Words that begin with “C”

(I debated sharing this news on my blog but in the end decided that I needed to write about it for me as a way of processing this situation. I am going to talk pretty graphically about my vagina and might mention the word discharge or cancer. If that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read it.)

It started with an abnormal pap smear.

Then six months later, another. Because I have HPV (1 in 4 women in the US have it) which is directly linked to cervical cancer, a colposcopy was scheduled to take a sample of my cervix for further testing. It’s a mildly invasive procedure that allows the doctor to look at the cervix under extreme magnification to see if there are any suspicious areas. A very small area was detected but she said it really was miniscule and was probably nothing to worry about. She took the samples, had me get dressed, gave me a panty liner and told me not to put anything in my vagina for ten days -tampons, fingers, dicks, you name it. There went my weekend plans! (Kidding.)

As the days passed, I joked with a girlfriend over texts about the discharge you’re supposed to expect after a colposcopy (she’d recently had one and knew what I was going through). They warn you not to get alarmed if there is a coffee-ground-like discharge. I would text her updates saying: “Should I be concerned that no coffee grounds are coming out of my vagina?” making her laugh out loud at work. Or a couple days later saying, “Coffee grounds and my period in the same day- it’s like Christmas in my vagina!” (The coffee-ground-like stuff is from the paste they put on the areas where they take samples. It’s just the body healing itself and shedding the salve. Unrelated: I don’t even drink coffee.)

Five days had passed when, after just arriving at work and turning on my computer, my phone rang with an unknown number. My doctor was on the line telling me she had the results of my biopsy. She’s saying the words “unfortunately it did show some signs of pre-cancer. . .” I’m trying to get my brain to catch up with her voice as I sit in my cubicle with a cup of tea that is growing cold. I moved into an empty office to shut the door and sat down to take notes. CIN 3, AIS, cold-knife conization, hospital, hysterectomy.

It wasn’t until she said the word “hysterectomy” that I started to cry.

The long and short of it is- I have two types of pre-cancerous cells in my cervix- CIN (cervical intraepithelial neoplasia) and AIS (adenocarcinoma in situ). CIN is the most common type of pre-cancer found in/on the cervix and can be treated usually with a LEEP where they burn off the part that is suspect. CIN clusters which makes it easier to ensure that all of the pre-cancerous cells have been eliminated. My CIN was found inside my cervix and it is the highest level of pre-cancer (pre-cancers have levels like cancers have stages). Usually during a colposcopy, the doctor doesn’t scrape the inside of the cervix but my doctor thankfully did. The AIS that was found from the scraping is a glandular type of pre-cancer and is trickier to get because the cells skip around. You could have some AIS in one spot on the cervix then a few centimeters up on the opposite side there could be more, etc.

Because my cervix is an over-achiever and I have both kinds, a LEEP is not an option. Instead, l have to go into the hospital and go under anesthesia for a 30-40 minute procedure called a cold-knife conization. (I’ve recommend they come up with a better name than that because who the fuck wants to hear they need that? It sounds terrifying.) During the conization surgery, the doctor removes an upside-down ice cream cone shape of tissue from the inside of my cervix to be further biopsied for cancer. If I didn’t have AIS, this could maybe be the only treatment I need but because AIS is glandular and tricky with its skipping around the cervix, most doctors recommend a hysterectomy to keep the cancer away.

That’s the part that keeps catching in my throat. I’m basically being told that my chances of having a child the traditional ways might not be an option. I was already concerned about the risks of trying to get pregnant in my late 30’s and now I’m facing losing my uterus and cervix before we’ve even tried to conceive. I think about Mr. Darcy who wants to be a dad and about our hopes and dreams about a child- one that has his eyes and my smile and parts of our personalities. The possibility of not being able to have a kid with Mr. Darcy is breaking my heart.

