I don’t know why I want to say brace yourself for what I’m about to say. Maybe it’s because I’ve remained mostly quiet about it to people I know. That, to me, it’s an embarrassing topic. But this is the topic I came up with when rattling my brain for writing prompts.
Picture it. Pittsburgh, March 2021. Still in the midst of Covid-19. I’ve spent the prior month – brace yourself – practically constipated. Spending each weekend trying different methods to go to the bathroom. Calling my gastroenterologist, complaining to no avail. Finally, at the end of the month, when I report I’m bleeding when trying to go, he relents and says “we’re doing a colonoscopy”. Fun times at 42.
Since the whole Covid protocol was in effect, my then-husband couldn’t be there in the hospital to wait so he went to work. Went through the procedure and after I came to, I had to go to the bathroom. Whilst in there, I hear the doc say “Well, where is she? How long will she be?” When I emerged and got back to my bed, he informed me – alone, and to anyone who has read my posts knows I have anxiety and can’t handle things on my own with a clear head – that he found a mass and it was likely malignant.
You would’ve been proud of me. I was made of steel right then and there. Still had tears in my eyes but remained as calm as I could. I was then informed that I would be set up with oncology and a colorectal doctor to handle everything. That there was delivered promptly. And I mean PROMPTLY. Appointments were made for me immediately.
To my surprise, after additional testing, I was told because the mass broke apart, it wasn’t cancer. Whew!
That was short lived. I got a call a week or so later saying it was cancer. Could be stage 1 or stage 3. They weren’t sure. How can you not be sure??? The imaging that was done showed enlarged glands but it was done after the mass was removed (forgot to include that part) which could’ve contributed to the enlargement. Even though the surgeon (the best ever) believed he removed everything, they were doing radiology and chemo pills to be on the safe side.
6 weeks of that. 8 minutes every weekday. By treatment day #13, you would’ve never known I couldn’t go to the bathroom. Yeah, that was the end of any drought I had. After six weeks, it felt great and a relief to ring the bell.
That’s not the end though. I’ve been getting checked every 3 to 6 months over the years. Bloodwork. CT scans. Pseudo-colonoscopies while awake. Colonoscopies while asleep. They said if it re-emerged, it would be in the first 5 years. Then they said the first 3. Not a damn thing. Thankfully. After genetic testing, it was said to have been a rogue gene for me to have gotten this. My current boyfriend blames the vaccine. But it was a 10 cm mass. No way it was that.
I guess because I’m on the eve of another check after another CT scan, it’s on my mind. This is a very shortened version of this whole debacle. And it’s not even my best writing, if there is such a thing. But there you have it. My secret. Rectal cancer in my 40s. My kids’ reactions were beautiful. My youngest said “are you going to die?” No, dear. My oldest? “Are you going to lose your hair?” Lol. No again.
Still here. Cancer free.
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