Cherry blossoms are symbolic in the lives of Japanese samurai. Samurai had a strict moral code to honor life – and death. They had a duty to simultaneously realize the inevitability of death and to release any fear of it. I realized I had to face this fear when I slowly woke up from my surgery on January 27, 2020. Besides from a whole lot of blur I remember two things – the first was a mans voice saying, “Here is your painkiller controller. Push it whenever you need it.” The second was James’ voice telling me the one thing I dreaded more than any other message I could get, “You have cancer.” I knew this was a possibility before going into the operation, and I was sure if I heard it, I would scream so loud that the walls in the hospital would crack. But, I was so drugged that I only managed to whisper, “I have cancer… I have cancer…”

My symptoms started a few days before Christmas 2019 when I felt bloated and that I’d had way too much to eat. This feeling continued throughout the holidays. On January 10th, I had problems falling asleep because my stomach muscles seemed to be working overtime to digest my food. I thought I had developed IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) so I massaged my belly, did yoga poses, and tried for a week to eat food that should be ok for this condition. On January 18th I ended up getting a massive stomach pain just from eating a rice cracker, and I decided it was time to seek medical help.

After a CT-scan in the ER they discovered a huge mass on my right ovary (20cm X 23cm X 10cm). The scan was inconclusive as to what it might be. As you can imagine – this left us in dismay and tears. Who is not scared of hearing from the doctor that you have a lump in you – not to speak of the shear size of this thing. An additional ultrasound suggested that it was an ovarian cyst, but it was still uncertain what it was because it had tissue of different densities. This left James and me still scared but more hopeful. We went home wondering how we would be able to pass the time before the next appointment. The days seemed to drag by.

I met with OB/GYN surgeons on January 22 and they explained that it could be one of three things: an ovarian cyst, ovarian cancer, or a pre-cancer. Regardless of what it was – it needed to come out in an open surgery. Without having any more concrete answers to what this big mass was, we went back home with a few more indescribably hard days in front of us.

January 27 I was opened up from 5 cm over my bellybutton down to my pelvic bone. The surgical team was very surprised by what they saw. It was cancer no doubt, but the primary tumor was not the large mass on my ovary – it was a 3 cm large tumor on my appendix. The OB/GYN surgeon removed both my ovaries, both fallopian tubes and my uterus. The general surgeon took over and removed my appendix and the part the colon the appendix is attached to. They also removed a growth on the rectum. They saw an additional growth on the peritoneum by the diaphragm close to the liver. They decided to leave that tumor for chemotherapy and the next surgery (they have no GI surgeons in the hospital I was operated in).

I had gotten answers – but not the answers I wanted. The surgeons that treated me could not tell me anything about next steps, treatment or prognosis – as this was not their specialty. The only doctor that could give me any type of hope right after the surgery was my ex-husband and Benjamin’s dad, Georg. He is a GI surgeon in Norway and has seen cases like mine. He said that this is treatable – if I get the right type of treatment – at the right time. His questions lead us to be able to arrange for a visit from the head general surgeon. On Georg’s request he ordered a new CT-scan – with contrast this time – to hopefully rule out cancer in the lungs and liver.

Even though in many ways I wanted to stay in my morphine haze so I didn’t have to process what I had to go through – I knew that was not an option. The day after the surgery, before noon, my morphine button and IV was disconnected and I got up on my feet. Slowly day by day I walked more and more laps in the hospital corridors. Every new lap was a victory. I recovered remarkably well and after three nights I was discharged. I salute my strong physique and praise that I otherwise have a healthy body – even though if I had been 20 kg heavier and had more fat around my organs, the tumor on the appendix could possibly have been discovered on the first CT-scan and so would have been sent to the specialist surgeons first.

The shock and disbelief I have had to handle the last few weeks is beyond anything I have experienced. Most people have a normal fear of anything that is dangerous and try to avoid situations where their life is in danger. The best way to get away from continuing to feel scared for your life is to turn around or chose a different path – and that is what I have done – until now. I have now been kicked down a path that I have to walk regardless of how I feel about it or how scared I am. I have no choice but to walk with fear and stay as strong as I can – I have to eat that frog.