Our Lovely MaryJane the Warrior

At War With Cancer

Commentator Mary Jane Sheriden got the shock of her life a year ago this month, and the experience has turned her into a determined warrior.

Lightning struck last February when I went to my doctor to check out a simple lingering cough. I thought an antibiotic would do the trick, but it wasn't pneumonia. It was a plural effusion containing malignant cells of adenocarcinoma that had migrated from my abdomen. A hysterectomy revealed a tiny tumor in my right ovary, too small to be felt or seen, but lethal enough to metastasize into stage 4 ovarian cancer.

What? This can't be! I come from a Scandinavian family with no history of cancer and a long history of rosy-cheeked old women. I never smoked; I ate a lifetime of healthy foods, exercised, and watched my waistline. I faithfully had my check-ups, pap smears, mammograms, and colonoscopies. I even bought long-term health care insurance. I was no candidate for disease. But ovarian cancer is a disease of no’s: no timely warning symptoms, no reliable diagnostic test for early detection and no known causes.

There are also no commemorative stamps, no fundraising walk-a-thons, and no awareness months to alert women to its deadly march. My gynecologic oncologist at a top-rated cancer center told me, "There's nothing you did that caused this and nothing you could have done to prevent it. It's just bad luck." It seems the only advice they can offer women is: "Listen to your body; go see your doctor if anything seems different to you."

Well, that's not good enough. It didn't work for me. Beat the drum and bang the gong. Let’s start talking about ovarian cancer in this country and give women a fighting chance. We've learned to say the word 'breast,' the word 'prostate,' but gynecological cancers are still a deadly secret.

Let's raise awareness and money to develop an early screening test to find this silent killer striking one in seventy American women. Without early detection, 75% of all ovarian cancers are discovered too late to cure, in spite of a growing variety of chemotherapy drugs available.

Meanwhile - I am fighting mad. I did nothing to deserve this! They say victims of fatal diseases go through stages that lead to acceptance, but I'm stuck in anger; a warrior woman determined to slay this dragon. This is my daily battle cry as I shower, drive the car, pull the weeds. I spit in your face, Ovarian Cancer. You'll find me an Amazon, fierce in combat, with unsuspected reserves of bravery. I'll drink deeply at the fountain of hope; restore my childhood faith in God, fairies, and Indian braves. Like my Viking ancestors, I shall arm myself for war. I'll dance around the sizzling bonfire sending sparks high into the night sky and shout chants that sing of victory. How dare you, cancer, seek to invade this body, this body that teaches, loves, comforts, befriends: this body that has so much yet to accomplish: songs to sing, babies to rock, friends to comfort, grandchildren to adore, a husband with whom to grow old and whisper together in the night.

I'll gird my loins for war, sharpen my sword, swim your moat of serpents, burn and poison you with chemotherapy. Let my banner crackle overhead as I gallop across the plains to cut you cleanly from my inmost parts. Let God, the wisdom of the Ancients, and my very soul lead me to total victory. …

Mary Jane Sheridan is a writer living on the north shore of Long Island, New York.