When I had Emily a year ago in April, I thought the vomiting was over. I was wrong. A few weeks after delivery, I was violently ill. An ultrasound in the ER revealed a gallbladder full of stones and a large cystic lesion hiding in my pancreas. I had surgery in June 2009 to remove the gallbladder, but the pancreatic cyst was still there, causing everyone to worry.

The first time I heard “cancer”, the doctor said it was a remote possibility, and that the cyst was most likely nothing. I followed up after we moved to DC, and my new doctor told me to wait until December for another MRI, giving the cyst a few months to resolve.

In December, I went back to the doctor and nonchalantly waited for the good news. The odds of a harmless cyst presenting after gallstones were decidedly in my favor. The doctor sat me down and looked over at my little Emily on my lap. He said the cyst was still in my body. It hadn’t grown, but it hadn’t gone away. It was just sitting there, a little 5 cm ball of anxiety in my belly.

I was told to wait- again- until June. June was six months away, ample time for the thing to disappear. I tried to stay positive, but my confidence was waning. Every month that passed increased the odds of malignancy.

I was afraid to call my doctor. I avoided making appointments. If I didn’t make the MRI appointment, I wouldn’t have to find out that it was still there. The stressed piled up- every time I disciplined my preschooler, I thought, “is this all she will have to remember of me?”. Every time we went swimming, I remember thinking, “is this our last summer by the pool?”. I know it sounds dramatic, but damn, pancreatic cancer is intensely dramatic. Especially when you have a 3 year old and a baby, and when you love your family as completely as I do.

Now we are in July. My June results were, as I feared, that the mass in my belly is a tumor. It might not yet be a malignant tumor, but it is a premalignant intraductal papillary mucinous neoplasm, a serous cystadenoma or a mucinous cystic neoplasm. We no longer believe it is a run of the mill pseudocyst from gallbladder disease. It is bad, it is scary, and I am going to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore this coming Tuesday. I will meet with a team of surgeons and out my life in their hands. If I let this tumor go for a few more months, the liquid inside it might grow thick and metastasize to my other organs. Pancreatic cancer is the most deadly of intestinal cancers. The survival rate is around 3%, five years after initial diagnosis. We’re well beyond the “wait and see” options. I want to grow old with my husband and attend my daughters’ weddings. I want this thing OUT. All signs are pointing to a pancreatectomy.

I will keep you all, my beloved 16 or so friends, posted as to the final diagnosis and prognosis, beginning this coming Tuesday. The irony is that the only accurate diagnostic tool for these things is surgical removal. As we wait, please pray for me. For all of us. Specifically, here are a few requests that I have for you as we face this:

- Pray for wisdom on the part of the doctors and Eric and me as we make life-altering treatment decisions this week. I am not a patient patient. It is in my best interest to try to become one.

- Pray for my daughters, Sophie and Emily, who are sensitive little things and are already tuned into the stress they see in their family. They cannot even leave the room I am in without tears. I hope for their world to remain as normal as possible as they spend the weeks following recovery away from mama and daddy.

- Pray for my husband and parents. I know they love me very much, and it is hard to imagine the fear they all face as they look at the possibility of losing their wife and child. I’m not going to die. I’m just going to worry about it.

- Pray for me through this treatment. I don’t like pain. I want a two-week epidural and a lot of benadryl so I can sleep through recovery. I’m flat-out, honestly and openly, scared down to my toenails of an operation. I’m no toughie. I’m a wimp. It is going to hurt.

- Most importantly, praise God for his goodness. The kind of tumor I have rarely presents any symptoms until a person is a few months from death. Mine was most likely the cause of, and discovered because of, hyperemesis gravidarum. A routine ultrasound revealed this silent mass. It has probably been there for years, and without its discovery and treatment, I wouldn’t be here for much longer. Because my God is so very good, my doctors found it, and I will live to see my little ones grow to adulthood. I will grow wrinkly and grey with my husband, who makes me laugh every day, no matter what. We will sit on our covered porch in our white Cracker Barrel rockers and remember the love we have enjoyed our whole lives.

And yes, I’m being dramatic. But I’m allowed to, I think.

Love to you all, and we will keep you posted as we follow through on this ever-surprising journey.
XOX.