Posts by analogbison0

I’ve been lurking here for years, mostly following the stories of several cancer cases within my own family and various pre-cancerous scares.
Unfortunately, this time, I’m the one stepping into the spotlight. I noticed the cervical cancer thread has gone pretty stale, so I’m hoping it’s okay if I pop in from time to time to vent or maybe hunt for some actual decent advice or just a kind word.
I’m only 38—well, maybe a little older now—and last month I was hit with stage 3b squamous cell carcinoma of the cervix. It’s infiltrated the left side near the ureter, so they actually had to install a nephrostomy tube because of the obstruction and kidney dilation.
They mentioned there might be lymph nodes involved on the left, and potentially the right too, though the right side is only suspicious for now.
The silver lining here is that I haven't been in America for a while; this whole mess caught me while I was in the Netherlands, where the healthcare has been top-tier so far—though that might just be my bias talking since I’m comparing it to how things work back home.
As soon as things went south, after the usual runaround of ultrasounds, Pap smears, biopsies, MRIs, and CT scans, they sent me straight for a PET scan. Honestly, I feel like I caught a break because I didn't have to spend an eternity waiting for answers.
Now comes the hell part, or at least that’s how it feels after everything I’ve read, heard, and seen.
On December 28th, the fight against the beast begins: 25 radiation sessions from Monday to Friday, plus 6 cycles of 40mg Cisplatin administered via a 4-hour infusion on Mondays (plus the standard two hours before and after chemo, obviously)—so we're looking at eight hours of pure madness at the hospital. To top it all off, there’s brachytherapy, which I am absolutely dreading because I know how brutal it can be when they pull those applicators out. Luckily, they told me they’ll probably sedate me like a baby during the placement so I don't have to deal with the pain.
To make matters worse, the PET scan flagged a node in my lung. It’s not considered highly suspicious yet, but they want to keep a close eye on it. I’m just crossing my fingers that it’s just some leftover inflammation from the lung issues or asthma I dealt with since my teenage years.
There are also these tiny little nodules they say aren't active, but of course, the paranoia is already setting in, even though I know PET scans can throw false positives.

Specifically, I wanted to ask if anyone has experience with Cisplatin—what exactly should I be expecting? My oncologist insists my hair won't fall out, but every time I Google it, I find completely different stories.
I’m also wondering how much fatigue and nausea the Cisplatin actually hits you with, because I honestly can't wrap my head around what that's going to feel like. Are we talking "I might be bedridden and wanting to scream because I have zero strength" levels of exhaustion, or is it more like a really heavy flu?
They handed me a massive pile of pills to take during treatment, supposedly to ward off the nausea and other side effects, but the nagging thought in my head is: "God, what if these pills don't work and I'm still stuck screaming?"

They also let me know that if my blood counts tank during the process, they’ll go straight to a transfusion so they don't have to pause the treatment. That’s news to me; usually, I hear they just delay things if the labs look bad.🤔>

If anyone has any practical advice on how to survive all of this at once—besides just bracing myself with patience and grit—I would be incredibly grateful.

And most importantly, people, what on earth should I be eating?! 🙂🙂 I’m already a picky eater even without this whole ordeal making things complicated.

Thank you all, and if this post belongs somewhere else, I get it... but you guys have been my rock.

Here I go again... we've wrapped up all the pre-op prep. Honestly, every single test came back perfectly fine—CBC, liver panel, urine, culture, EKG, you name it—except for the one thing that’s absolutely terrifying me. Her fibrinogen is at 6.2, when the lower limit is sitting right around 3. At this point, it feels like a total confirmation that we're looking at malignancy.
Regarding that hormone mentioned earlier (I think they called it estradiol), we didn't even bother reacting to it because Mom has been in menopause since she was 33 due to some past radiation and medical mishaps... so naturally, things are going to be out of whack there.
Based on everything we're seeing, the assumption is that it's advanced ovarian cancer, but as everyone knows, they won't truly know how much of a mess they're dealing with until they actually get in there. They did say oncology treatment is definitely next on the agenda, assuming she can even handle the surgery, given that the tumor is massive. If there's any silver lining, it's that her liver enzymes are normal, which suggests the cancer hasn't completely taken over the liver yet; it's more likely we're looking at early-stage metastasis.
I'll check back in after the surgery on the 18th once chemo kicks off...

