The Unexpected Beginning
It started with lower back pain. I was on a short trip with friends and came home feeling like I might have a kidney stone—a pain I’ve felt before. I had a telehealth visit and got a prescription to help it pass, but after a few days with no relief, I went to the ER.
That decision changed my life.
A CT scan was ordered to find (or rule out) kidney stones. But instead, they found a mass. Several, actually. I remember the doctor coming in to talk to me about it, and he was using a softer voice than he had an hour prior. He said wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing, but that I needed to get a biopsy right away.
When Answers Are Slow and Questions Are Loud
That ER visit marked the beginning of what felt like a long stretch of unanswered questions. There were follow-ups, second opinions, and imaging that pointed to “indeterminate” findings. Pelvic abnormalities. Evidence of endometriosis- something I battled with for a long time, but hadn’t thought about in the years since I had a partial hysterectomy.
Eventually, after referrals, deeper investigation, surgery, and multiple pathology labs, I was diagnosed with low-grade serous ovarian cancer—a rare, slow-growing cancer that often hides behind vague symptoms. But that wasn’t all. I also had pleomorphic sarcoma, an aggressive soft tissue cancer that had taken root in my abdominal wall. The tumor had likely been there for years, quietly growing.
I’ve been asked a lot about how I felt during this period of time. Was I very scared? How could I stand not knowing what was going on? In all honestly, I was never overwhelmed. From the very beginning, I felt a real sense of peace. I knew, somehow, that this would be big—but I also knew it would all work out. I never felt that punch in the gut, stomach-dropping feeling. I felt very focused. And, I wanted to learn everything I could to help myself. I knew that the path I was now on would be hard, but I was convinced that I would have a positive outcome. I credit my faith for that.
Surgeries, Chemotherapy & Peace
So far, I’ve had four surgeries:
- The first to investigate and remove what we could- July 2024.
- A second to clear margins around the sarcoma once it was identified- November 2024.
- A third in January 2025 to once again investigate and remove what we could.
- And the biggest—a major debulking surgery in March 2025, which left me with a temporary ileostomy.
The physical recovery was intense, especially from that last surgery. I don’t do well with medications that make my head feel foggy, so I chose to manage pain differently. I had to rely on others more than I wanted- especially when I couldn’t drive. But my husband, friends, and neighbors showed up in beautiful, practical ways. We got through it.
I started chemotherapy in September 2024—six rounds of carboplatin and paclitaxel. I paired each round with a 5-day fasting regimine, and I am positive that it helped minimize side effects. I never had the mouth sores, gastrointestinal issues, or taste changes that many do. The pain was still brutal, though- especially during that third night, when it always seemed to hit hardest. Each round brought a full week of bone-deep pain. But even then, I reminded myself: This will be a short season. This is part of what has to happen so that you can live a long life, and live it well.
Living in the In-Between
Recovery isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. It’s spiritual. It’s inconvenient, and humbling.
There were so many moments I wished I could drive myself to the store or get my kids where they needed to go. The simple things suddenly felt out of reach. But through it all, I was surrounded by help- and I learned to receive it. It’s one of the many gifts hidden inside this awful journey.
Now, I live in the in-between. Between surgery and recovery and more surgery. Between chemo and strength. Between who I was and who I am still becoming.
My Faith Is My Fuel
My faith in Jesus Christ has been my anchor. It’s hard to explain how steady I’ve felt unless you’ve experienced that kind of peace yourself. The kind that doesn’t erase the hard, but makes it bearable.
I’ve become more grateful for things we all tend to take for granted. Sitting in church. Talking to my children about their day. Visiting a friend. Cooking a meal. Going to the store. Standing in the sunshine. Even using the bathroom. These aren’t just daily tasks- they’re proof that I’m still here. Still healing. Still being held.
What’s Next (and Why I’m Sharing This)
Next week, I’ll undergo my ileostomy reversal surgery. A couple of months after that, I’ll have another surgery to repair a massive abdominal hernia that developed as a result of my November 2024 surgery. In the meantime, I’m continuing with HBOT (hyperbaric oxygen therapy), dialing in my diet, and working to build strength.
I’m also dreaming of a family vacation in early 2026. Something wonderful to look forward to.
I’m sharing this story because I want you to know what’s possible. I want to offer insight, hope, and maybe even some practical help. Whether you’re going through something similar—or love someone who is—my hope is that something here helps you feel more prepared, more empowered, or simply less alone.
A Final Note to Anyone Walking a Hard Road
If you’re facing your own diagnosis, your own surgery, your own hard thing… I want you to hear this:
You can do it.
You can walk through something you never imagined. You can face it with strength and grace and grit.
You can feel peace in the storm.
And even if you don’t feel strong today- know that you are.
You’ve already made it this far.
Let’s keep being honest about our struggles.
Let’s keep holding onto hope.
Let’s keep lifting each other with love.
All my love,
Jessica
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