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.”