Three Words That Altered My Reality
“You have cancer.”
On October 24, 2017, I visited the dermatologist to remove what I believed was a harmless wart on my arm. At that time, I was 37 weeks pregnant with my second child. I scheduled the appointment during my lunch break, expecting a quick 20-minute procedure. The doctor examined the “wart” and informed me that it didn’t look like one. She decided to remove it and send it for testing. I remember thinking, “It’s just a wart!” As I left, her parting words were, “You’ll hear from us in two weeks.”
Just two days later, on October 26, I received a call from an unfamiliar number, which I initially ignored. When I listened to the voicemail, panic set in. “Jamie, this is Dr. Richards. Please come into the office as soon as possible to discuss your biopsy results.” My heart dropped. Numbness coursed through my body as I realized this was not the routine follow-up I had expected. I called her back immediately, desperate for answers.
“Your biopsy results indicate that the tumor we removed is melanoma.” My world unraveled.
Melanoma? That meant I had cancer. I was only 32 years old, pregnant, and had a 2.5-year-old at home. My husband, my mother, my siblings — they needed me. The fear surged through me, and my mind raced with dark scenarios.
I barely managed to inform my supervisor before rushing to the doctor’s office. I frantically called my husband, needing his presence for support. I arrived at the office, trembling and drenched in sweat. The doctor detailed the results, but I struggled to absorb her words. I looked down at my pregnant belly, filled with dread for both myself and the baby growing inside me.
Finally, my husband arrived, and the doctor explained everything to him over the phone. My tumor was cancerous, stage 3, and thick. I desperately sought hope and asked repeatedly if I was going to die. Tears welled in her eyes as she hugged me. She explained that we only had part of the picture with the biopsy results. To get the full picture, I would need a Sentinel Lymph Node Biopsy to see if the cancer had spread. Additionally, a wide local excision would need to be performed to ensure all affected skin was removed.
After the examination, I returned home, overwhelmed with fear and sadness. I couldn’t shake the image of my daughter without me. I needed to be there for her, but would I survive this? I searched online about melanoma and the prognosis — nothing gave me peace.
My mother traveled from Connecticut to be with us for a few hours. Even at 32, I still craved the comfort of her presence. She kept us distracted, but as soon as she left, the darkness returned. I had to summon the strength to support my family.
Fortunately, my husband secured an appointment at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute for the following Friday, November 3rd. The days leading up to it felt eternal. I couldn’t resist Googling information, despite knowing it would only heighten my anxiety.
At my appointment, I met with a surgical oncologist who laid out the next steps. The urgency of the situation hit me hard — I was to be induced in four days. The thought of childbirth and surgery looming together was overwhelming.
On November 6th, induction day, I was relieved when South Shore Hospital could fit me in that evening. The induction began at 10 PM, and by 3:13 PM the next day, I welcomed my beautiful son into the world. Amidst the chaos and fear, he brought a light I desperately needed.
Seven days post-birth, I faced surgery for the lymph node biopsy. A radioactive dye was injected near the tumor, marking the sentinel lymph node for removal. The prospect of undergoing surgery was daunting; I had never experienced an operation before.
After waking from anesthesia, I discovered a 10 cm incision on my arm, a stark reminder of my battle. Recovery was challenging, especially explaining to my daughter why I couldn’t lift her. Yet, the support and love from friends and family were overwhelming.
Seventeen days later, I returned to Dana-Farber with my husband and newborn. The anxiety was palpable as we awaited results. When the doctor walked in and said, “Everything was negative,” my heart soared. I finally felt a wave of relief wash over me.
Moving forward, I’ll have regular check-ups at Dana-Farber and continue seeing my dermatologist. The scar on my arm will forever remind me to cherish life and health.
I share my story to encourage others to appreciate their lives and prioritize their health. Life can change in an instant, and melanoma reshaped my perspective. I urge everyone to be vigilant about their skin health. If something seems off, don’t hesitate — get it checked. For those considering starting a family, resources like this insemination kit can provide valuable support. For more information on fertility options, check out this helpful guide.
In conclusion, my experience has taught me the importance of awareness and gratitude. Embrace every moment with your loved ones; life is precious.