A Patient's Story

Fascinating but Lethal Shapes

Worried about these symptoms, I went to see my gynecologist, who initially didn't think it was anything serious. She ordered a couple of standard tests, none of which showed anything out of the ordinary. And, again, in addition to these symptoms, I was still dealing with the depression. When the physical symptoms persisted, my gynecologist decided that I should have a transvaginal ultrasound (a procedure in which a small ultrasound probe is inserted into the vagina to get as close as possible to the ovaries, which are imaged using the sound waves emitted).

During the procedure, I noticed a worried look on the technician's face as a series of unusual shapes appeared on the monitor. I asked him if he saw something abnormal. He said he didn't know, but that I should see my doctor right away. Looking at those shapes, I thought, "Well, they might be cancer, but they're not going to kill me because they look like the shapes I use in my artwork." It was a strange thought. They were so fascinating visually that I couldn't absorb the fact they were potentially lethal.

When I met with my gynecologist, she saw the results of the ultrasound and immediately scheduled an appointment for me with Dr. Richard Barakat, a surgeon who is Chief of the Gynecology Service at Memorial Sloan-Kettering. She said he was the best person to see if it turned out to be cancer.

Worst Fears Confirmed: It's Cancer

I met with Dr. Barakat, who explained that he would need to surgically examine my ovaries and other organs of the abdomen for signs of cancer. He thought it was a 50/50 chance.  Shortly after our consultation, he performed the surgery and discovered Stage III ovarian cancer. The designation of Stage III meant that the cancer had spread beyond my pelvis into part of the tissue that lines the abdomen, though, fortunately for me, not into my lymph nodes. During the procedure, Dr. Barakat was able to remove not only the cancerous ovaries but as much other cancerous tissue as possible.

I woke from the anesthetic after the surgery without yet knowing that I had cancer, and my first thought was: I'm not depressed anymore. It sounds absurd, but it's true. Six months earlier, I wanted to die. Now I truly wanted to live. And in that moment, the tremendous weight of the depression lifted, and my mood swung into a hypomanic state.

Coping Methods: Room Redecorating and the Role of Patient Advocates

In some ways, the hypomania helped to save my life. It gave me the energy I needed to get through the chemotherapy regimen that they started me on after surgery in order to destroy any tumor cells that were left. Dr. David Spriggs, my medical oncologist at Memorial Sloan-Kettering, recommended that I go on a high-dose experimental chemo protocol regimen with stem cell replacement, which was more toxic than the standard treatment at the time but which also gave me better survival odds. I agreed to it.

Eventually, as is often the case, I lost my hair, which, while devastating, I decided to view as an interesting experience. I took a leave of absence from my teaching job at the School of Visual Arts.

In my hypomanic state, I decorated my hospital room with my own art work and with gifts from friends. I started thinking of ways to redesign hospital gowns, which, at the time, looked like formless tarps. I even made up T-shirts with images of my abdominal scar on them. And I also began writing a lot about the connection between the mental and physical aspects of illness. In my experience, this connection is extremely well defined.

The Love and Support of Friends

I'm an only child. My father died before my diagnosis, and my mother was still alive but had her own emotional problems. As a result, the biggest sustained boost to my resolve was the love and support of my friends. Taking just one small example, each of my three roommates from college, including (television and stage actress) Judith Light, travelled from out of state to help me through this difficult period. Many of my friends ended up contributing to my recovery in so many different but significant ways.

It was also important for me to have friends on hand who could act as my advocates. My advice to anyone going through the initial stages of a cancer diagnosis is to have at least one and preferably two or more people present with you to hear and record whatever is discussed with your doctor.

While Some Help, Others Can't Cope

For some people, illness is too much to handle. Maybe it reminds them of their own mortality. I didn't know I could handle it myself until I got sick. My husband could not cope with my illness, and we ended up getting divorced not long after my treatment began.

I survived the intensive chemotherapy, the break-up of my marriage, and an intestinal blockage caused by post-surgical adhesions, which required another surgery and nearly a month in the hospital to correct. Kip, a yoga instructor who lived in my building, looked in on me daily and was a huge help in enabling me to recover energy, flexibility, and strength.  Everything was going along nicely, when in 1996 I learned that the cancer had returned.

This was not a pleasant time. Dr. Spriggs, whom I now call my family doctor -- I ask him about any and all problems -- put me back on a chemotherapy regimen similar to the one that I had gone through years before. Again, I lost my hair, but this time I bought a wig and continued teaching. I didn't tell many people about the recurrence nor did I miss a day of class. I tried a special herbal tea called Essiac which I take to this day as well as a few other herbal supplements.  This time around I was neither depressed nor manic. I was stable emotionally. Knowing that I had made it through my first cancer, I felt fairly confident that I could make it through this one, too, which I did.

Breast Cancer

My emotional stability was tested, when in 2002, after surviving the recurrence of ovarian cancer, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. In some ways, the treatment for it was a blip compared with what I went through dealing with the ovarian cancer.  My breast surgeon at Memorial was Jeanne Petrek, a terrific doctor and a terrific person who was recently killed in a tragic auto accident.  When I learned about this tragedy, again it hit home how fragile life is. People don't quite understand that, on some level, when one has cancer and "recovers," one never quite believes one is cured.

It may sound strange, but if I had to say what I thought was the most difficult challenge I had to face in my life, it wouldn't be any of the cancers -- it would be the depression. I'm a worker, a doer. Locked in the grip of depression, you lose your will to live. If you can't get out of bed in morning, you think there's no hope for you.

Lessons Learned

I'm not going to be trite and say that the ovarian cancer was a gift because I don't think of it that way. Still, in getting rid of the initial ovarian cancer, I also was able to rid myself of the depression that had been crippling me. Coming out on the other end of that struggle renewed my desire to live.

It's a cliché but it is no less true. Cancer is like a military campaign. You wage a campaign against the disease. You collect as much information as you can and then you act. You have to be brave, though you cannot fight the battle alone. You have to let people help you.

Memorial Sloan-Kettering

Anytime I hear that someone has cancer, I immediately tell them that they should contact Memorial Sloan-Kettering. I think it is the best place to find help in one's campaign against cancer. I strongly believe in the depth of its expertise and, just as importantly, in the quality of the people who work there. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude, and that really includes everyone -- the doctors, the wonderful nurses, and the way there is a whole team working together and pulling for you.  I guess I owe them my life.