Then there are the moments when I start to think about having cancer or dying. I feel overwhelmed with sadness thinking about all the things I would miss out on. I’ve been crying a lot. I’m distracted and what little patience I had for other people’s bullshit is completely gone. I try to be strong, to think positively, to hold onto hope and not let my fears swallow me up. There are chunks of time where I am laughing and feel almost carefree followed by bouts of paralyzing fear where I just want to be alone. It’s a wild emotional ride and frankly, I’d rather not be on it.

The surgery is scheduled a week from Friday. From there we will have to wait a week for the results. While they are coning out my cervix they are going to do a DNC to take uterus tissue samples to test for cancer in there too. Hell, why not? You’re already in there. Apparently the surgery is not that bad (even though I am scared of hospitals and anesthesia and pain) and the recovery is pretty quick. I could be back to work on Monday. Plus, I get Percocet which could be fun? And we joined Costco so I can buy panty liners in bulk. I try to find the bright sides.

I make jokes, often dark ones, to remind myself that I’m still me. I can’t lose my sense of humor in all this. Despite this emotional blow, I have so much to be grateful for. My dearest friends and family have been amazingly supportive. I have felt so loved since sharing this news with them. Mr. Darcy has been so sweet and thoughtful. I know he has his own fears about all this but he keeps showing up over and over. When I come to him with tears in my eyes, he hugs me and tells me we will make it through.

Nothing like a health crisis to make you truly focus on what matters and forget the rest.

If you could cut me a little slack in the next few weeks, I’d appreciate it. I’m not my best self right now, pre-cancerous cervix and all. I’m doing my best to keep my chin up. Your good thoughts are appreciated.

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98 thoughts on “Words that begin with “C”

  1. First, ALL THE HUGS.

    Second, I went through some similar things in reverse order. I had to have a hyst at age 26 because of endometriosis and then had a pap come back with abnormal cells after that. I no longer have a cervix so we had to take the punch sample from the vaginal wall.

    All that to say that I know a lot of what you are going through and the roller coaster ride of emotions you are on right now. I’m so sorry you are having to go through this and I’m here if you need.

  2. Oh, Sizzle. I’m so so sorry to hear all this. I’m so sorry you have to go through this. Of course you’re stressed out, my gosh. And of course you’re not your best self. But no apologies, no explanations needed here. You just do what’s best for you – don’t worry about anyone else. And thank you for sharing. I’m sure there are reader of yours who have gone or might go through something similar, and your candid writing could help someone else. All my thoughts are coming your way.

  3. Thank you for writing and sharing this with us. I know it must have been very difficult. I Will keep you in my prayers, I know everything will work out for the best. And just remember there are many options for having kids in the future. Would the doctors let you freeze your eggs? There is always the surrogate option as well, if not, then adoption. Sorry for rambling but I know things always find a way, even if it’s a rough ride getting there

  4. That mothereffing asswipe C-word. The one big good thing I see in this is that what they have caught is in the very early stages. I know it’s way easier said than done, but try to focus on that. Also good is that you have such an awesome support system – friends and family.

    Your surgery will go just fine. You’ll be in and out of it before you know. (It’ll seem like only 5 minutes passed by – I swear!)

    I love you hon and if there is anything I can do, just let me know. I’m sending hopeful and the best of thoughts your way. Big hugs to you.

  5. Not really much to say except that I’ll be thinking good thoughts for you and sending virtual hugs.

    Also, this sucks.

    And? I like that you’re able to find some humor. It’s hard but it helps us cope. So keep that up.

  6. I’m so sorry to hear about this, and at this time in your life full of other stress, that you have to go through all this. But I’m also glad that you have good support around you, and aren’t going through it alone. My thoughts are with you. And there’s nothing wrong with writing about your feelings if it makes you feel better or more able to handle the situation.

  7. I am so, so, so sorry, Sizzle. This is one hell of a ride you’re on.

    I know it won’t necessarily make you feel better right now with all the fears and emotions running wild, but I want you to know that a friend of mine went through the same scare and she’s in labor with her second child as we speak. There is hope.

