I Survived Ovarian Cancer 3 Times — and I Learned to Fight for Myself

As told to Jacquelyne Froeber

June is National Cancer Survivors Month.

“You look like you’re pregnant,” my roommate said.

We both laughed because we knew there was zero chance that I was pregnant. But my stomach was round, swollen and hard — and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t doing anything different or eating new foods. In fact, I’d been eating a lot less than usual — feeling full after just a few bites.

Maybe it was all the diet soda I’d been drinking?

Whatever it was, I couldn’t button my pants and I was having stomach pains, so I drove myself to the emergency room. The ER doctor ordered a CT scan. He was kind and sweet, and he nodded along with my soda theory. But when he returned with the results, there was no sugarcoating the news. “You have ovarian cancer,” he said.

I stared at him in disbelief. He said there was a tumor causing the swelling, and I needed surgery right away.

I was stunned. Granted, I didn’t know the symptoms of ovarian cancer, but how did I go from Diet Coke to cancer?

The next morning I had emergency surgery to remove the granulosa cell tumor (GCT) — a rare type of ovarian tumor. The surgery was a success, but I still needed chemotherapy. My plan was aggressive: I’d go five days a week for one week, one day a week the next week and repeat the cycle for three months.

The first day of chemo wasn’t too bad. I was mildly nauseated and tired. But from the second day on, nothing went my way. I kept getting infections that would send me to the ER on a weekly basis. I was exhausted and sick to my stomach all the time — even on the days I didn’t have treatment. I lost so much weight that the pants I couldn’t button before wouldn’t stay on with a belt.

When I ended up in the ICU with no white blood cells, my oncologist said we needed to stop treatment. “The chemo is killing you,” he said. I was terrified that stopping early meant the cancer was going to come back, but he was right. I had no choice.

Before I could get too bogged down by the what ifs, my test results came back and showed no evidence of disease. I was cancer-free. The weight and the chaos of the last three months were suddenly lifted, and I sobbed with relief.

2025, Jeanette with her dogs Zara and Lola

Over the next eight years, I continued getting checkups and everything was good. Then, in 2022, my bloodwork showed elevated levels of the cancer antigen 125 (CA-125), which is a marker for ovarian cancer, so I was concerned that my cancer was back.

I brought up the elevated numbers during my visit with my oncologist, and he brushed it off. He said the numbers weren’t too high, so he wasn’t worried. I asked him if I should get a CT scan just to be sure, but he said it wasn’t necessary. He did, however, want me to go to a dermatologist to check the small bumps that had formed on my legs. I didn’t think the barely noticeable bumps were as important as my elevated levels, but I did what he asked.

When I went to the dermatologist, a biopsy showed that the bumps weren’t cancer or anything to be concerned about, but the dermatologist did recommend follow-up testing. “I think there's something going on with your body,” he said. “You should get a CT scan.”

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I told him I’d already requested one from my oncologist, but he didn’t think it was necessary. The dermatologist called my oncologist, and he finally ordered the CT scan after the call.

When the imaging results came back and I saw the cluster of tumors, I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. I knew my numbers were elevated for a reason. I knew I needed a scan.

All at once it hit me: This is my body — my house — and I’m the one in charge of keeping it safe. I made a promise to myself to always listen to my body and never take no for an answer.

I had surgery to remove the tumors and, then, some more chemotherapy. I was incredibly nervous about getting chemo again, but my side effects were nowhere near as terrible as they were the first time.

Everything was good for a while, but three years later, my bloodwork once again showed elevated levels of CA-125. And like a bad cancer version of Groundhog Day, my new oncologist said she wasn’t concerned. “You’re not having any symptoms,” she said.

I stood my ground. “I don't care if I have symptoms or not. I want a CT scan.” She pushed back and wanted to check my levels again first, which I said was fine, but I was getting that CT scan.

Sure enough, the imaging showed I had 10 tumors on the lining of my stomach. The plan was to do surgery and possibly chemotherapy like before, but since this was my third time having cancer, and I wasn’t feeling 100% about my oncologist, I wanted to get a second opinion.

I’d seen an interview online with an oncologist that specializes in treating GCTs, so I emailed him.

To my surprise, he emailed me back within an hour. He said he would make the time to see me — I just had to get to San Diego. My excitement began to fade as I researched the cost. I didn’t have the money for an impromptu trip to California. But something told me not to give up. A few Google searches later, I learned I could apply to have my airfare, transportation, hotel — even some meals — covered by various nonprofits and organizations.

I ended up getting pretty much the entire trip covered. The generosity of others still brings tears to my eyes. When I met with the oncologist in San Diego, he looked over my health history and my treatment plan and told me I was on the right track. He wouldn’t do anything differently. I instantly felt lighter and more self-assured. Getting that second opinion gave me confidence and strength I didn’t even know I needed, and allowed me to trust my healthcare team. When I got back to Texas, I had the surgery and didn’t need chemotherapy, which was a nice surprise for once.

I know there’s a chance the cancer will come back again, so I stay up to date on my blood work and scans and I’ve made a vow to myself to always listen to what my body is telling me. Every day, I do everything I can to protect my house — and I couldn’t be happier.

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