Life Update: The Diagnosis
WARNING: Cancer, medical trauma, serious illness, hospitals, discussion of disability and mortality, fundraising. Previous Post for context.
For those of you following along, I've been undergoing an extensive workup to determine the cause of my Horner's Syndrome. There were a dozen possible explanations. Instead, the scans uncovered something I never expected.
The cruelest irony is that I was hoping to celebrate my five-year anniversary as a survivor of endometrial cancer in August. I couldn't wait to use the words "cancer free." Almost made it.
Instead, it's a malignant Pancoast tumor at the top of my lung that has already worked its way into my T1 vertebra and first rib. It is rare, aggressive, and wrapped around major blood vessels. My bones are literally being eaten; because of the structural location, I am at risk of paralysis.
My first oncology appointment is Monday, and the truth is, I am terrified.
Because of the heart attack I just had, the treatment plan—likely simultaneous chemo and radiation before surgery—is a massive gamble. Even the biopsy carries a risk of stroke. I am trying to preemptively organize my care because I know whatever happens next is going to be bad. My decisions moving forward aren’t just about standard treatment; they are about whether my body can even endure being systemically dismantled, and what kind of quality of life will be left on the other side of it.
The strangest part is looking in the mirror. I look into the glass and I just see my normal self looking back—in my my favorite Ramones t-shirt and cute Summer bob. Maybe looking a little tired, but completely intact. Assumptions get made about people in this position, like a diagnosis instantly overwrites who you are. Four years ago, I was a C-suite executive flying family to Vail. Today, I am still entirely myself, just trapped inside a brutal trajectory and trying to make peace with the math while dealing with the fact that my doctor is 50 miles away.
I am a Medicaid patient with no car, an estranged family, and zero dollars. The state-provided transportation service has stranded me four separate times now, including this week. Missing Monday is not an option. When the van fails, a round-trip Uber is $100 to $140. There will be at least four or five of these critical appointments in the next few weeks alone just to figure out what happens next.
I’m putting the Ko-fi link below. I need to raise $500 to ensure I can actually get into the room to make these choices. If the state van actually shows up, the funds will help with groceries, and assistive equipment not covered by insurance.
It is incredibly difficult to ask for help, but I desperately need it.
Support Riff's Oncology Transit Fund 💜
Count on me to continue making thirsty edits as long as my little fingers allow. I love reading your fics and admiring your artwork. This is the best fandom and I love you all so much. 🫶
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