That's Absurd.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

What existential roller coaster am I on? Before you continue reading, ask yourself, am I ready for this ride? I’m still not if we’re being honest. But unlike you, I can’t get off this stupid cancer roller coaster.

A while ago I quit my first oncologist. He was a good guy, in some ways, but over time it became clear that he wasn’t the one for me. I switched my care over to a lovely woman in Westlake. Everything was going great; I mean, not everything, what with the new cancer in the liver, but as far as my feelings toward my doctor, things were alright. Then one day, (maybe early May, can’t be sure, what is time anyway), she called me. “I have bad news,” she says. Um, hi, Doc, ARE YOU SERIOUS? I sit down. She continues, “I’m moving to Jackson Hole. I wanted to tell you before you got the news in the mail.” What. The Actual F. When I asked her why, her response was, “I want a simpler life.”

Heard, Doctor. Same, actually.

My doctor skipping town is super annoying. My doctor skipping out to live in Jackson Hole, WY? No. No way. That’s absurd. Take a trip, lady. Buy a vacation house. Do whatever you have to do to find some calm. But…Wyoming? No. That’s dumb.

Dr. Wyoming’s move to Wyoming cut me deep. I lived in Wyoming for a brief stint right after college. You’ve likely heard the story. It sure was beautiful. No doubt about it. Wyoming is a postcard. I lived on a ranch in a room with a view of the Grand Tetons. Gorgeous. Living in Wyoming is hard though. There is a reason the population of Wyoming is as low as it is. Like for instance, 10 months of winter. Also for instance, being othered. Frankly, I could write words and words on my feelings about Wyoming, but I won’t. It doesn’t matter. Dr. Simplelife moving sucked because I liked her and because it meant that the hunt for a new oncologist was on. Again.

The last thing I wanted to do was shop for a doctor. Building new relationships is hard whether you’re trying to find a new friend or a new doctor. I was given a ton of names from friends, family members and Dr. Home on the Range herself. I whittled the list down to 2 candidates. Met with them. Formed opinions. Made decisions. Felt great about those decisions. Felt confident.

“We don’t have room in our schedule,” said the scheduling person of the new office I had planned to be seen in. Wait what. Is this a joke? I need my chemo, I need a new doctor, my doctor went poof, so you can’t not have room on your schedule, that’s absurd. “Sorry. You can get your infusion at any UCLA infusion center. What about the other doctor you met with? Or your last center?” Um, yes, cool suggestions, I can make some calls… but also, I’d like to be clear, who is my doctor??

Usually my doctor comes to visit me during infusions. Checks in, tells me things, asks me things. You know, provides care. With the disappearance of Dr. Wintersportsfreak, I had no one calling the shots. No one checking in on me. No one to call if I got in the weeds. Except of course for the doctor I did not choose. Who I just met. Once. Briefly. Ok, I can do this. These are great physicians. I’m going to be in good hands no matter what.

(You’ve gotten this far in and we haven’t even gotten to the juicy part. Mazels to you! Keep going. It’s a ride.)

So, chemo day arrives. I trek to Santa Monica with my trusty Aunt by my side. We park, we walk in, we get settled. My nurse introduces herself, she is lovely, I am feeling at ease with this situation, hallelujah, let’s fight cancer. My blood is drawn and I pee in a cup, standard practice. I sit back down, relaxed under the warmth of a heated blanket, and wait for my premeds. And wait. And I keep waiting and then the doctor who I did not choose is walking around and I hear her say my name to find where I am, and I’m like, hmmph, something is fishy here, we haven’t even done the premeds or anything yet, but whatever, new place new patterns, maybe she likes to check in before the meds go in. Nothing could have prepared me for the next 4 days of my life. She comes to my cubicle and without even a real greeting she says,

“Hi. Ok, so. You’re pregnant.”

Doctor. Come on. That’s absurd. I am not IN ANY WAY PREGNANT. Not only do I not feel a bit pregnant, but I am laughing THIS HARD because I am decidedly not pregnant bc I am fully tuned in to the fact that in order to be pregnant you have to have sex. Sorry fam, cancer ladies don’t be getting down all that much.

“You tested positive on three pregnancy tests”

Bullshit I did. Your tests are old or broken or something, I do not know, but I am not pregnant, this I promise you. Do it again. I want to watch.

“I can’t give you chemo if you’re pregnant.”

I’m not pregnant. This is absurd.

At this point I’ve texted my husband. I’m laughing at the impossibility of this ridiculousness and he texts me, babe, remember that night at the end of May? No. I don’t. I mean yes. I mean. Shit. I mean. No way. This is fucking crazy. IS THIS REAL LIFE?

I have pretty mega cancer, yo. I’m on mega cancer drugs. I’ve been in medical menopause for a long ass time. I also have mega endometriosis. I’m 40. And, to further the impossibility of this situation, my other doctors have been very clear on my need to avoid pregnancy at all costs. We did all the things. I can not be pregnant. This doesn’t track even if it turns out cancer ladies do be getting down down down down down.

