Part 2: Carl
*Disclaimer - this next part of my story discusses cancer and the raw, emotional experience that we went through as a family. If you are not in a place to read this please skip ahead to other posts, I’ll have a disclaimer prior to any post that includes this topic moving forward. I’ve been in your shoes, it’s ok to protect your heart by not reading every story put out into the world.*
Mass.
MASS?
Why did she call it a mass. Isn’t it a cyst? Mass equals cancer. Why did she call it a mass?
“We are going to schedule you for an ultrasound, and then I expect we will need to do surgery to have it removed.” This part I was prepared for, after 2 months of zero improvement I assumed surgery would be necessary. But still…. why did she call it a mass?
Two days later we left for a week-long trip to our favorite lake with our friends, I made the most of it while the word mass hung in my brain. Overly attentive to every nerve in my body, every feeling, every small gas bubble, muscle pull, itch, all of it was suddenly a question in my mind. Is this something more? Is this because of the mass? Why did she call it a mass? Isn’t it just a cyst?
It was also during this trip that I took time to reflect on what I really wanted to do with my career. TRG was a great place to work, but creatively it was frustrating. In my role I was no longer designing, I was being told what to design by art directors, producers, and marketing teams. Interactions with clients were minimal, and as a set designer I wasn’t given opportunities to form relationships with clients, so trust was impossible to build. I had gone from a role where 9 times out of 10 I was calling ALL the shots, to a role where 9 times out of 10 I was being told what to do. If you have known me for any amount of time you will know that I really don’t like being told what to do. I may sometimes just not do the thing altogether because I was told by someone to do it. It’s not a great quality, but I own that about myself. It had now been 16 months of being told what to do and putting my creativity on the backburner. I found myself constantly trying to remind people that I can design and be creative too. It felt like I was screaming into a void and probably becoming so incredibly annoying to my co-workers. We get it Anna. You used to design cool things. Chill.
But, in screaming into the void, I realized why I love design so much.
One - Working with clients and building trust. I’ve never felt so accomplished as I did when an office I designed went very over budget (something I promise I try very hard not to do) and instead of making cuts the client turned to me and said, “We trust you” and then went all in. The result was an incredible space that fit them perfectly, and it was because they trusted me. I missed that feeling the most.
Two – I crave being the one in charge. Calling the shots, creating the design, working through problems. In that role I feel pride, ownership and accomplishment. Without it I feel empty. It’s something I can’t find anywhere else. Ok wait, maybe I missed this one the most?
Three - I’m enormously proud to be an interior designer. For me, my career is directly linked to my happiness. My husband is the one that pointed this one out. He is fine with his job; it provides for the family and allows him to do hobbies that bring him joy. He takes pride in it and delivers a quality product to the clients he works with. But he is able to separate his job from his identity. I absolutely do not. I am an interior designer just as much as I am a daughter, wife, mom, friend. If I am not fulfilled in my job, it trickles down to every part of my life.
Understanding all of that about myself after being in the field for 18 years was a major ‘ah ha’ moment.
One morning, when the lake was particularly flat, I set off alone on my paddle board with a chai latte and my new career realizations. I remember staring into the crystal-clear water thinking “If I come out of this ‘mass’ situation alive it’s time to start my business and do design the way I’ve been wanting to since I graduated college.” My plan was that over the next 5 years I would start taking design clients on the side. Then, I would move on from TRG when I had a cushion of clients and constant stream of income. I mean, you can’t just quit a good paying job at a great company where you get to be with your dog and husband every day to start a company from nothing. That’s not practical. Plus, I love to procrastinate scary things.
I managed to enjoy the rest of our vacation as much as I could. But, my ultrasound was scheduled for 3 days after we returned and something told me my life was about to change drastically. I tried to quiet the noise and avoid googling my symptoms any further. I was successful in avoiding google. The noise, not so much.
***
I attended the ultrasound alone, just like I had at my initial doctor’s appointment. It’s just a cyst, I don’t need support. I am fine. Everything is fine. We don’t need to be dramatic, it’s FINE.
I laid down on the table and the tech tried to get images from my stomach. Unfortunately, I missed the “drink a lot of water and don’t go to the bathroom” memo (apparently that makes it easier to view) so she couldn’t see the ovary on the left side. I remember her being able to see the right, but she could not find the left no matter what she tried. Because of this she had to switch to the transvaginal ultrasound wand. One thing you need to know about me is if a situation is awkward I am absolutely going to say something dumb that makes it more awkward. The tech looked around in there for a few minutes and I decided it was a great time to share with her that I named my cyst ‘Carl’. Apparently, Carl was the name of her husband. OFCOURSE IT IS. What did I tell you - I have a knack for making awkward situations even worse. I mean how much more akward does it get than having a conversation with a woman that has a wand up your vagina and is playing a game of hide and seek with your left ovary and then telling her that this thing that has been causing you issues is named the same thing as her loving husband!? I should not be allowed in public.
Then, a knock on the door and the doctor entered the room. “I was watching the imaging come through and thought I better view this one from the room”
fuuuuuuuuuu….
“words words words…cyst has blood flow….words words words… you’re young so its unlikely… words words words….ovarian cancer…”
By this point, the tech had realized that not being able to see my ovary through my stomach had nothing to do with me not following directions and everything to do with Carl being so large that it was blocking everything. Carl my cyst, not her husband. I mean, her husband might be large enough to block things too but I’ve never met him. I’m sure he’s perfectly lovely and doesn’t make anyone’s life more difficult.
…to be continued
