What do you wear to be told you have cancer?

Me on my way to a more recent appointment. Same sunglasses to hide my tears.

This is a legit question. I would really like to know. It’s not something I ever thought about while on any of my shopping trips in my lifetime. Yet, it was the biggest thought in my head the night before my first appointment. Tomorrow, Tuesday, June 18th, I will be told I have cancer and I don’t know what the appropriate outfit for this occasion is. I had my list of questions in my notes app that I had written down as well as the questions my family and friends wanted me to ask as well. There wasn’t much else I could do. I laid in bed mentally going through everything I had packed. It wasn’t that much - just a small suitcase. Do I wear jeans and a t-shirt? Will that look too casual? Will that also hide my little tumor belly? Also, it’s June in the Northeast - it’s hot & humid. Are birkenstocks too casual? Why is this not an occasion listed on Bloomingdales’ site?

I woke up at the butt crack of dawn to try and look cancer patient casual-chic. I made sure my legs were perfectly shaved. Why? I don’t know - it seemed like the right thing to do. I ended up going with a black cotton sleeveless dress, a denim jacket (I had a feeling I would be cold in the waiting room and I was right. It was fucking freezing) and cute sandals. Natural curly hair to make me look like this is just a normal day? Check! Giant sunglasses I love that also hide my puffy eyes? Check. Phone charger because today was the day I started telling my inner circle and figured it would be a long day? Check. Puked one last time before getting the car? Check. My appointment was at 9AM which meant we had to leave at 6:45 so we could stop for coffee (not me - still wasn’t drinking it) and sit in terrible traffic going to the Lincoln Tunnel and make our way across town. 

Did we park in the designated lot and take the shuttle over? Did my dad drop me and my mom off first? I could not tell you how I ended up on the 6th floor waiting to check in. Hello gynecology floor. It would be the first of a million times of me saying my name and birthdate. (fun fact - when I go to check in for a dinner reservation and they ask my name; I usually start to say my birthdate out of habit. It’s not weird at all) I had like 5 pages of information to fill out while I waited. I handed in my forms and tried to keep from freaking out. Looking at Instagram or Buzzfeed or whatever else was on my phone could barely hold my attention. Luckily, having an early appointment meant I didn’t have to wait too long. I was brought back to a nondescript office first. I had no idea what to expect. After a few minutes, Dr. Yukio Sonoda walked in with his papers, a laminated binder full of graphs & figures, and a 3-D model of the female reproductive organs. Well this won’t be awkward at all with my dad sitting next to me. Introductions were made and it was time to get down to business.

He started talking about my right ovary and the surgery he would need to do. Questions were being asked if I wanted to keep my left ovary and my uterus. Other questions were asked about my symptoms and my menstrual history. He showed me diagrams in his booklet and pointed to things on his lady part model. A lot of it is a blur but I remember the look of shock when I told him my period had always been regular. I offered to show him my period app to prove it - for some reason he said that was not necessary. I didn’t understand why he was so surprised to hear that. When I asked what the possibility of saving my ovary was he just looked confused for a brief second and then said it would not be possible. He almost laughed and looked at me in disbelief. I didn’t understand - I knew the tumor was big but I just thought it was just resting next to my ovary. (I wouldn’t fully comprehend why until after my surgery) And then the flood gates opened. I got handed a box of tissues. They weren’t very soft; I was really annoyed by that. After personal, surgical and treatment questions were asked by everyone it came down to it. He told us the first opening he had was June 26th and he highly recommended we take that. He said because of my particular situation he did not recommend waiting to do egg retrieval from my left ovary. He said if I wanted a second opinion I was of course allowed to get one. But we were already at Sloan Kettering. The best cancer hospital. Danielle said he was the best surgeon so why would we go anywhere else. We agreed to the surgery and I signed some more papers. I had mentioned how Advil wasn’t helping with my stomach pains and how nauseous I was. He said of course Advil wouldn’t help; the mass was pressing against other organs and I would need something stronger. He wrote me out a prescription for Hydrocodone for the pain and Zofran for the nausea. We went back to the waiting room before I had to have an exam. 

A not so good picture of me in the 6th floor waiting room.

As my parents began updating our family with the notes my mom had taken down. I stared at my phone, not ready to let the information go. As soon as I sent the first text, it was happening. I would officially be a cancer patient. I texted Heather, Meghan & Jessica. My best friends in one text to easily update them all at one time had officially started. And then I started going through my closest friends letting them know. I texted them something along the lines of “Hey. Just wanted to let you know that I’m at an appointment at Sloan Kettering. I wasn’t feeling well for a few days and went to urgent care and then the ER. They found a mass on my right ovary. Meeting with the doctor today and I’m having surgery on 6/26. I’ll keep you posted as I get more information. I love you.” Each text drained me more and more emotionally. I can’t imagine what it was like to get that text on a random Tuesday. I’m sorry I had to send it. I hated it. I was so mad and upset every time I clicked that stupid blue little arrow. I got sympathetic looks from those around me. They probably knew what it was like. I saw people in sweatpants and some people dressed to the nines. I saw women with wigs or scarves. Some in wheelchairs and some hooked up to wires. Didn’t see anyone my age. But I felt that my outfit was in the middle of the road so that felt good.

They eventually called my name and we were brought back to an examination room. I got changed into a gown and a robe provided. The nurses who came in were so kind and gentle. I’m sure I tried to make jokes. I’m sure they were terrible. There are few things weirder than knowing you are going to have a gynecological exam with your parents behind a curtain. I felt like I was holding my breath the entire time. I was so nervous something terrible was going to happen. Like my tumor would suddenly explode or something. It wasn’t too long - thank god. He said everything else looked good. Ok, great! Some positive news! Then he told me I was scheduled to get some lab work and a CT scan. I got changed and down to the 4th floor we went.

One of the many, many times I’ve been in a dressing gown & robe at Sloan. (sorry all my pictures are during covid. didn’t think to take selfies the first time around)

Another fun fact - I have terrible, tiny baby veins. It took many tries on both hands for them to finally get it. I still have some of the marks today; they look like freckles to the untrained eye. Back into a new gown & robe. Luckily, my mom was friends with one of the nurses so she was with me while I got my scan. I had to hold my hands above my head in a weird position so that the contrast would go through my veins. It was not the most comfortable. Everyone in the room was so nice and friendly. Telling me how much I look like my mom and how nice she is. It was comforting to hear. They did leave out the most important part. THAT IT FEELS LIKE YOU’RE PEEING YOUR PANTS! I was freaking out! I was trying not to panic. There was a warming sensation going through my body and I was like 95% I just peed through blankets and on this very large and expensive looking machine. When they finally finished I grabbed my hoo-ha and started feeling around to see what the damage was. There was nothing. Well that was a relief. One of the guys must have seen me and said “Sorry! Forgot to mention the peeing sensation.” Thanks dude - just figured that out. After a very long morning and afternoon, it was finally time to go home. I just wanted this day behind me. I had a lot of updating to do and just wanted to be home. It was time to go back to regular Jen Lava in comfy clothes and a messy bun. A half day as a cancer patient seemed more than enough.