    I am sending you hugs, good vibes and every bit of positive energy to make it through this fast and smoothly.

  8. my brain hears the logic and my heart only hears my belief that you are healthy. i’m trying to manage both, and pushing the heart to move ahead…
    i hold this vision of perfect health.
    xo
    j

  9. I am so sorry you are going through this! No wonder you’ve been emotional and having a rough time. I will keep you in my thoughts. I’m sure you have someone (probably Darcy?) who will be there with you during your lovely named procedure? That is one thing I learned when I was dropped off by a different person than my ride home after surgery to remove uteran fibroids; everything went fine for me with the exception of waking up from anesesthia alone and a bit weepy. It helps to have a loved one there with you.

  10. Oh my. I’m so sorry to read this. I will be sending lots of positive thoughts and energy your way come next Friday.

    Here’s hoping for the best possible outcome for you.

  11. I am so sorry that you are having to deal with all of this! You are in my thoughts! HUGS to you, sweetie! Take care of yourself!

  12. ❤ ❤ ❤

    That's not very eloquent (or even, you know, words) but you sound like you could use some love.

    I had a LEEP about ten years ago. Different surgery but the recovery was nowhere near as bad as the recovery from the biopsy. I hope that is true of the conization too. (Seriously, COLD KNIFE? What were they THINKING?)

  13. Those “C” words are big and heavy, and my heart is breaking for you. I am thinking thoughts of health, physical and mental, for you above all else.

  14. Oh, Sizz, I’m so sorry you are going through this. This is supposed to be your happy year – the year of home ownership and a wedding … not the year of the cancer scare. Fuck. Well, know I’m thinking of you. And hoping for the best for your health.

    (PS – I had a colposcopy about 10 years ago, but my journey ended there.
    (PPS – Is it worth having a conversation with Mr. Darcy / your medical team about saving some eggs to still give y’all a chance to have bio kids through a surrogate, should you not be able to carry them yourself?)

  15. URGGGGH. I am so so so so sorry. So sorry. This sounds so awful and stressful and terrifying and I am so so sorry. I am sending you all my very best thoughts.

  16. Oh boy. I didn’t think I would open up your blog and read this. I am so sorry. I can’t imagine the rollercoaster of emotions – I really can’t. And I feel honored that you would be willing to talk about this to all of us. If there is anything, above and beyond the intense amount of love and respect we all feel for you, we can do, I hope you write about it. You have an internet army of people who want to help you to sail through this medical challenge and have a beautiful wedding and a wonderful first year in your new house.

  17. oh HON. ugh. because you needed more shit to deal with right now, right? 😛 blargh.

    another one of the “sorta been there” crowd (i was lucky enough to get by with just the LEEP) – although i think i was young enough to not fully grasp the potential long-term implications at the time. i’m so glad they found it early for you, and my fingers, toes, boobs, and everything i’ve got is crossed that the surgery gets EVERYTHING sorted for you on the first try. hugs, hugs, hugs, and more hugs. all the hugs.

  18. Oh damn, lady, you are going through it right now. I am so sorry you have this going on in addition to the normal life-stress of planning a wedding … sheesh. I am crossing fingers and toes the best possible scenario comes to pass, and that particular c word will fade away into the distance … all good thoughts to you.

  19. Ah Sizz, I’m so sorry you have to go through this! Your overachieving cervix wants to stay put, the procedure will get rid of all the bad stuff. Positive thoughts, a few prayers and a Hail Mary are headed your way! XOXO

  20. Awe, heck. Sending good and healing thoughts your way. I’m so glad they found…whatever this turns out to be…so early. That is a good thing! Its very hard, but try to take it one day at a time. Be the best you that you can be, one minute at a time. Its okay to cry, to be scared and to be mad. Just remember there is a whole world of people out here who love you and are sending the best mojo and prayers and happy healthy thoughts your way.

