10
Loading video...
By Cortney Stevens, as told to Newsweek
0
Share
Newsweek is a Trust Project member
See more of our trusted coverage when you search.Prefer Newsweek on Googleto see more of our trusted coverage when you search.
The morning of the day I ended up in the hospital, I went for a run. I was in pretty much the best shape of my life at that point, but after about five miles, I started to feel off. It was July in North Carolina, so it was hot. I thought, “Maybe I pushed myself too hard.” When I got back to the house, I slammed a glass of water, walked over to the couch and passed out. When I woke up, my left arm was swollen and discolored; it was twice the size of my other arm. I was in so much pain and couldn’t understand what was happening.
I was in a new relationship at the time, and I was at my boyfriend Cody’s parents’ house, where we spent a lot of time together. We all piled in the car and went to the hospital. I waited four hours in the emergency room before seeing someone. When a technician finally took me back, I had a blood test, a chest X-ray and an ultrasound of my arm done. Afterward, we sat with a doctor and he told me I had a blood clot—a massive DVT, or deep vein thrombosis, in my left arm, starting at the top of my jugular down to the brachial in my elbow. It was two feet long. The doctor gave me a prescription blood thinner and sent me home.
...
Read More on My Turn
At 16 I Had the World at My Feet—Then in One Devastating Moment It Was Gone5 min read
I Went to the Hospital With a Baby in My Belly and Left With a Teddy Bear5 min read
I Had My Appendix Removed. At My Next Scan, the Room Went Quiet8 min read
The next morning I got a call from the ER; they said I needed to come back. Another doctor had come in that morning and reviewed the chest X-ray I did and found a shadow around my heart that needed more investigation, which no one had noticed the night before. I went back to the hospital and had a CT scan done. Afterward, another doctor told me I had a six-inch mediastinal mass in my chest, which had caused my blood clot.
At this point, I was still in so much pain, and I was concerned, but also confused. How did this happen? I was 26 years old. I was training for a half marathon. I’d had some other symptoms—my skin was itching, and I’d developed a sudden, painful sensitivity to alcohol—but they were easy to brush off. Overall, I was healthy. I said, “Do I have cancer?” The doctor said it wasn’t likely and sent me to have a lymph node biopsied. A week later, we got those results back, and they were abnormal. The doctor sent the sample to an outside lab for further testing, but no cancer was found. When we got the results, the doctor said, “I’m pleased to tell you that you don’t have cancer.” I said, “I don’t?” And he said, “No. In fact, I’d bet my house on it. You probably have some kind of connective tissue disorder, but you’ll need surgery to remove the mass on your heart.”
That night, Cody’s parents urged me to get a second opinion. When I heard that, I was devastated. I didn’t want to see more doctors. I didn’t want to do more tests. When the doctor said my condition wasn’t life-threatening and that I just needed surgery, I was planning to put it off for as long as I could. I had no intention of getting that procedure done right away. But his parents said the hospital we’d visited didn’t have a great reputation, and they thought I should go somewhere more specialized.
They were right, and it ultimately saved my life.
I got a referral to a thoracic surgeon at Duke University. At the appointment, he asked me to tell him the whole story and afterward said, “That doctor had no right to tell you that you didn’t have cancer. Nobody knows what that mass in your chest is made of.” I said, “So I could have cancer?” And he said, “Yeah, you could have cancer. And to be honest, you have the presentation of a textbook lymphoma case. But I’m not going to confirm anything until we do a biopsy of the mass in your chest.”
...
After the biopsy, the wait for the results was excruciating. I can’t begin to explain how terrible it was. And I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. I was waiting for someone to tell me I do have cancer, or I was waiting for someone to tell me I don’t have cancer. I ran through every “what if” scenario in my brain. It was such a spiral. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. If the blood clot and the mass didn’t kill me, I thought the anticipation would. When the doctor called on a Saturday, I knew it wasn’t good. He told me I had cancer and my whole world stopped.
Things moved quickly from there. I had a PET scan and a bone marrow biopsy done. Throughout this entire process, Cody—now my husband—and I laughed a lot, because it was all we could do. We were trying to keep things light. At the appointment to discuss the test results and the path forward, we were laughing about something when the doctor walked in. He said, “I’m so glad you guys can keep your sense of humor through this.” Then he told me I had nodular sclerosis Hodgkin lymphoma, stage 4. The mass in my chest had cancer in it, which had also spread to my liver, spleen and bone marrow. When I heard that, it felt like I imploded on myself. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t cry. I went numb and a little catatonic. I know Cody and the doctor were talking, but I have no idea what was said after that. I already knew that I had cancer, but hearing “stage 4” felt like a death sentence.
Later on, I remember thinking, “What am I going to do? How am I going to work? How am I going to pay for things? Who’s going to help me through this?” I thought, “Can I even ask Cody?” We hadn’t even been together for a year. I had just moved to North Carolina from Wisconsin. My friends and family were all back home. But Cody was my rock. He never wavered. I told him, “You don’t have to stay. You didn’t sign up for this.” He looked at me and said, “We’re a team and we’re going to figure this out. I’m not going anywhere.”
...
Treatment was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I did 12 rounds of chemotherapy and 20 rounds of radiation. I finished treatment on April 9, 2019. At one point, about three years after finishing chemo, I was really struggling mentally. People think that once you ring the bell, the credits roll and you’re good to go. That couldn’t be further from the truth. You have to start over, and you don’t know who you are anymore. My husband looked at me and said, “Why don’t you write down what you’re feeling?” He handed me a pink sparkly notebook and I started writing. Before I knew it, I had pages and pages of notes—the basis for the memoir I recently published, Surviving Chaos.
I wrote the book because I didn’t want others to suffer the way I did, both in my diagnosis and in my recovery. I don’t want people to think doctors are always right, because if I hadn’t gotten a second opinion, I wouldn’t be here. You know your body better than anyone else. If something feels off, keep speaking up and advocating for yourself. If a provider won’t listen, find someone who will. That second opinion just might save your life.
Cortney Stevens is the author of Surviving Chaos: A Cautionary Tale About What Happens When Your World Implodes*.*
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
Do you have a personal essay you want to share with Newsweek? Send your story to MyTurn@newsweek.com.
View 0 Comments
Submit Correction
View Editorial & AI Guidelines