Normally, this is supposed to be funny. But 2024 was anything but funny for your Capitol M.

It started with an argument with my doctor over medication I’ve been taking for polycystic ovarian syndrome for the last 25 years. Previous doctors who have a lot of expertise in this area told me I’d always have PCOS, even after menopause. Not so, said the new doctor in the spring.

In order to end the fight and get the refill I sought, I agreed to an ultrasound, although I had no idea what the doctor was looking for.

As it turned out, it was a vaginal ultrasound, which every woman will tell you is not fun. The ultrasound found something amiss with the endometrial lining in my uterus. It was more than four times as thick as it should be for a woman of my age (60+ is all you’re getting on that one).

It was then off to a gynecologist for a biopsy, which confirmed something was amiss, and then to a gynecological oncologist who decided a D&C was necessary to get a really good look.

That was June 11. 

On June 17, the diagnosis came in: atypical hyperplasia and endometrial cancer, stage 1A, which is the designation doctors given to determine how far cancer has spread.  

My oncologist, Dr. Allison Staley, said she had an opening for surgery to perform a total hysterectomy on June 25. For you political types, that date has significance: it was primary day in Colorado and the second busiest day of my year. Nope, can’t do that.

“I have an opening on June 25,” Dr. Staley said again. “Can we wait until August? I have things to do!” said I.

“I have an opening on June 25,” she sternly replied. That was that. 

After informing my colleagues at Colorado Politics – I suspect my editor said “your health is more important” through gritted teeth – it was off to Swedish Hospital for the very first overnight stay I’d had in a hospital since 1981.

The surgery was easy, relatively quick and more painless than I would expect, and I was home within 24 hours to begin two months of recuperation.

I have to give a big shout-out to just about everyone I know, from my colleagues at CoPo and the Gazettes, politicians, lobbyists, friends and family and the love of my life, Jeff, who took care of me for those two months. All of your support, well wishes and prayers were very much appreciated. Another shout-out goes to Clarity Media for great health insurance that covered  $250,000 in medical bills with very little of that on me, and to the state’s FAMLI program, a state program that works exactly as intended and which kept my bank account from dipping into the red for those two months.

The biopsy of the samples, which came back about 10 days later, confirmed the cancer had not spread, was confined to the endometrial lining with a few cells that attached themselves to one of my ovaries. Grade 1, stage 1A.

We spent a few weeks going over what would happen next. Chemotherapy wasn’t necessary, and after a couple of weeks radiation therapy, which could have been necessary to to deal with those pesky cells near where my left ovary used to be, also was rejected.

One day in late July, I was watching the last episode from the 2010 season of “Law & Order”. The lieutenant of the squad, Anita Van Buren, had been diagnosed with cervical cancer and went through chemotherapy. At the end of the episode, she gets a call from her oncologist. She says nothing, but mouthed “thank God!”

I knew what she heard. She had beaten it.

Watching that was like a thunderbolt, and I just sobbed. I wanted that call more than anything

On Aug. 2, I got the news I had been waiting for: “you’re a cancer survivor. See you in six months!” and I’m now on the five-year plan, which means working to get to five years cancer-free.

My journal from that day showed how much it meant to me.

“I HAVE MY LIFE BACK!!!!!! Jeff and I both cried. What a weight has been lifted off of both of us! I go back to work on August 20, and the CoPo folks could not be happier.”

The point of writing this is what concerns me the most about this form of cancer. It’s hidden. It doesn’t show up on a pap smear or any normal gynecological exam a woman has. The National Cancer Institute says it simply: “There is no standard or routine screening test for endometrial cancer.”

Endometrial cancer is most common for postmenopausal women in their 60s, so I was right in the zone on this one.

What scared me was that I never had any symptoms. Abnormal bleeding seems to be the most common, and by the time that shows up it’s likely to have progressed past the early, and most treatable, stages and grades. Other symptoms include painful urination, vaginal discharge, unexplained weight loss or an enlarged uterus, according to the Cleveland Clinic and the Siteman Cancer Center. 

I did have risk factors, the chief one being a 50-year history of polycystic ovarian syndrome, plus being overweight, and according to the National Cancer Institute, White.

The entire journey lasted four months, from the day of the ultrasound to the day I was declared a survivor. 

I’m writing this more out of frustration than anything else. There’s lots of standard tests for dealing with all kinds of cancer but endometrial cancer is an orphan. My plea to the medical world: please find a simple way to test for this.

There has to be a better way. 

Here’s hoping, and to everyone fighting cancer: I wish for a better 2025 for you.