    As for kids, I can only imagine how hard it may be to come to accept the fact that you may never give birth to a child; however, if this procedure is the reason why, then at least you will be around to see an adopted baby (or surrogate aided baby?) live a life full of love from the only parents that baby has ever known! I know you dont have much control over the looks of an adopted child, heredity-ly speaking, but I have several friends with adopted children, and trust me, those apples didn’t fall far from their (adopted) trees!

    I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I’m thankful you have family close by and of course, Mr. Darcy by your side.

    Dont take this thing on in whole. Bit by bit, day by day, minute by minute. Sometimes its the best way to get through a tough situation.

    All my best to you. Take care of YOU. When you are ready and able to post, your fan club will be here for you.

    Hugs,

  21. Sending you lots of love and positive thoughts. You’re such a strong woman, I’m certain that you will come out on top of this! I also had pre-cancerous cells on my cervix, but they, luckily, got it all out. And, I definitely agree with Nilsa–see about saving your eggs. Have faith, stay positive–as much as possible, anyway. My heart reaches out to you. ❤

  22. Oh oh oh. Honey, I am so sorry this is happening! I am sending you all the good thoughts in the world. I have no more words, just know that I am sending lots of love your way.

  23. I want to be there to hug you right now. I know you have a lot of good support but please know I’m thinking of you and you are in my prayers. Oh, and your humor is the best. Sending lots of love from CO. xo

  24. Oh, Sizzle… You don’t know me, I’m just some person on the internet who enjoys reading your blog, but my heart is with you nonetheless. I’m glad Mr Darcy is there to be your rock. *Hugs*

  25. I HATE THIS POST! You have been on such an awesome ride of great things happening (even though it’s been stressful), that this just seems so unfair. WHY?? I wish this wasn’t happening to you, but hope with all my heart the solution is an easy(ish) one.
    Sad. SAD! I hate when I hear of women going through this – especially when you are scared about what it means in terms of having a family. All I know is – regardless of the outcome, you will have babies! Lots and lots of babies! Whether the “traditional” way or by other means.
    I know that this is just the beginning of a happy life for you and Mr. Darcy and your future children. Don’t give up! xoxo

  26. I know it sounds weird because all I know of you is what I read, but I think about you from time to time in between posts and I will be thinking more and sending prayers, white light, healing thoughts, whatever it is that I can send through the universe to help you through this time.

  27. Oh, I wish you didn’t have to deal with this either.

    I can’t imagine how scared you are. I hope will all my heart that in a year or two, this will be nothing but a memory that feels distant.

    Sending all my love and support to you, my dear. ❤

  28. I’m speechless also. I only wanted to say lots of good thoughts and prayers being sent your way.

  29. GOD DAMNIT!

    I’m sending you all the healthiest, healing vibes in the world.

    Also? I’m changing “cold-knife conization” to “cupcakes and cocoa.” So now you can tell people you’re going to the hospital for cupcakes and cocoa, m’kay?

  30. This just sucks. Everything about it sucks. I hate that bad things happen to good people, especially when those good people are having an incredible year like you are. Keeping you in my thoughts, pretty lady!

  31. I can’t believe this. Effing ballsuck cancer. That is bullshit. It makes me really mad and I want to fold you up in an envelope of security where you can just be a bride and go along on your merry way.

    I have a friend who had to have a conization and was also very afraid of what it would mean for her long-term. She went on to have a beautiful daughter. She did have some complications after the procedure, though – so please promise me that if anything feels amiss, you’ll go straight to the ER to get checked out. I think it’s super rare, and I’m sure you’ll be absolutely fine. But I felt like I should put it out there.

    I’m so incredibly sorry you’re going through this – especially when your life load is already overflowing. If there is anything I can do to somehow help, please let me know. My sister is a nurse and used to work for a gyno – if you have questions or anything, I’d be happy to pass them on to her. Just say the word.

