www.sundayterritorian.com.au Sunday, June 9, 2013. Sunday Territorian. 29

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NTNE-WS-DA-TE:9-JUGE:29 CO-LO-R: C-M Y-K

sundayterritorian.com.au SUNDAY LIFESTYLE

to my Arabic ancestry,

stress and insecurity. But

after seeing my overgrown

happy trail (a thick line of

hair extending from my

bellybutton to my nether

regions), my gynaecologist

fi nally referred me to an

endocrinologist. A standard

blood test revealed hormone

levels that were off the

charts. My levels of DHEA

were staggering. (DHEA is a

natural hormone produced

by the adrenal gland that

metabolises cholesterol

to create androgens and

oestrogens; in chemical form,

it’s known as a performance-

boosting steroid used by

bodybuilders.) Average

DHEA levels for a 23-year-

old woman are between

65 and 380mcg. My count

was 3500. I was pumped

with more androgens than

Arnold Schwarzenegger.

UNDER THE

MICROSCOPE

The endocrinologist ordered

more tests and uncovered

a melon-size mass lodged

inside my 45kg frame. It was

attached to my right adrenal

gland, a hormone-producing

factory near the kidneys.

Thanks to the mysterious

mass, my adrenal gland

churned out male hormones

at an alarming rate,

destroying my femininity.

Fewer than 20 such tumours

had been documented in the

world. Mine was the second

largest. While I was honoured

to be world-renowned for

something, I’d have preferred

a title like “best breasts” or

“biggest bank account”.

The surgeon warned me:

“Because of the tumour’s

size, we may need to remove

portions of your liver and

kidney. And there’s a 50

per cent chance you have

cancer.” I didn’t react the

way they do in movies –

quiet disbelief followed

by horrifi ed wails. Instead,

I had a typical male reaction,

no doubt due to the deluge

of androgens circulating

in my bloodstream. I was

emotionally paralysed,

focusing instead on logistics.

How would I complete my

coursework? Who was going

to tell my family? Would

my insurance cover all the

medical costs?

Since I was being treated

in a teaching hospital, my

case served as a training

ground for a troop of medical

students. They pored over

every inch of my naked body,

closely inspecting what I’d

desperately tried to hide. This

was horrifying. I closed my

eyes and pretended I was

lying on a beach in Greece.

On the morning of the

surgery, I sat in the waiting

room dressed in an ill-fi tting

hospital gown and slippers.

Three hours later, I awoke

to 15 residents encircling

my hospital bed, captivated

by the girl who housed a

mass the size of a giant

ham in her stomach.

The surgery was simple.

My vital organs were

displaced but remained

intact. They stitched me

up and sent pieces of my

tumour to medical institutions

across the country for cancer

analysis. Then, a day after

I was released from the

hospital, the surgeon called

and asked me to come in to

review the results.

UNKNOWN FUTURE

I entered the examination

room with my sister, wanting

desperately to hear, “You’re

in the clear.” Instead, I heard,

“It’s malignant,” followed

by, “You’re 23 – you don’t

want to meet the man of

your dreams, fall in love and

wonder if it’s fair to marry

him knowing you may not

be around in three years.”

My sister and I exchanged

looks of terror, trying to

process the callous words

of someone who took

phenomenal care of me

physically but left me

emotionally devastated.

Two days later, the

surgeon called me again.

It turned out the tumour

wasn’t malignant. It was

“indeterminate”. Pathologists

use several criteria to

determine whether a tumour

is malignant (cancerous)

or benign (OK). Mine was

benign on all counts, except

for size. In some cases, it

turns out size does matter.

But even with the ham-size

mass, I didn’t need additional

treatment – no chemo, no

radiation, not even hormone

therapy to jump-start my

menstrual cycle. The saga

was fi nally over.

FEMININITY RESTORED

In the months following

the surgery, I anxiously

awaited the return of my

period following its three-

year hiatus. I could feel my

confi dence levels rising, and

with the help of laser hair

removal, I began to embrace

my newly smooth legs and

thighs. I even found myself

fl irting from time to time.

Then, eight weeks after

the surgery, my period fi nally

arrived. I was so grateful for

what it meant: my body had

“righted” itself. That same

week, a guy I’d met in college

took me on a dream date.

I felt attractive, desired.

While I’ve been tumour- and

cancer-free for 15 years, I still

suffer from periodic hormonal

blips and their accompanying

effects on my psyche. Any

spike in the levels and my

brain goes into overdrive: “Is

it coming back? Is that black

hair on my belly?”

When I look in the mirror,

I’m comfortable with my

body. I see a petite woman

who’s fi nally comfortable in

her own skin. My femininity

has been restored.

In 2008, I met the man

of my dreams online. We

married in 2009 and had

twin boys in 2011. Despite

the doctor’s predictions for

my health, I know we’ll be

celebrating our fi ve-year

anniversary in June 2014.

I’m a medical mystery,

with a rare “oncocytic

adrenocortical neoplasm

of indeterminate potential” –

medical jargon for “You could

have cancer; we don’t know

yet.” In 2001, I developed an

autoimmune disease called

Hashimoto’s thyroiditis,

presumably as a result of the

hormonal havoc played on

my adrenal glands. But the

tumour has been erased from

my body, if not my memory.

24

3500

AT A GLANCE

20

THE MICROGRAM

LEVEL OF DHEA THAT

AMY HAD AT AGE 23.

THE AVERAGE FOR

A WOMAN OF THAT

AGE IS BETWEEN 65

AND 380MCG

THE NUMBER OF

KNOWN ONCOCYTIC

ADRENOCORTICAL

NEOPLASM TUMOURS

AT THE TIME AMY WAS

DIAGNOSED IN 2001

THE AGE AT WHICH AN

AVERAGE WOMAN’S

DHEA LEVELS PEAK

AND START TO DROP,

REACHING A PLATEAU

AT THE AGE OF 70

For more information,

call 8944 9999 or email

careers@ntnews.com.au