, Tennessee, my pain subsided. Without managing the condition, it wreaked havoc on my organs because I had suffered with no answers. Although the beyond-painful endometriosis had been removed, I was left with scar tissue and a diagnosis of Fibromyalgia, which isn't uncommon for chronic pain sufferers.
After my first surgery, I began physical therapy. It was a blessing. I was determined to continue my sessions even though it took a long time. I was certain that I would recover in time. I would move on. In my career, I would thrive. I would have a life if I met someone.
It would not happen.
My misdiagnoses led me down a path of antidepressants, ineffective bladder treatments, therapy sessions, wasted money, emotional trauma and possible infertility, but the consequences were far more severe.
In June of last year, Tori passed away. She was 27 years old. I had seen her before. She looked great, albeit a little thin, but her cheeks were rosy and she was cheerful. I don't think I heard her complain once she had cancer, which was most of our friendship.
One of the biggest regrets of my life was not being able to say goodbye to her. My boss didn't give me a day off to drive four hours to see her. He looked down and didn't say anything when I told him that I was going to her funeral. I still harbor anger at him, but I focus more on those who didn't take her seriously when she was in pain.
Women are more likely to be misdiagnosed with health issues. Why?
Many doctors brush women's health issues off as "complaining" or "being dramatic."
Classic heart attack symptoms may not be present in a woman with heart disease.
Sex-specific disorders are even more complex, as many gynecologists tell women to lose weight, to reduce stress or just to go on birth control instead of really taking a deeper look at what is going on.
Doctors believe that pain is normal for a woman to experience during her menstrual cycle. This may be true on a low level, but symptoms still need to be looked at. The symptoms of ovarian cancer can be hard to differentiate from other less fatal conditions, and can include a loss of appetite, fatigue, and trouble urinating.
September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month, but I want women and men to be aware of any symptoms that may arise and be vigilant about their health all year long. There are great doctors who will listen to you and take you seriously. Seek a second opinion if you don't like the way your symptoms are being treated. Really? It could save your life.
I wish she could have lived her life regardless of how it turned out. She was smart, she was driven, and she had hopes and dreams. She was one of the first people in her family to graduate from college, and on that sweaty, humid day when we threw our caps in the air and celebrated, I knew it meant something different to her than it did to many of the other graduates.
The urge to text her didn't go away after she died. At her funeral, her ex-husband sobbed in the back of the church as he arrived looking gaunt. I remembered she wouldn't read it when I opened Facebook Messenger to tell her about it. She was not there.
I sent the message.
Sophia Harris is based in the Midwest. She is passionate about healthy living, environmental and agricultural issues, and greyhound rescue. She supports her dog in Indianapolis. She hates Trader Joe's on a Sunday because she hates leaving parties before 9 p.m. You can find her on a number of platforms.
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The article was originally on HuffPost.
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