    Hang in there. XO

  32. Oh girl. I’m so, so sorry that you’re going through this. I just went through a (second) cancer scare (I already had it 4 years ago) and just got good news this morning. But I KNOW what you’re going through. It sucks, it’s scary, and nobody our age should be thinking about mortality. I’m sorry. And sending good thoughts, prayers, and vibes your way.

    Hang in there and keep on focusing on the good things in your life. They become all the more so in times like this.

    Hugs,
    V.W.

  33. I am SO sorry this is happening for you. Being in medicine has taught me that life just isn’t fair, and to never take things for granted. This situation plain sucks, there is no other way to put it. The good news is, with proper treatment, this RARELY progresses past AIS to cancer. Obviously this might come at a cost to fertility, and for that I am truly, truly sorry. I hope this isn’t the case for you! Definitely worth exploring fertility preservation (either sampling eggs and freezing them after fertilization, a proven method, or freezing oocytes alone, a newer approach) – it’s really routine here at OHSU, and I am sure there are people at UW doing it as well.

    I will be thinking of you. If you need someone to talk to, please feel free to email.

  34. Gosh, I am so sorry that you’re facing this. My thoughts are with you and I’m sending you loads of positive energy and virtual hugs and support.

  35. And you managed to make me laugh and get teary eyed in the same post… (((hugs))) to you my friend. Sounds like you have an amazing support system in place… also know that those of us that have never met you are sending good thoughts/positive vibes/prayers and whatever else works. Finn has offered up puppy kisses and I know it’s weird that my dog and your nephew share the same name, but they are both amazing and reason to bust out a smile at this very moment. Love ya girl!

  36. Sizzle, I am so so sorry this is happening to you. Good that they caught it now, but damn, why did it have to be SOMETHING?! UGH! I hope the results come back well. And am so happy to hear that all your friends and family are being great to you. Thanks for sharing this with us. We’re thinking of you and hoping for the best!

  37. I hate this for you. So much love and warm thoughts & prayers coming your way. You are a fighter and you will come out on top of this.

  38. So sorry to hear that you have this to deal with…Please try to keep a positive attitude that everything will be fine after your surgery. Postivie thoughts and prayers are with you.

  39. My sweet dear, I’m sorry you’ve been dealt this hand, but I know it’s going to be all right because you have a huge store of good karma working in your favor. Try not to look too far ahead at this point. Take it as it comes, knowing you are strong and have a ton of love lifting you up.

    And take it from this long-married old woman: focus on yourself and quit worrying about Mr. Darcy. He’s here for you in this deal. That’s how it works, you know. If the situation were reversed, you’d think he was crazy for further worrying himself about you at a time like this. Partnerships are never 50-50. They’re almost always off-balance (80-20,60-40) for periods of time and that’s what great about it. When you need the help, he’s there. When he’s sick, you’re there.

    By the way, vagina Christmas? Let’s just say it’s why I’ve been a loyal reader for so long. I admire so much that you’ve got your sense of humor no matter how deep the sh*t gets.

    Sending loads of positive energy your way!

  40. Oh, Sizz. I am so, so sorry to hear this. I faced a hysterectomy for a completely different reason a couple years ago and I know how scary it can be. I’m sending big, big, big hugs your way.

  41. Thoughts and prayers headed your way, Sizzle. I also have a friend who went through this and went on to give birth to a healthy baby girl, so it is possible!

    And yeah, cold knife? Seriously? Nice bedside manner, whoever made up that one.

  42. Oh Sizzle, I’m sorry you are going through this. Sending extra good thoughts and virtual hugs your way…

  43. Well damn. You have a lot on your plate right now. I’m so glad this was caught early, and I hope you get some good news soon. I know more about colon cancer, but I know that in that case adenocarcinoma in situ is VERY slow growing, so even if that is the case for you maybe you’d be able to have a baby soon and deal with any possible vagina cancer issues after delivery?