Kate Morgan66 said:I had surgery just a month after my diagnosis, and only ten days after I finally got all my scans together (MRI, PET-CT, etc.), but since they classify me as a younger patient when it comes to gynecological cancers, maybe that’s why they rushed things...
If you ask me, they could have even moved a bit faster...

So, did you have the procedure at your local hospital or what? Honestly, it feels like they might have been dragging their feet just to give themselves some breathing room, which is why she’s being operated on in San Diego instead of Washington, D.C. That’s the vibe I’m getting from this whole situation... I mean, there was another lady yesterday who got scheduled for this very month. Then again, I don't know what her specific diagnosis was, and I definitely don't want to jump to conclusions because it might actually be a genuine medical emergency.

Kate Morgan66 said:analogbison0, did your mom make it to her checkup today? What's the word?

They’re checking her into the hospital this Friday, September 15th, and then the surgery should happen on Monday. Honestly, I can't tell if they moved this along fast or if we're just waiting forever.

Kate Morgan66 said:if we're talking surgical oncology, maybe Dr. Lovrić?
She’s an incredible doctor and just a great person overall; she’s basically acting as my surgeon, along with Dr. Vujić who operated on me... I’m not entirely sure which days they hold the tumor board meetings, though I know Monday is definitely one of them. When did they say the board would give their official opinion?

The tumor board meets on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. They actually got an opinion back immediately yesterday; obviously, they're leaning toward surgery to reduce the mass, followed by oncological treatment afterward. Basically, based on what they read, they think it's looking like a cancerous mass. Also, regarding whether it's possible for a mass to be that size if it's malignant, Mom was told that it could be the case if it truly turns out to be liver metastases. She's been scheduled for a checkup at their gynecology clinic this Wednesday because that's just how the protocol works (even though a standard physical exam is pretty much impossible for her given the vaginal adhesion issues and all that). We're hoping they'll just admit her to the Petrov Department right away, but honestly, that might not happen since we haven't been able to find anyone to bridge the gap between the outpatient appointment and getting her hospitalized for the actual surgery.

Look, don't be ridiculous—I actually called the Petrov Department of oncology directly yesterday, straight to the doctor's office, and I ended up speaking with this incredibly lovely physician. I was out there running around first thing this morning with all my mom's medical files in hand, making sure they get submitted to oncology before the board meeting. Now, naturally, I'm just sitting here waiting. Turns out the doctor who was her last attending is unfortunately on vacation until next week.
I also got word back from the tumor clinic that everything will be ready for the board review on the 24th. So now we’re just stuck in limbo, which is honestly the absolute worst part.
And thanks for the tip, I didn't have them test for estradiol!

Kate Morgan66 said:I don't even know how to comfort you, but get ready for a massive fight... I went through a nightmare situation with my mom where her abdomen was just bloated out, and we were getting bounced from one specialist to another because nobody could figure out where to pin the problem (they initially suspected a gynecological issue), and her CA 125 levels were just skyrocketing day after day... they performed surgery at Mercury, opened everything up, and found it had spread throughout the entire abdominal cavity, and they couldn't even tell where it originated until the autopsy showed the primary cancer site...

It might not be the same for you, but you should prepare for a heavy road ahead... did the discharge papers come in yet?

Yeah, the discharge papers arrived... and obviously, it’s not good news... ;

Abdominal tumor under observation.
Status, post radiation therapy for squamous cell carcinoma of the cervix at 24th St.
Status, post radiation therapy for VAIN III at 13th St.
Status, post C-section at 34th St.
Suspected liver metastasis.

