Where to begin? I'll start at the end. My name is Sara, and I'm going to live. Not long ago, seeing a path to 5 years seemed impossible. Not long ago, I was deep in the belly of the beast, my family with me.

It started in February, a visit to the ER with intense abdominal pain.

Uterine fibroids, paired with a 10 cm ovarian cyst, were causing extreme pain due to ovarian torsion (twisting, cutting off blood supply).

The testing began.

Ultrasounds, an MRI, X-rays, electrocardiogram, CT scan, blood tests, etc. Two weeks later, when the pain continued & tests showed too many fibroids to remove, a hysterectomy was recommended.

I consulted on a Wednesday with an excellent gynocological oncologist at the Mission Hope Cancer Center, due to the relatively complicated nature of the upcoming surgery.  He put me on his surgical calendar that Friday - everything happened very quickly. On March 3rd, I went into surgery unafraid, eager to feel better than I had in years, confident in the skill of my surgeon & relatively routine nature of the surgery.


But everything went sideways. Very, very sideways.

I woke up many hours later than expected, in the ICU rather than the surgical recovery ward. Chris had gone home to Ben.  It was evening, the whole day just ... missing. Nurses recounted a harrowing surgery I barely survived, followed by a recovery room hemorrhage. I had received massive blood transfusions (24 units of blood & plasma, yikes!) - rushed back into surgery & back on the ventilator, & gave everyone quite a scare. They all were surprised & delighted to see me smiling & awake, but I was not too keen on the four IVs - one sprouting from my neck. I tried not to worry too much as I waited until morning to find out what had happened during those 9 missing hours.


The following afternoon, still in the ICU, I received devastating news from my surgeon. Grave news, stage IV leiomyosarcoma, treatment resistant, we almost lost you, it was everywhere inside, hemorrhage, removed part of your bladder, there are cancer cells remaining. He warned me about what I would read online, that the statistics were very bleak. I shook inside, & cried.

The first week was passed in the hospital. Nights were long. My pain was well managed, but the more I learned about my diagnosis, the scarier it became. Well over  90% five year mortality rate, chemo & radiation resistant, aggressive, quick to spread to lungs, liver, brain.


The second week at home was the hardest. I had trouble sleeping. My youngest son just turned six - five years wasn't enough. I slept, wrote, cried, looked for bright spots & found few, but vowed to keep looking and laughing for as long as I had to look & laugh.


The third week I started to gain independence, walking easier, meeting healing milestones.  I had lost 25 lbs in 3 weeks, but was feeling stronger. I made decisions about the next few years, how I wanted to spend my time, & with whom. Friends came by. Family made plans to visit. I registered the kids for a summer camp for children with a parent who was terminal. And then, one Wednesday morning, I sat with my surgeon as he gave me my life back on one pathology report, still hot from the printer.

Pathologists at Stanford analyzed the cells of the growths that had filled my abdomen. Results had come in that morning, after being double checked by a national expert. Despite looking and acting like sarcoma, they were something... else. Something much more confusing, but much less lethal. I did not have sarcoma, but a STUMP - stromal tumor of uncertain malignant potential. With the surgery behind me, this new, strange, very rare not-benign-but-not-exactly-cancer diagnosis meant that those cells with "bizarre nuclei" weren't going to spread. They had done their damage, but they Weren't Coming Back.


We celebrated, with confused disbelief.

We couldn't wait to tell the kids, to tell our families, to tell everybody that rallied around us with so much love that they didn't have to cry anything but tears of joyful shock that I was plucked from the dark side of the moon back into the sunshine.


So what's next?

Time spent healing. Healing my body from a surgery I barely survived, building my strength. Healing my soul from the fear, my heart from the grief, & my family from the trauma of walking alongside me through the fire for those dark, smoky days.

Back to work, back to "normal", but living life with my eyes wider open, my heart full to bursting, and one helluva scar to remind me of where I went.

While we no longer have to worry about the cost of cancer treatment or travel, this has been a costly, financially draining time. We also have to heal our empty bank account and get our family through 2017 after a very rocky financial start. We appreciate any help you could provide toward getting things back on track.

WHAT WE'RE RAISING MONEY TO COVER

*LOST WAGES: Between the two of us we have 10+ weeks at half wages, plus FSA deductions to my first expected paycheck, makes for a tough May! We're short over $5,000 right now, & things are incredibly tight.

*MEDICAL EXPENSES:  We are well on our way to meeting our out of pocket yearly insurance maximum of $10,000. Yikes.

*SELF CARE: I've lost 30 lbs since my March 2nd surgery (what?!) Help me freshen up my wardrobe and give some love to my new STUMP-free body! Giving myself a budget of $500 for some self care.

*TRAVEL TO SEE FAMILY: Our family has gazed into the abyss & been lucky enough to step away whole. Time with family has never felt so important. I've been blessed with visits from some of the people most dear to me - Tracey, Vic, Eve, uncles, aunts, & soon my dad! Others can't come to me. I really want to hug my sisters Jess in Minneapolis & Anne-Lise in England, whom I haven't seen in several years. There just isn't enough left over each month to save up for either of these trips, but I'd sure love to make them!

*FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS: Last but not least, I am trying to save up to $500 to have portraits created of our brave beautiful boys.  Our family has been through quite an emotional roller coaster, & this savagely beautiful experience deserves commemorating properly, if possible.

Thank you all for your amazing support & love during this freaky deaky experience. If you are able to toss a few dollars in the hat, please do. Our hat could really use it! Please share if you like, and I will continue to share my musings on my STUMPy little life, for as long as you would enjoy reading them!

For more, check out my Facebook page at www.facebook.com/SaraHeinrichsPopp and say hi!