  44. This sucks big fat balls! I’m so sorry this is happening now, and happening to you. I’m sending positive thoughts; hopefully you will fly through that surgery with glowing colors. I’m keeping everything crossed for you!

  45. Oh, poop. I don’t really know what else to say. 😦
    I have a friend who is looking at a hysterectomy in her early 30’s due to severe endo. She’s having seizures because she has the rare kind that can actually migrate to the brain. So she’s having a lot of the same feelings right now (and thinking about the egg freezing, and trying to decide what to do).
    I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Cry, gnash your teeth, hit things, and make the dark jokes when you need to. Thinking of you!!!

  46. Hey I don’t know you, and this is crazy … You’ve got my handle, so tweet me maybe?

    I give anesthesia for a living just in case you have weird, coffee ground flavored questions? This will be ok. No matter what goes own. it WILL be ok but god damned if it doesn’t SUCK.

    Xoxo. Part of what gives people baby fever is meeting someone they feel baby fever with. They might only feel the fever with you. Or the flavor of a Pringles.

  47. Just… damn. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this, on top of everything else that’s going on right now.

    I know we’re still “internet friends,” but I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to.

    You and Chris will be in my thoughts and prayers!

  48. Sizzle, your open and honest attitude is what keeps me here reading your blog. That and your wicked sense of humor. Thank you for sharing your feelings with all of us. We are all here for you. You will be in my thoughts and prayers daily. (((hugs)))

  49. Lady, you are very brave and honest and I love that. I went through this earlier this year (CIN 3) and kept quiet about it and only told about 6 friends and my family. It ended with LEEP (hopefully), but I’m having another pap next month as a follow up.

    I used humor to deal with it as well. I would play my “cancer card” to get my family to do things for me. It cracked me and my sister up and helped us deal with it, but understandably the rest of my family didn’t find it quite as funny. Keep on with the humor though. It’s a great way of dealing with it. Also, the vicodin. Lots of vicodin.

    I absolutely hate that you have to go through this, but I’m glad you posted about this if only to serve as a reminder to women to go see their doctor. I’m on everyone’s case now to make sure they go see their lady doctor because pre-cancer/cancer really freaking sucks and is scary and I don’t want anyone else to have to shed those tears that I/you did.

    I’m glad you have supportive loved ones around, I did as well and I never felt so loved either. Email if you need an ear or want to talk about how you’ll never think of coffee grounds the same or how many people have seen your vagina in the past few months, because, dude, way too many people have seen mine this year.

    Sending lots of love (and apparently stupidly long comments that probably should be emails) your way. xo.

  50. It’s hard for me to find a proper response for this. GRRRR!!!!! Just know that you and your loved ones are in my thoughts and prayers. (And let’s throw in a few for your medical peeps too).

  51. Hi Sizzle, I am a member of the CIN club, too, although I was fortunate enough to be able to be treated with cryosurgery. Even that experience was quite anxiety-provoking! My advice is to not spend too much time with Dr. Google because it doesn’t make you feel better. I’m very sorry to hear that you may need a hysterectomy; even though there are other options for having a family as people have mentioned, I honor your loss and your feelings.

  52. Went through the hell of the colcoscopy. Twice, Not a good thing for someone who lost an aunt to ovarian cancer. I know. Not the same. But close enough when you’ve just finished burying someone. Fortunately I was done in both cases after the scraping. (My doctor made it seem to be routine that when they take a sample, they also scrape.) And this past year I had a clean PAP smear. Here’s to hoping for the same for you.

  53. I sure love reading all these supportive messages and knowing how many people care about you and love you – it feels like this is how it should be. I hate that you’re having to deal with this, and I don’t know what it all means for you and Mr. D, of course, but I truly, truly believe that good things are in store for you guys. I love you!

