My mother and I were both misdiagnosed. I lived. She died

In 2009, what began as a swollen ankle ended with a terminal cancer diagnosis. Driving home from Florida, I could barely walk when I pulled off I-95. A Virginia ER dismissed me as constipated. But back in New Jersey, CT scans revealed a 28-centimeter uterine mass and multiple lung metastases. A lung biopsy confirmed stage IV uterine leiomyosarcoma.

My sister Kim flew in from Houston. Before I was discharged, a doctor warned, “you have two weeks to get this removed, or it’s going to your kidneys next.” Kim said, “You’re coming with me to MD Anderson,” a cancer treatment center in Houston. That night we shipped my pathology and CTs ahead of my appointment.

Not long after, I was at MD Anderson Cancer Center with my mother, sister, and stepfather. We spent nearly four hours in the reception