My doctor entered the exam room, holding the report. He took a deep breath and began, “This is the conversation we never want to have with our patients.” I sat in silence, waiting for what was to come, my mind reeling with the possibilities. “You have metastasized Ovarian Cancer, Stage IV,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. There is no gentle way to deliver such news, I thought, as the words seemed to take on a life on their own, dancing along the sterile walls. I could feel the panic rising, the sound of my racing heart marking the cadence of my fear. There was a long moment of silence between us. I swallowed hard, trying not to cry. “The prognosis?” I managed to ask. “Not good, I’m afraid.” He explained the odds, grim statistics of my remaining time. It struck me as odd that such data exists, the formula to which a life is measured and ultimately, reduced. What followed is a blur, a whirlwind of medical referrals and treatment plans, which sent me on an unexpected year-long journey, one which shifted my perception of this life in unimaginable ways, and in the process, taught me how to live. Ovacoming is the story of that journey.