Molly’s Story: Saved by Chocolate Cake and Pinot Noir

My name is Molly Stockdale and I live in Missoula, Montana.
In summer 2015, when I was 48 years old, I started having what I thought were signs of perimenopause: abdominal discomfort, lower back pain, and bloating. And I was peeing all the time. I was pretty sure I knew what my doctor would say—what she always said: “All of this will go away if you lose weight.”
As summer turned into fall, I started to have spotting after sex, and I thought there might be a problem with my IUD. I was eating smaller meals, and I got winded easily. On a camping trip with my sons, I could barely manage a trail that should not have been so challenging. But I was avoiding my regular gynecologist because I didn’t want to have one more conversation about being overweight.
Everything changed in October, when I went on a retreat to a beautiful resort on Flathead Lake. Most of the folks on the retreat were strangers to me, and the weekend was meant to be a bonding experience. There were learning sessions and outdoor experiences and fabulous meals.
Dinner one evening included generous pours of pinot noir and a decadent chocolate cake. It was so delicious that I ate more than was comfortable. An hour later, the pain in my abdomen was so intense, I started throwing up. One of the gals on the retreat was a nurse. She gave me something for nausea but thought I should see a doctor right away. One of the retreat leaders drove me to the closest emergency room (about an hour away).

The Diagnosis and Journey

The ER doctors did a physical exam and used an ultrasound to look at my abdomen. They saw lots of extra fluid, which concerned them enough that they ordered a CT. The scan showed a large mass on my left ovary. No one in the emergency room used the word cancer, but they shared the scans with my ob-gyn at home. She called in the morning and broke the news to me by phone: It could be cancer.
This began the great hospital tour of Montana. The emergency room was in Kalispell, my doc was in Missoula, but the only gynecological oncologists in the state were in Billings.
After preliminary blood work and exams in Missoula, my husband and I made the six-hour drive across the state for my surgery—a total abdominal hysterectomy, removing ovaries, tubes, uterus, omentum, and even my appendix. Pathology reports diagnosed mucinous ovarian cancer, stage IIA.
My tumor spilled during surgery, so the doctors recommended six rounds of carboplatin and paclitaxel. While the GYN oncologist’s offices were hours away, they worked closely with my medical oncologist in Missoula.

Maintaining a Sense of Humor

While I was bald from chemo, I often looked in the mirror and joked that I looked like Uncle Fester. So I asked some friends to help me take some photos. The resulting portraits of me as Fester, Dr. Evil, and Gru have become my calling cards as I share my story through OCRA’s Survivors Teaching Students and Advocate Leaders program.
I have also attended and volunteered with Camp Māk-A-Dream’s women’s oncology camps, where I made friends, some of whom are gone now. I continue to speak out for them and for all our teal sisters.
After seven years of surveillance, I was finally “fired” by my oncology team. This October (2025) I will celebrate my 10th “cancerversary.”