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On or about July 13, 2009, my younger sister saw an OB/GYN in a small town just south of San Francisco. She had been suffering from what the doctors delicately call “excessive flow”. Inasmuch as she was 49 years old at the time, she attributed this to the probable onset of menopause. Her good friend encouraged her to visit her doctor anyway. Just to be sure.
The doctor was a very pleasant and professional woman. After the initial interview, she said to my sister, “Well, you are probably right. It's probably the onset of menopause.”
And with that she began a physical examination of my sister.
After a brief survey of my sister's plumbing, the doctor said, “You know, why don't you come with me into the next room? I want to have a closer look with the scope.”
This was the moment my sister began to feel nervous.
In the next room, the doctor had a closer look-see. After only a few moments, she sat up and looked at my sister.
“Are you married?”
“Um, no...”
“Did you come here with anybody today?”
“Um, no...”
This is when my sister all of a sudden got one hell of a lot more nervous.
“Okay, well, I could wait for some test results, but I'm just going to tell you the truth right now. I've been doing this too long to have any doubts about this. You have cancer.”
I don't recall being told my sister's immediate response to this news. I guess we will just have to imagine it for ourselves. I think we can do that.
The OB/GYN referred my sister to a specialist at University of California, San Francisco (“UCSF”). My sister, accompanied by her boyfriend, saw this man a few days later.
After biopsies and enough films taken to overwhelm the servers at Google Guts, the UCSF doctor gave her the extremely bad news.
“You have 'small cell neuroendocrine carcinoma of the cervix'. It is a very rare and very aggressive form of cervical cancer. Less than 5% of the cervical cancers are of this type.”
He went on to discuss the future with my sister. The future, in her case, would likely come to an end in maybe ten months. Shock and then great gushing rivers of tears ensued.
A second opinion was sought. My sister was referred to another specialist, Dr. X, at the Stanford Cancer Center (“SCC”). A few days later, my sister and her boyfriend traveled down to Palo Alto. They were impressed with SCC, and even more impressed with Dr. X.
After review of the films and previous test results, Dr. X told my sister, “Yeah, I think we can do this. We will prepare a treatment plan.”
And so the war to save my sister began.
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