From Canyon To Cove: Some answers just lead to more questions

The first time I saw my oncologist, weeks after surgery, her face was grim. She thought I was stage 4 — the worst case.

This was because she thought she saw something on my ovary indicating the cancer had spread. It had not; I am 100% sure (and tests confirm) that I do not, at this time, have ovarian or any other kind of cancerous tumor. I've been scanned and probed for tumors virtually from head to toe.

As my oncologist explained it, that's why they are attacking the cancer at the cellular level, "mopping up" with an overall preemptive strike, like fire retardant dropped from an airplane after a wildfire. My body is a forest; embers of cancer cells might be lurking and every effort must be made to wipe them out before they spring back to life. It's a good analogy and a strategy that makes sense to me.

But there is that question: What kind of cancer was it that my surgeon so expertly and thoroughly removed? And if it wasn't pancreatic cancer, which is my hope, then how do I know it's gone? Where is the test for that?

"We'll keep testing you for three years," my oncologist said. (I thought the standard time period to declare a patient cancer-free was five years, but in my case, apparently three will do. Why?)

It was news to me that everyone has cancer cells in them — that we all, in essence, have cancer. But in most people, these cells — which are dangerous because they can proliferate out of control and cause growths that become tumors and invade organs — are kept in line.

Why the cells sometimes go haywire and decide to make the body their playground is the reason so much money is being spent on cancer research. No one really knows. Environmental factors, heredity, diet and stress all no doubt play a role.

There are still so many questions.

CINDY FRAZIER is city editor of the Coastline Pilot. She can be contacted at (949) 302-1469 or cindy.frazier@latimes.com.