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Sunday, September 30, 2001
Erika's greatest battle
Diagnosis of ovarian cancer may have tackled her body, but it couldn't break her spirit. This is her story.

Michelle Christenson/Caller-Times

Erika Serna, 22, says she wants to help others struggling with cancer, especially children.

Serna chronicles her struggles in the Erika Serna Message Board in CoastalBendHealth.com. You are invited to ask questions, see how she is doing, and support and be supported by her. - Ed.
This weekend and next, the Harbor Playhouse is staging "Wit," a play about a woman dealing with the physical and emotional trauma that goes along with a diagnosis of ovarian cancer. "Wit" won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1999.
   To close National Ovarian Cancer Month and to celebrate "Wit," Caller-Times staff writer Brendan Walsh sat down with Erika Serna, 22, who was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in June, and asked her to recount her story and how she is dealing with the disease.
   A 1997 graduate of Carroll High School, Serna took degrees in journalism and political science from Texas A&M University at College Station in May. She had planned to attend law school at South Texas College of Law in August, but is now living at home in Corpus Christi. She had her right ovary removed in June and is scheduled to finish her chemotherapy treatment in late October.

   On June 3, in the middle of the night, I woke up with an awful pain (in my abdomen). For about 24 hours I didn't do anything about it. I laid around. My mom took me to the emergency room because the pain just got too bad. (An ultrasound revealed) two cysts on my ovaries.

Photos by George Gongora/Caller-Times

   After a whole bunch of tests they thought I had cancer. ... (One of my doctors) told me 'It looks like the cancer has spread all over your body, and I don't know how much time you have.'
   I'll never forget that moment for as long as I live, it was like, 'You mean there's an end? This could be final?'
   The first thing I thought about was my things. I'm a purse and shoe freak, and I started thinking, 'How stupid, what are they going to do with all those things (when I die)?'
   Family and friends started visiting, but I don't think they knew the gravity of the situation.

Michelle Christenson/Caller-Times

'I've lost a little bit of my free spirit. I'll always be scared now. Breast cancer and ovarian cancer go hand in hand, and I'll always be looking out for that, and I'll always be paranoid.'

   One of the hardest things was making a few phone calls to my close friends because I felt like I was hurting everybody so much and I didn't want to cause anyone pain. I just said, 'Hey, it's Erika. I'm in the hospital and we found out some bad news. I have cancer.' I never cried on the phone with them. When they cried I told them I'd be in touch and hung up. I felt like the closer I got to them, the more it was going to hurt them (if I died).
   M.D. Anderson
   My mom said that if we're going to fight this thing, we're going to the best place, and that was M.D. Anderson (Cancer Center in Houston).
   We went there and they did tons of tests. ... (There's so much) fear when the doctors are talking to you and they use all these terms that you don't understand and you're just trying to grasp everything. I had an endoscopy, a colonoscopy, like every single kind of test.

Michelle Christenson/Caller-Times

'One of the most difficult things has been knowing that I may not be able to have children. … It's just a beautiful thing to be able to have children, and I love kids, I've always loved kids.'

   (It's terrible) when you're just lying there being examined, and they don't tell you what it is they see or find. You're just trying to read the doctors' faces, thinking 'OK, well, they didn't (look me in the eyes). Does that mean they found something or does that mean they don't care about getting to know me because I'm fine?' My family was always with me, but when you're in the room it's just you and the doctor and you're alone, and you feel really alone.
   Eventually I was told the cancer hadn't spread beyond my ovaries, but I had to have surgery to remove my right ovary, which had burst.
   One of the most difficult things has been knowing that I may not be able to have children. ... It's just a beautiful thing to be able to have children, and I love kids, I've always loved kids.
   I knew that when I had surgery there was a possibility that I would wake up with no ovaries. I knew the doctor was definitely going to remove the right one, but if the other one had cancer I knew they'd remove that too. So when I went to sleep from the medicine I knew 'OK, you might wake up and it might be gone.' My first question when I woke up was 'Do I still have one' and they said yes.
   They said there's a chance the chemo will affect my fertility and I may not be able to have kids. I don't know what will happen, and it's a hard thing to deal with.
   Chemotherapy, treatment