Gyn exam findings: external genitalia appear normal, vagina is fused from the distal third, epithelialized. Entire abdomen is distended, firm, and non-tender, extending up to the xiphoid process.
Ultrasound/TVUS: due to tenderness and a shortened vaginal canal, shows solid and cystic tissue.
Abdominal Ultrasound: the entire abdomen is filled with cystic formations containing hypoechoic content and solid septations measuring 4 to 5 mm thick.
Radiology report: MSCT of the abdomen and pelvis using gastrografin bowel marking and following IV contrast administration.
A solid-cystic expansive mass in the abdomen and lesser pelvis, located ventrally, measuring 22.8 x 14.5 x 24 cm; it displaces abdominal organs, extending cranially to the kidney level and caudally to the uterus and bladder; the solid portion enhances with contrast; differential diagnosis: ovarian tumor?
Liver is normal size with smooth contours; in segment 7, there are two poorly defined masses measuring 4 and 6 mm, isodense to parenchyma on native imaging, showing weaker enhancement post-contrast compared to parenchyma; differential diagnosis: hemangiomas or metastases.
Gallbladder has normal wall thickness, no intraluminal findings.
Spleen is normal size with homogeneous structure.
Pancreas is normal size without focal lesions.
Right adrenal gland is enlarged and hypodense, measuring 31x24 mm, enhancing with contrast; differential diagnosis: adenoma.
In the middle third of the left kidney, there is a subcapsular calcification measuring 9 mm; differential diagnosis: nephrolith.

Radiologist findings:
Asymmetry noted.
There is slightly decreased translucency in the lung parenchyma at the right laterobasal region. Differential diagnosis primarily suggests summation shadows from dense breast tissue, though incipient infiltration cannot be ruled out with certainty.

That's the short version, and that CA 125 is sitting at 101.4.

Basically, from what I can tell, even the doctors don't really know the full extent of things until they actually open them up. 🙂

Kate Morgan66 said:My advice—take all the paperwork straight to the Petrov Department to see Dr. Vujić; he’s usually at the clinic on Mondays, but you definitely need an appointment first... Just head up to the second floor and wait for him as long as it takes... I’ve got the department number if you need it, you can always ask when he's on duty... This is a direct recommendation from someone who knows...
If anyone is going to perform gynecological surgery, he's the guy...

Wishing your mom and you nothing but the best in this fight.

We're pulling some strings, won't go into details... Basically, things aren't looking good at all. From what I managed to read, and just speaking as a complete layman here, it actually looks pretty terrifying;

Suspected TM abdominis in ops metahepatis; a solid cystic expansive mass measuring 22.8x14 cm and 5x24 cm.
An adenoma on the adrenal gland that shows up as hypodense.
C 53.9, or an unspecified malignant tumor in the cervix.
There's also mention of some kind of shadow on the lungs and something in the breast. I don't have the full picture yet since I don't have the discharge papers in front of me; I'll know more once they arrive later today.
Total horror movie!!!

