Daniela’s Journey

People handle cancer in very different ways. If you'd asked me a few years when I didn't have it, I would have thought I’d be private about it if I did get it. Guess not!

You see, I was diagnosed on Nov 10, 2020. I remember the date because it was my 49th birthday. Ovarian Cancer. Stage 3b (which would later be reclassified as stage 4b). I have been through a roller coaster of hope, despair, horrible news, miracle news. I have wanted to curl up in a ball, hoping it would just go away, to shouting from the rooftop so everyone knows everything. My full-time job changed from running a Cozy business to fighting for my life.

In the beginning, Rick and I decided there was no hiding this, so I announced the big C to our Cozy fans and family on one of our Monday Night Live broadcasts on Facebook. Ever since, the response has been so encouraging and uplifting that I might just be the luckiest person with cancer!

One day I might tell the full story of the ups, downs, medical drama, and all the emotions. But here are the highlights and some of the lowlights:

In September of 2020 I knew something wasn’t right. When on my stomach, I felt a throbbing in my abdomen. No other pain, though. I thought the endometriosis I had a decade ago was back. Then I thought maybe it was a cyst. But it wasn’t terrible, and I had hoped it would just go away. In about November it got worse, and I experienced stress incontinence when I went running with Kathy. (That means I peed my running tights.) Now my biggest fear was a prolapsed bladder. (Sidenote: don’t go reading everything on the internet when you start to experience symptoms!) Still, I was wishing it away. But when there was blood in my urine it was time to see a doctor. I had a tangible reason for an appointment.

It was at the height of Covid, and I could only get a phone appointment. The doctor who was not my usual Primary concluded a urinary tract infection, wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and asked me to give a urine sample to confirm. The results proved it was NOT a UTI, however I didn’t hear again from the doctor’s office. If not a UTI, what was the cause? And why didn’t they care to find out?  After multiple attempts, I finally got through to the office and booked an in-person appointment. The only availability was the next morning, my birthday. So be it.

This doctor asked me questions, reviewed my chart, pushed on my abdomen, removed his gloves, and said I needed to get a CT scan. That day.

After a three-hour wait in the busy hospital, I had the scan and came home to nap. But I couldn’t sleep. I waited. Then the phone rang, and I could already tell by her voice. Very sorry to tell you this on your birthday... Large mass on right ovary. 13cm … something something…. Very concerning. Other smaller implants. … blah blah… Most likely malignant. We won’t know for sure until the needle biopsy and bloodwork. Need to run more tests… something something…. But all indications are ovarian cancer.

Cancer. Even as I type this, I think of it as something that happens to other people.

Frontline treatment for ovarian cancer is six rounds of a combination of Taxol and Carboplatin chemotherapies with surgery somewhere in the middle. So on with it we went. I endured the side effects of the chemo pretty well (I mean aside from the extreme fatigue, mental fog, total hair loss, and reoccurring infections with subsequent hospital stays), but the impact of all that poison was not enough. After cycle six as I was getting mentally prepared for major surgery, I had a setback that sent me to the hospital. Infection. Back pain. They administered medicine and did a new CT scan. Unfortunately, my surgeon looked at that scan.

The tumor was still growing. It was outpacing the chemo. The surgeon/oncologist, who we now refer to as Dr. Buttonhole, would not do the surgery. He called me carboplatin resistant. Since the chemo would not work, I will always have the disease. That means surgery would not be curative, therefore he would not proceed with the operation. He would refer me to hospice.

I must have said “No” eight or ten times. Most of it in disbelief, some in fear, and once with resolve. I told him that if I was chemo-resistant, wasn’t that more reason to do the surgery? Otherwise, I really wouldn’t stand a chance. He replied that he was not inclined or compelled to do it as it was not going to cure me. In essence, I was going to die anyway.

He said clearly that this cancer would take my life.

I replied, “You don’t know that.”

The rest of the appointment was a blur.

Those were our bleakest days-- when my mortality was not just in question, but definitively determined. It would be a matter of months.

Who was he to tell me I was going to die? He was just a man. He was not God. He did not know me. He just saw a chart and a statistic. He looked at a hairless, bloated, slightly snarky patient in a personality-stripping cotton gown and saw a dismal survival rate. He did not see me.

Rick and I cried, questioned, consoled. We were without hope, despondent, powerless. Then we rallied.

I sought a second opinion and found the most wonderful doctors at the MD Anderson Cancer Center. They believed in me. They saw me as we saw me- part of the 5 in one hundred that could survive.

On the home front, Rick did a bunch of research and decided we needed to fight for ourselves through diet and exercise. We embarked on a Keto diet, removing ALL sugar and carbohydrates from our lives. That included pasta, rice (even brown rice!), beans (what the heck!?), crackers, other tasty snacks, and even my favorite salsa. We also eliminated wine, most fruit, and tortillas!!!

Armed on two fronts, we were heading into a new battle. Best of all, the MD Anderson surgeon agreed to take a chance. She said the operation would not be curative but could offer me a better quality of life. In the pre-op before surgery, I said to this beautiful human being, “Doctor. I visualized the procedure. It goes well.” Behind the surgical mask, her eyes smiled. “Me too.”

The scan and charts were misleading. I was not nearly as bad as my file looked. She cleaned me up, removed all those lady parts, and removed all visible cancer. Removed all visible cancer. My own personal miracle.

But we were not out of the woods. A follow-up CT scan months after surgery showed 4 nodules in my lymph system. Did you know that when a main tumor is removed, the metastatic implants can start to grow at a more rapid pace? So back to Carbo. Turns out I was not resistant! Most of those “little guys” shrank during the second round of six cycles. A very small amount remained in two spots in my abdomen: the lower pelvis and right under the lung. Next up was 5 sessions of radiation to, as the new doctors said, “just zap them.”

And here we are. Waiting until the next CT where we hope the words remission and maintenance will replace chemo and infusion.

I am very aware that a recurrence is a strong possibility. But I will do everything I can to prevent it, catch it, and fight it. I will also appreciate every day that I have feeling as good as I do. I will never take thinking, working, walking, and running errands for granted. I am truly blessed simply to be here.

Thank you for listening to my story. Stay tuned for more.

Know the Symptoms

I am on a mission to be sure the women I love know the symptoms. From the list, I only had weight gain and getting full quickly (which of course I welcomed because I was gaining weight! Dah!). We know our own bodies, please listen to yours.

So, my friend, these are the symptoms of ovarian cancer. If you feel you have any, have the conversation with your doctor. Frankly, if you know something isn't right, talk to your doctor. Don't put it off because early detection can make all the difference.

Main symptoms:

Other symptoms can include:

For more information, go to ovarian.org and a local group called clearityfoundation.org. As with all cancers, the sooner they catch it, the better. And don't let your doctors tell you it's a UTI if it's not!

link to https://ovarian.org/about-ovarian-cancer/signs-and-symptoms/

How to Help

Additionally, I am honored that Maureen’s daughter set up a blood drive in my name.

I have had four or five blood transfusions during this journey of mine. Each time they brought out a precious bag of dark red, I was immediately grateful for people who are willing to give up their own blood to save people they will never meet. I won't receive your donation directly (that would be weird) but adding to the blood bank ensures people like me will have what they need when they need it.

Lives depend on it

If you can't give blood or don't live in San Diego, consider giving a money donation.

If you do give blood, please let me know. I couldn't imagine how much it warms my heart until the first person told me they did it. (That was Kathy Girl, btw!)

Click to set up an appointment. Click for donor requirements and for donation FAQ's after COVID. The code for my drive is DS21, which you can give to them when you go to your appointment.