Ovarian cancer: Get the facts, save a life
Ovarian cancer is the sixth most common form of cancer. There is a 95 percent survival rate if the cancer is diagnosed and treated before it has spread beyond the ovaries, but only 25 percent of ovarian cancers are discovered at that early stage. Most women with ovarian cancer are post-menopausal, but a small percentage of those diagnosed, like Erika, are in their early 20s.
The cancer can be found during a routine pelvic examination, when doctors check the ovaries for size, shape and consistency, but it might also be discovered with a CA-125 blood test or a pelvic sonogram. The American Cancer Society recommends yearly pelvic exams beginning at age 18 or when a woman becomes sexually active.
For information about ovarian cancer, go to the American Cancer Society’s Web site at Cancer.org, the Women’s Cancer Network Web site at www.wcn.org/, or call the local chapter of the American Cancer Society at (361) 857-0134.

   The day that I found out I was going to have chemotherapy, I thought I was going in for just a routine checkup and that I was in the clear. (Before the appointment) I was washing my hands in the restroom and I had my hair down and I thought to myself that it looked really nice that day. I made a mental note to myself that I would have to start putting it up or covering it with a towel, because it may hurt some of the people in the hospital (who don't have hair because of chemotherapy) to see me with my hair down.
   And then I went in the room and I learned that I was going to lose my hair, my eyelashes, my eyebrows, the hair on my arms.
   I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I was having anxiety attacks. I didn't want to lose my hair. My whole life everyone has always said, 'Oh your hair is so pretty,' and I'd actually been asked to model my hair before, so it was such a big thing for me, I was so scared.
   The doctor said, 'Look, we can use just one (chemotherapy) drug (and you won't lose your hair),' but my attitude was, you know, if we're gonna do it, we're gonna do it full on and use both drugs. I never do anything in my life half way, and I knew I wasn't gonna start.
   The first week (after chemotherapy) is really tough. My treatments are on Tuesday, so on Wednesday I'm a little sleepy, Thursday I sleep the whole day, then that night I start to feel sick. Friday I'm really sick, and Saturday I start feeling a little better.
   That sickness is just something you can't describe. It's not like your typical nausea, it's not like food poisoning, it's not like cramps; you just feel like your body does not know what it's doing. I've had the feeling, when I'm on the floor and hovering over the commode, that there is just nothing left to throw up, that everything has already come out.
   The best laid plans . . .
   At first, I guess it did bother me (that I had to put off law school), but then I had to stop and wonder why and evaluate it. I'm a very goal-oriented person and I had my dates set - like, I'll start law school here, I'll graduate next, I'll get married around this age and have kids around this age. After this happened, I think I only asked why a few times, and then I said, 'OK, whatever God's will is I just have to live with it.' I don't even know where I'll be a year from now, a few years from now, you know?
   But it's been hard, real hard when I talk to my friends at school and they're talking about going out and you know, being at their apartments. I was on my own for four years and now I'm back home living with my parents. And that's great in a way, but in a way I miss my independence. I find myself getting annoyed real easily about small things, like the food we have in the fridge, or not having my own decorations on the walls. But I couldn't have gotten through this living on my own.
   Ovarian cancer changes your outlook on everything, because you could have your plans completely laid out and think you know where you'll be in five years. And then God will show you that you're completely wrong.
   Now I have a better appreciation of life and a much stronger faith in God. My faith and all the people praying for me have really helped me to get through this.
   Family
   My mom and dad have been great, and my brother surprised me by flying all the way from Rome as soon as he found out. My aunt came down from Dallas and has put her life on hold for me. She even shaved her head with me, and that helped a lot, because we're always together anyway, she's like my shadow. So we'll go to the stores and if people look at me they look at her too. I don't feel so alone.
   I'm engaged, and I wasn't going to get married until law school, but after this happened I had a talk with my parents and my fiancé. I decided, 'If I already know I'm going to marry him I'm not just going to wait for society's sake so I can already be done with school and of a certain age - I'm going to do it now.' We're getting married next summer.