Hey there, everyone. First off, I want to send my condolences to those who have moved on to a better place, and I also want to express some genuine respect to all of you for keeping this community going; these boards really mean a lot when you find yourself stuck in a situation that feels like there’s no way out.
So, for me, this whole thing is basically an old story that’s suddenly resurfaced. My mom is 91 now, and back in the day, she got hit with that classic "you've got maybe three to six months left" prognosis first at the hospital in San Diego, which was just a total chaotic mess of doctors running in circles. Then we moved things over to Chicago to see the specialists at the Petrov Department under what was then Dr. Buković’s lead. The diagnosis back then was inoperable cervical cancer. If my nine-year-old memory serves me right, I’m pretty sure it was still in situ at the time. She went through one long round of radiation, maybe a third session or something, and honestly, the damn thing just vanished like it was never even there. She never even had to touch chemo.
A few years back, she dealt with some kind of relapse situation, which meant another frantic trip to Chicago because some other doctor had completely botched her treatment. Everything ended up getting sorted out and fixed properly this time around, though.
Life has a funny way of throwing a massive pile of absolute nonsense your way all at once, and honestly, our family just got hit with a relentless wave of total bullshit—pardon my French. It started with my aunt being diagnosed with lung cancer when she was only 48, and we ended up losing her three years ago, which just completely derailed everything. Since then, my mom basically just kind of checked out and forgot to take care of herself entirely.
So, just last week—mostly because a friend kept nagging me about it—I actually went to see a gastroenterologist for an ultrasound. She was convinced I had some kind of issue since my stomach is looking like I’m in my third trimester, especially with how rock-hard the upper part feels.
So, the doctor at this private clinic—because obviously, nobody has the patience to wait a year for an ultrasound in this country—got a little too worked up and decided we were looking at a full-blown recurrence. He’s claiming there’s this massive tumor taking up space all through her pelvis and abdomen, and then he starts pointing out these liver changes that apparently have him worried, saying the texture looks way too rough, which is ridiculous because my mom wouldn't touch a drop of alcohol if her life depended on it. It was all very dramatic, and suddenly everything was being rushed toward San Diego for emergency testing at the hospital, which led to this incredibly awkward, heavy silence from the staff. Honestly, the doctors just seem to be making excuses and avoiding anything concrete, except for this one junior gynecologist—and I call him junior because he looked like a kid to me—who actually had the nerve to tell her, "Look, ma'am, you really don't need to worry. Everything else looks fine, and even that CA 125 level isn't actually that bad; it's probably just a cyst that we'll go ahead and clear out for you."
Honestly, my hair is practically standing on end right now, and thank God I'm not currently stuck in San Diego.
So, my mom—who’s 57, by the way—actually managed to get a meeting with some doctor who thinks we're looking at a recurrence, though apparently not from the same tumor. The theory is that one metastasis basically crawled into the spot where her ovary used to be and just sat there waiting to flare up, and now the doctor is operating under the assumption that it's started spreading toward the intestines. Nothing is set in stone until they actually cut her open, obviously. They also mentioned some kind of hemangioma on the liver, but even that's just a guess until they get in there and see for themselves.
And naturally, the panic starts setting in because they don't have a full surgical team out in San Diego capable of opening up and cleaning out a woman's reproductive system, handling the intestines, or performing a liver resection if the situation calls for it.

I honestly don’t even know where to start because I was way too young back in '91 to deal with any of that heavy lifting myself. Now, it feels like my entire world is collapsing all over again. I haven't even fully processed losing my aunt so suddenly, and now I'm expected to just snap out of it, pull myself together, and step up. To make matters worse, my mother is playing the martyr right now; she's in total shock, acting like the ultimate victim, and basically dumping the whole weight of this situation onto my shoulders. It isn't even like she’s actually suffering or going through something grueling—honestly, she wouldn't even realize how bad things have gotten if her friend hadn't talked her into getting worked up about it. Look, I get that she's stressed and that I need to step up and handle things, but my people are constantly terrified of everything, and frankly, I have no idea which way is up anymore.
I sent an email to that clinic over on 24th St and, surprise surprise, absolutely nothing. Total radio silence. It’s always the same story—if you aren't some big shot with a massive bank account, they just straight up ignore you. My mom is already breathing down my neck, telling me I need to go hunt down Folnović at the Petrov Department either today or tomorrow once she finally gets those test results over to me. Honestly, I was even reaching out to some specialist clinic in New York to see if they could help with the Vaxira situation.
So, my boss sits there under the AC, totally chilling while she leaves everything for me to figure out, and then if I slip up even once, she’ll be riding my back about how I didn't step up enough for the rest of my life. I know deep down I should probably just sit her down for a real talk, but honestly, that feels like a losing battle because it'll just look like I'm being difficult or don't want to help, and I'm pretty sure that would only make things way more awkward for both of us.
I honestly don't even know where to start or how to process this, but everything just feels completely surreal right now. Every single day lately, I’ve just been praying to just about anything that can hear me—begging for the strength to get through whatever is coming next, both for her and for myself. And look, sorry for the massive vent, but I’m officially done crying my eyes out; I need to just spit all this out somewhere before it starts eating me alive from the inside. 🙂