“The doctor told me there was no rush.”
Most doctors are intelligent, compassionate human beings, but theyarehuman.
In my case, the casual dismissal of my symptoms almost cost me my life.
You have a two-centimeter tumor on your uterine cervix, she said, without even a hint of concern.
For me, those words felt like a knife to the gut.
Then her phone rang, and she left the room.
By the time she returned, tears had welled up in my eyes.
Do I have cancer?
I asked, terrified and confused.
As a non-doctor, when I hear the word tumor, my first thought is cancer.
No, no, Dr. Cant Be Bothered assured me.
This is not how cancer behaves.
This did not make me feel better.
She seemed unconcerned about the tumor growing in my pelvis, but I was not.
I would have to go under anesthesia for the biopsy, and it would be an all-day affair.
Not wanting this tumor-thingy hanging over my head, I asked to schedule the surgery as quickly as possible.
In fact, she was going on vacation for two weeks and her schedule was full.
We would have to put off the procedure for at least four weeks.
I asked if I could get in sooner perhaps a different doctor could perform the biopsy?
Its not necessary, she said.
She made me feel like I was overreacting, like I was ignorant of how these things work.
I let it go after all, shed gone to medical school and I hadnt.
She wore a white coat, and I was a 34-year-old whose work wardrobe still included yoga pants.
It was not my place to argue with her.
On my drive home I called my mother.
I explained everything the doctor told me, but I couldnt stop crying.
I felt that something was wrong like,reallywrong.
And I was angry the doctor wasnt taking this seriously.
On instinct, I called up my old OB-GYN.
Sobbing, I explained my situation and begged for an urgent appointment.
When it comes to certain cancers, time matters.
My old doctor spoke to me with kindness and concern.
Turns out, Ihadwon the lottery.
The biopsy revealed I had avery rare cancer called high-grade small-cell neuroendocrine.
After my diagnosis, my entire world turned upside down.
It was an onslaught of appointments, scans, and hard bathroom-floor crying.
My imaging showed only local disease, which means it had not metastasized to other parts of my body.
My surgical oncologist said she was relieved.
Often patients with neuroendocrine cancer walk in at stage 4 its that aggressive, she said.
Youre lucky you came when you did.
Indeed, thats an understatement.
Even with the quick biopsy, I ended up at stage 3C.
My odds of survival were a mere0% to 7%.
The truth is, high-grade small-cell neuroendocrine cancer is highly aggressive, with poor prognosis rates.
Even at stage 1, the survival rate is only about 30%.
Median survival is less than 16 months.
They wanted to schedule thebiopsy shed put off.
Are you kidding me?
Im about to start chemotherapy!
Then I angrily hung up the phone.
I know I am lucky to be alive.
I have now been cancer-free for two years.
My oncologist recently said I was a miracle.
In order for me to survive this cancer,everythinghad to go my way.
Instead, a team of doctors stepped up and recognized a needle-in-a-haystack cancer.
My intention is not to vilify doctors, but rather the system they are forced to operate in.
Indeed, the bureaucratic side of American health careis not what doctors signed up for.
That said, studies have shown women areoften dismissedin health care prefs.
But the dismissal of womens pain is not exclusive to gynecological or pregnancy-related conditions.
And dont even get me started on weight stigma.
News flash: Not every condition can be solved by losing weight (cancer comes to mind).
Its your health, and your life.
If you have to ruffle a few white-coated feathers, so be it.
Taryn Hillin is a journalist, screenwriter and cancer survivor.
She is currently in the Sony Television Diverse Writers program.
Prior to that, she was a writer and producer at TMZ, HuffPost and Fusion.
She is a graduate of Yale.
This article originally appeared onHuffPost.