  54. I’ve been thinking about you ever since you tweeted that you received bad news. I am so sorry that you are dealing with this and am sending all the good mojo I can possible send. You and Mr Darcy deserve nothing but happiness and good things and nothing should ever rain on that parade.

  55. Oh man. Lots of good thoughts and healing energy coming your way!

    (I too had HPV, many abnormal paps, colposcopy etc about four years ago… Scary lady stuff! But here I am now, as knocked up as can be. I hope this is just one of those shitty things we women go through in the name of…well, what, I don’t know. Awesomeness? Know that you’re not alone, darlin’!)

  56. Oh Sizzle, I’m so, so, so sorry to hear you’re going through this. I can’t imagine what kind of a struggle it is to face this. I’m glad you have a strong support system in your family and Mr. Darcy, and you know all your blog friends are here to support you too. I’ve got every finger and toe crossed that you have no more bad news coming your way.

  57. This is me hugging you. HARD. I’m here. You need anything, I can do it. A ride, a grocery run, a voice on the other line, a visit, anything….

  58. After the many many years of reading you … this is the BEST post you’ve ever written. You must remain positive and be strong about this. It is okay to cry but hang in there. They have NOT told you it’s cancer and they have not said for sure you cannot carry a baby. You can always find a surrogate so your child could STILL HAVE Chris’s eyes and your personality or just Chris’s eyes.
    I shall keep you in my prayers.

  59. This is just complete and deep bullshit. I am so. so. so. so. sorry. I have also dealt with HPV for years. Even when I didn’t have sex I wasn’t able to shake the same damn HPV type I have. And even better, I had two kinds and both were high risk….considering that I had a pretty low # of partners, I was informed that one man can give you like A TON of HPVs. AWESOME.

    But let me tell you one thing: Thank you for sharing this.
    Thank you for being open about it.
    Thank you for probably reminding a few women to get their pap.

    You have a wonderful man in your life and you will find a way to a baby if this is not the way. I know that’s not helping, but I just think you are awesome for sharing.

  60. honey: i love you–we are here for anything you need…seriously
    tremendous hugs and blessings, sarahjane

  61. Just take it one step at a time. Try not to spend too much time on the what ifs because you won’t know until you know. And whatever it is, it is going to be ok. I had ovarian cancer when I was 28 and had to have a hysterectomy. My brother-in-law actually gave me the greatest gift in the world pre-surgery because I was upset about meeting someone and not being able to have their child.

    This is in context of my sister being pregnant with their fourth child at the time, and knowing how amazing their three children are, my brother in law was driving me somewhere, and I asked him if he would have wanted to marry my sister if she couldn’t have had children, and he looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Of course. Jodi is who I want to spend my life with, and I love our children more than I thought I could love anything, but I can’t imagine my life without Jodi.”

    So if you aren’t able to have his baby, that will totally suck. But I’m guessing that Mr. Darcy isn’t going to love you any less, and can’t imagine sharing his life with anyone else. And it’s ok to cry. And it’s ok to be scared.

    Take care of yourself first, whatever that means. If that means you want to move your wedding up and have a simple small affair because you want to be married to Mr. Darcy NOW, do it. If you feel overwhelmed and want to push the wedding back a few months so that you’ll be able to enjoy it, do that. Or get married now, and just have a big party on the originally planned date to celebrate your life together.

    Things like this cause priorities to change, and you need to honor that. And whatever it is, it will be ok. You can handle it. I promise.

  62. I had a hysterectomy (kept the ovaries, too) five years ago, and do not regret it now, but that’s easy to say five years out when I’m alive, cancer-free, and through the fear. I remember so well all that happened back then, and recently went through my old entries to see where I was five years ago. I’m getting choked up writing this, because it was such a hard place to be, and I want you to know that you are not alone in the least.