   I asked the doctor if after I'm married I should start to try to have kids right away so that they can remove the ovary (and reduce the risk of reoccurrence). She told me I should wait at least three years, probably five. I asked, 'Why so long?' and she said that 'If the cancer comes back it'll usually come back in that five-year period and you don't want to leave your child without its mom.' That was just really wonderful she was so honest, but at the same time, it's a heavy blow.
   My fiancé has been wonderful. He said that if we have to adopt, we'll adopt, it's not a problem. I'm very lucky.
   My fiancé got here about three days after I went to the hospital. He was there to experience it all with me. Someone told my aunt, 'What's going to be really beautiful about their wedding is that when they give their vows they will already have lived through them.'
   Friends
   There were people who called who I didn't expect to call, but there are people who haven't called that I did expect to call. So it's kind of been odd, but I can't be angry about the ones who didn't call because everyone handles their pain in a different way and, you know, for some people it may be hard.
   (My friends) are in college - I graduated earlier than most of my friends - and they're having good times, and I wouldn't want them to be at a party talking about 'Oh poor Erika. Can you believe she's going through chemo?' and 'Last time I saw her she was so sick.'
   This is not the age for cancer, this is the age to have fun, so in a way, some of them have been a little aloof. I just think they don't know how to handle it. My mom said that everyone wants to be around when it's fun, everybody loves to have a good time, but it's when things get tough, that's when your true friends stay. For the most part my friends have stayed, and that's been just great.
   One day I had a friend who called and she was like, 'Oh my gosh, I got in the biggest fight with my boss, he was such a jerk,' and she went on for about 10 minutes. Everyone approaches me with a certain sense of caution, so when someone calls me with just a normal, everyday problem that was kind of big to her at the time, you know, it was fun.
   They call (ovarian cancer) the silent killer because many people have no symptoms. (The ones that do exist) are very mild - things that girls go through all the time. Like, I had a little potbelly, and I never had one before. But I thought it was from gaining weight or drinking in college or something. I'd exercise and exercise, but it wouldn't go away. Another symptom was that I got really fatigued, really tired. But I also kept weird hours so it didn't seem that abnormal.
   So little is known about ovarian cancer. People think, 'Oh I get my Pap smear once a year, so I'm fine.' But ovarian cancer does not show up on a Pap smear.
   Future
   A hard thing for me to deal with is that the cancer can come back. That's one of the things that changes your outlook on life. The doctors say that it looks good, that there's an 80 percent chance it won't come back, but 80 percent to me is like a B on a paper - it's still kind of crappy - I'm not a B person. But I guess ... things could be much worse.
   I've changed some of my plans. One of the reasons I wanted to be a lawyer was because they have a really good income. After this happened, though, I know I want to stay close to cancer forever. I never want to forget the pain, the awful feelings, the fear. I want to do public relations or public affairs for a hospital, or organize events for kids.
   I've been reading a lot, just out of boredom I guess. One quote that I like a lot is from a Wally Lamb book (via the ancient philosopher Philo of Alexandria) and it's 'Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.' And I always tried to live by that before, but now even more. When someone is rude to me, oh my gosh, I have such a bad temper, I get really upset. But now when the checkout clerk is mean to me, I stop and think, maybe her dog died or maybe her boss got mad at her, but the point is, you should treat everyone kindly, that's the best way to get along in life.
   I've lost a little bit of my free spirit. I'll always be scared now. Breast cancer and ovarian cancer go hand in hand, and I'll always be looking out for that, and checking for that, and I'll always be paranoid. I don't think there will ever be a time where I'll be able to just let go and live life the way I did before. I'll always have a certain kind of paranoia that comes along with cancer. I've lost a bit of my naivete."

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