On June 27, 2012 my world changed forever, when I heard the words, “you have cancer”.

A pesky lump that had been growing in my toosh and that was removed a couple weeks earlier, turned out to be sarcoma. Don’t Google sarcoma, it’s scary. I remember waiting in the doctor’s office for my follow up surgery appointment, expecting the doctor to come in and just check the incision, tell me everything looked good, and then I’d hop back on my bike and go to work. But when the doctor came in, I could tell right away something wasn’t right.

Wait. What?

My eyes start flooding tears as I try to speak and make sense of what she just said. I am 33 years old, lean, healthy, outdoor enthusiast, gardener, and biologist with a non-profit I just started with a friend and we’re doing well.  I am so active and strong. I eat well, I’ve never been on any medication or had any health problems in the past.

What the HELL.

I call my husband and just say something like, “You have to come here now, that butt lump was cancer. I don’t know what’s going on.”

He shows up and a few tests go on that day, blood work, and a CT scan. We go home and wait for the results. We’re in shock, silent, not really knowing what to say or do. I had to go to the farm that evening to do some things, so Mike comes with me as we silently work, tears in our eyes, waiting for further news. She finally calls when we get home to share good news: it hasn’t spread anywhere that they can see! Whew. It’s localized, it will be ok and I just need to get another surgery to scoop out more tissue, making sure they get all the cancer and the margins are clear. What a relief.

What ensues over time is this, in a nutshell. I have the second surgery, but afterward they are not happy with the margins and suggest 6 rounds of radiation to the butt area. I am in denial honestly, and not feeling all that scared anymore because it’s localized. We’re gonna get it.

I continue my full life of working my day job at UF as a field biologist, while pursing non-profit work after hours. I am pretty much rushing into the hospital every day of the week for several weeks to get my butt zapped, not really letting it sink in what’s happening and why I’m there.

By the end I’m completely exhausted. Radiation has a cumulative effect, and I feel a deep fatigue that is not fixed by rest. The area they fried hurts really bad and has a lot of scar tissue building up. I start seeing a wonderful physical therapist who shows me some things to alleviate the discomfort.

A follow up scan shows there’s a mystery nodule that they suspect is cancer. So I’m cut open once again, this time to really take a chunk out of me – fat and muscle this time. The surgery is invasive and is quite painful in the following days as I slowly heal. When I finally take the bandages off, for the first time in my life I almost faint. I have a high tolerance for gross things, but this took my breath away. To see my mangled body like that.

Three months later I get another scan. Mike is with me and we are both a little impatient. It’s the last appointment of the day and it’s taking the doctor forever to see us. I have a bad feeling, but keep it to myself. The doctor comes in to tell us it’s back. This time it’s travelled to my lungs and there are multiple spots. It’s really bad now – no more denial. We discuss options, and I am disheartened at her inability to tell me what lies ahead. She really doesn’t know. Sarcomas are capricious.

My only option now is chemotherapy since the cancer is no longer localized and could be traveling to other places too. As far as metastases go, travel to the lungs is “better” than kidneys, lymph nodes, liver, and other vital organs. But still, a traveling sarcoma to the lungs is no joke.

I remember being up on the roof top where we parked at the end of the appointment, unable to see because there were so many tears flooding out. We drove home and cried together on the couch, not knowing what was next. Was I going to die? Was this about to be a long and difficult battle? I just didn’t know.

I did what everyone probably does, and tortured myself for a few days doing all kinds of research on sarcoma. Sarcoma is rare enough and so under-studied compared to things like breast cancer, that we often guinea pigs for experimental treatments.

I decided to transfer to the Mayo Clinic because UF Shands was turning out to be a disaster. Luckily, a sarcoma specialist was at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, only 1.5 hours away.

I ended up in a clinical trial but was in the control arm, so I got the standard drug, doxorubicin. It was only one drug as opposed to 5 that Shands doctors suggested.  Five drugs may have nearly killed me, while also trying to kill the cancer. Six rounds of doxorubicin every three weeks was what the doctor ordered. Each treatment made me feel progressively worse, and my hair fell out early on. Although I felt icky, for the most part I was still active, and able to do a lot of things. I still went to the farm in the heat of a Florida summer and worked. Not as much as I could normally handle, but still. It was healing to sit among the plants, birds, and insects.

I made the choice to leave my full time biologist job at UF because I felt I had two choices for spending my limited energy for work.  I chose my budding non-profit, and am forever grateful that my UF co-workers and supervisors, who are practically family after so many years, helped me quickly train my replacement, and also paid me for a few months when I was not longer working for them. I am eternally grateful for their kindness.

My new job was to be thoroughly selfish in my mental and physical care moving forward. More yoga, more exploration of meditation, getting massages, lots of rest, walks in the woods, reading, time preparing nourishing meals, and some fun mystical, creative visioning towards wellness. It is my firm belief, that in addition to the chemo poison that killed my cancer, these practices led to my healing.

On July 30, 2013 I completed my last round of chemo. Each and every scan I’ve had since then has come back negative.