I tell my new doctor who I didn’t choose about this change in facts. At this point, she must think I am a grade A lunatic. I take and fail 2 more pee tests. I continue to call bullshit. I call so much bullshit that after failing 5 pee tests I insist on a blood test to confirm what I know to be right. That I am of course not actually pregnant. I say to my nurse, “This is more unlikely than Miranda and Steve.” “Huh?” she says. OMG. Guys, this is ABSURD.

My nurse (who I am now sure thinks I am totally insane) says to me, “ok, we’re gonna run your blood over to the hospital lab. It’s gonna take a few hours. You can go home or whatever. Hopefully you’re right and you can come back this afternoon and we’ll give you the chemo.” I give her all the pertinent phone numbers to call me at so that she can let me know the minute she sees the results. My aunt and I, exhausted, bewildered and shocked, leave and head to the mall, obviously.

After what seems like hours walking the mall, we sit down for lunch. There’s not much to say, except repeating over and over, “There’s no way. This just can not be happening. It’s basically impossible” My husband is planning on meeting us for lunch, but he’s delayed, of course. Or server fills our waters and mostly ignores us. I check MyChart where the test results would be if they were ready. Test results are never ready on the first look. Never. Of course, this time, there they were.

Impossible. How could my blood test say that I am pregnant? I am most certainly not pregnant. Doctors are dumb. Science is dumb. I don’t know what the hell these tests are indicating, but I know for a fact that I am not pregnant with a human baby.

Am I in the most denial of all time? Is this how there is content for that show I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant? Am I one of these people who I don’t believe exist? HOW PREGNANT AM I? What if I’m way more pregnant than the facts would indicate I am? What if I’m like, about to have a baby? A baby that’s been taking chemo baths.

Alright. This is very serious. I can’t have a baby. No matter how absurd or hopeful or funny or profoundly miraculous these positive pregnancy tests are, I can not have a baby. I need all of my energy to go toward fighting this stupid fucking cancer. And even if I had the energy for a pregnancy, and even if I was only 3-4 weeks pregnant, according to the math and the calendar, Dr. Wyoming had already dosed my body, uterus and all, with chemo. And though infusion center protocol is to do a pregnancy test before administering meds, someone didn’t follow said protocol last time. So, no matter what was or was not growing in my body, the thing that had to happen now was figuring out how quickly I could stop it. That’s heavy. That’s so so heavy. Never would I ever in a million years think that I’d be facing an abortion head on at this point in my life. But that’s exactly what was happening.

It was a Friday afternoon pre holiday weekend when after going back to the doctor’s office and discussing the situation with my new doctor it became clear to everyone in the room that I needed to make an abortion appointment, STAT. I need chemo and generally chemo and pregnancy don’t go together. After leaving a bunch of bizarre messages and working with the system from multiple angles, I had an appointment for Monday. After that appointment, I would be able to schedule chemo. I was super thrilled to “be pregnant” for the weekend, not, but we made it through.

On Monday I took it easy and then met some friends for lunch and support. I don’t know what I would have done without my friends making jokes and getting me through this most absurd turn of events. When our lunch was over my kid went with his aunties for a swim, and my husband took me to get an abortion.

At the clinic things went smoothly. The care providers were 10/10 great at what they do. When the appointment was set up, the team realized that since I’m not really supposed to be able to get pregnant that an ultrasound would need to be done. No opting out of this particular brand of torture since we had to determine getational age and thus what kind of abortion I would need. We had to be thorough OR ELSE. I can not think of anything a not-wanting-to-be-pregnant person would want to do less than a transvaginal ultrasound. And yet, here we were! After vitals were checked the fellow came in. Her first words, “ya, I don’t think you’re pregnant. We need to see what’s happening in there, but I’m looking at numbers that should be in the thousands and yours is 18.”

Did you catch that? Are you still here? 18. Like I’ve been saying, I’m not pregnant.

My abortion provider didn’t think I was pregnant either! I felt so validated. I told her “the facts” and that I felt it would be more likely that we see a potato on ultrasound than a teeny tiny new cell cluster. As she set up to do the ultrasound, I peed in a cup again. As she began the ultrasound my pee test results came back. Pregnant.

I failed 6 pee tests and 1 blood test. The scientific community would say with certainty that I was definitely pregnant. We had one last thing to do now, see what the hell was living inside my uterus. Are you ready? Brace yourself.

Upon ultrasound, we saw…nothing. Not a thing. The fellow and the attending were wriggling the wand to try to find something, anything, but did they? No!! Of course I’m not pregnant I tell the room. That would be absurd.

I still had to take the pills to induce an abortion. Even though there was nothing living inside me, all precautions had to be taken JUST IN CASE. As the appointment wrapped up and I was able to breathe a little easier, I asked my doctors, so then why do I keep testing pregnant? “These things are rare, but sometimes, they just happen.” The doctors will watch my blood draws until my pregnancy hormone is 0. And I will continue to not be pregnant.

I don’t take for granted that I had access to gentle, caring, thoughtful, smart abortion healthcare providers and the medicine that they prescribed me. I don’t take it lightly that this isn’t true for all women. It absolutely should be.

“Human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights.” - HRC