    If you have any questions or need to just hash things out, feel free to send me an email. I’m here for you: schmutzie@gmail.com

  63. That sucks. I am sorry that you are dealing with this. Maybe the worry is for naught. Maybe something incredible will happen because of all this.

    But this sucks. {{{hug}}}

  64. Oh Sizzle I don’t even have the words right now. Sending you all sorts of love and hugs and just know you have a huge community of people that adore you to pieces! Thinking of you oh so much! xo

  65. I have a word that begins with F that immediately comes to mind when I hear a word that starts with C. Just. No. Watching my dad go through (and now my mother-in-law go through) cancer is so hard. But the worst part is always the waiting, the not knowing. The hanging on every little bit of news from a health professional so you don’t go crazy. I wish with all my heart this did not happen to you in your time of happiness. But I do believe that all these good, happy things–the wedding, the new house, the new promises–will keep you afloat.
    You are strong. You are young. You are beautiful. And you deserve all good things. When you cannot keep your chin up, please know there is someone here in St. Paul, Minnesota, who is doing it for you. One step at a time, then decide how you feel about each step. If you look too many steps ahead, it gets stumbly and scary and full of assumptions. take time to feel your emotions, and don’t let anyone rush you. At least, that’s what I learned, secondhand. Please keep coming back here. We are here for you.

  66. Aw, Sizzle. I’m so sorry and am sending you so much love! You are so beautiful and such a strong woman, and I know that we’re all cheering you on and loving you like crazy ❤

  67. Hugs Sizzle… be kind to yourself, sending much love and healthy vibes from colorado. That’s how us coloradans roll, with vibes!

  68. We love you, Sizz! You are a fighter and a survivor. Sending you all the love, prayers and good vibes to beat that nasty C word. xoxoxo

  69. I am so sorry that I am just now seeing this. I am so sorry you are going through this. I am thinking good thoughts for you and if you want to talk I am here. You know I understand all of this worry and especially the type of problems you are having. I had a hysterectomy (after tons of other surgeries in that area) and I already have 4 kids and it was STILL hard to hear that I had no choice about having future kids. I am so sorry you have to worry about this! I wish there was something I could do to help you! Seriously, I am here for you, I totally understand this kind of stuff and I will do anything you need to help even if all you want to do is complain about how unfair it all is (because it totally is!) I love you and I will be thinking about you and hoping for good news regarding what the end result is. Good luck! You are not alone in this and anything I can do to help would make me feel better too so please ask if you can think of anything. Can you send me your address when you get a chance? I can’t seem to find it and I’m not even sure I had the current one anyway.

  70. Ugh. Just reading this now. I am so sorry to hear this. But damn amazing writing Sizzle. F**k Cancer. Sending hugs and positive thoughts your way…

  71. I’m so sorry to hear (read) this. Big hugs from Canada and am sending out lots of white light to surround and protect you.

  72. I’m a little late–but still sending my thoughts & prayers up for you. Hang in there, and lean on Mr. Darcy. I can tell he’s super hero-tough. He can handle it!

  73. I’m still believing it’s going to work out in all the positives as I’m not the most positive gal but you have everything wonderful going for you right now. You DON’T need this right now. I love you! Just know you have the love of a very special man and THIS can’t be taken away from you.:)

    xooxoxxoo!

  74. I am so sorry to hear you are going through this but really appreciate how open & honest you are. We just found out in June that Jon has lynch syndrome which makes him 40% more likely to get colon cancer & a bunch of other cancers at a lower percentage. We are still processing it ourselves. Still in denial I would say. It’s a gene thing so our kids would have a 50% chance of having it. Lots to process. Jon needs to go in for all sorts of not fun cancer tests too this summer. Colonoscopy #1 on the list I am so sorry. You are in our thoughts. Xoxo H&J

  75. PS thank you again for sharing. I needed someone to kick me in the ass to get myself to the doctor and to help encourage Jon to take care of business. A beautiful and clever honest post. Thank you.

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