W period T period F period??!!!

The last thing you think of as a “fairly” newly wed gladiator of a husband (I’m actually pretty non-gladiator like) is that your mortality is literally starring you in the face.

I might die…   It’s a terrible feeling.

This is the story of how I found out I had cancer and how God and I kicked its butt.

Let’s be clear…

Cancer sucks.

And if you are keeping score, so do/does chemotherapy, needles, Gorshon ports, surgery, port revisions, blood markers, and the smell of an infusion office.  (That office smelled so very terrible to me.)

I hated it.  All of it.

My Story

Not Safe for Small Children’s eyes/ears.  You’ve been warned.

I thought I was experiencing some hemorrhoid issues so I went to see my family physician.  After a quick look where no man wants to be looked at in a clinical way, I was off to see a Gastrologist.  (These fellas have it so bad.  They look up the business end of bottoms for a living.  I couldn’t imagine this being the first choice in med-school).  He was a dry humor kind of Dr. You know the type, tells awkward jokes, laughs at them under his breath to himself, then waits, anticipating you to realize how his comedic timing is spot on…. Yeah, you know the type.

Anyway, I digress.  So after another quick review of my bottom, he informs me that he wants to do a colonoscopy since there was no hemmoroidal presence.  My Pop recently went through the same procedure with the same Dr.’s office.  They were familiar with our family history, and thus wanted to rule out anything further up the poop track.

Sidebar – If you haven’t had a colonoscopy, you are in for a treat.  And by treat, I mean by participating in a lava style bowel movement that lasts 5-6 hours (sorry to be so gross).  It’s a two-step process, and the actual procedure isn’t so bad.   In most cases, you’re so out of it with local anesthesia you can barely remember a thing.  Don’t let ANY physician trick you.  The prep IS the WORST part of this, EVER.  You drink 1 of 3 kinds of solutions designed to make you evacuate every single particle of residual non-digested food you’ve ever ate, over a 5-6 hour period.  It’s not so fun but there are a few items to help you along (by all means listen to your Dr.’s instructions).   You basically have to completely clear out your colon.  They have you drink a solution every 15 mins, then after about 2 or 3 doses it causes loose bowel movements, which then continue every 10-15 mins until you are clean as a whistle, sometimes into the wee hours of the night.  The following helped me out over the 5 colonoscopies I’ve had.  You might say I’m a veteran at these now.

1. Buy soft toilet tissue.  Spend extra for the lotion kind.  You’re welcome ahead of time.
2. Use Vaseline or similar cream after each bowel movement.  Baby bottom/rash lotion works good too.  After you poo so much, and wipe, your little bottom is going to be a bit sore without it.
3. DO NOT, and I repeat DO NOT eat any real solid foods 48 hours out from the bowel prep.   Trust me.  It’s easier to clear your bowels when all you’ve had for 48 hours is chicken broth, liquids and the like.   It’s only 48 hours. You can do it.  Suffer through it.
4. Refrigerate your solution (aka “go-juice” as I like to call it) overnight.  It’s just better when it’s ice-cold.  I’m not sure why, but it helped me get the stuff down since it tastes like really bad watered down juice minus the coloring.
5. Get reading material for the time in between taking the go-juice.  You won’t want to be too far from the toilet,  so make good use of the time and get some reading in.
6. Most importantly, and this is KEY…  schedule this eventful day away from any sort of responsibilities.  No work, Kids, Sex, Drugs, Rock-N-Roll, GTA or COD Marathons, etc.  You WILL be pooing your self to sleep, so don’t waste precious time working on anything important, other than getting through it.

Now back to my story…  After my colonoscopy, the physician said they found a polyp and biopsied it.  It wasn’t like a normal colon polyp (which tend to have a stock, and they can ensnare it with a tool and clip it out).  This one was flat, and different.  A few days later I got a call from the Dr.’s office asking me to come back to the office to review the results.  I’ve been through enough tests in my life to know when they ask you to come back, there’s a reason.  But this time, I was just not in for what they had to tell me.  I figured he wanted to review the results of the colonoscopy.  I was not prepared…

The Reveal

There I was, in the chair… facing toward the Dr.   As his lips mouthed the words “I’m sorry, you have cancer”, it seemed like the room when silent.  Everything was in slow motion.  I turned to my wife.  She too was mouthing words. “Are you ok?” I could make out, but not the rest.  Then just as suddenly as everything went silent, ZIP!, back to normal and the ambient office noise was deafening in my ears.  I asked the Dr., who by this point had glossed over those 5 words like it was routine, to back up and repeat himself.

I heard it correctly.

I have cancer.  Stage 2 Colorectal Carcinoma.

Now what?

Surgery & Infusion

I’ve always been told how positive I am.  It’s true.  I do tend to look at things half full vs. half empty.  This was no exception.  Our plan was to resection my sigmoid colon (that’s the last part of the intestines, leading up to the outside world, for all of you lazy types that won’t Google it), then do chemotherapy.   I had a 80-90% chance of beating it.  I meet with a surgeon who took a special liking to me since we attended the same undergrad college.  I spent 4 hours with him that first day, just he, my wife and I, in his office.  I vaguely remember him cancelling appointments that day.  We talked strategy, outcomes, challenges, etc.  He really set my mind at ease that the treatment plan was a solid one.

Surgery was typical.  10 days in a hospital bed.  I ended up with a nasty incision down the front of my belly, which I now wear as a badge of honor.  For the first few weeks after surgery, it looked like I ran stomach first into a chainsaw, and the chainsaw won.  Staples, scars, wound dressings.  Right out of a horror flick.

It wasn’t pretty.  There goes my chance at a D’Angelo video shoot…

Infusion was a bit more tedious.  I have small veins, so conventional IV’s wouldn’t do the trick.  I ended up with a half-dollar sized medical port in my upper left pectoral area.  It’s another scar I wear proudly.   Infusion was a crazy experience.  Most of us patients were at different points of our journey.  Some were MUCH sicker than I was.  Being the positive, jolly, cherubic fellow that I am, I made friends quickly.  I told jokes, made fun of the crappy TV’s we had to watch, and genuinely got to know the others that received infusion on the same day I did.

We were kindred spirits, I guess.

All in all, I had 12 inches resected from my sigmoid.  I did chemotherapy every week for 7 months.  I kept my job during the entire time (and I thank God for allowing my employer to give me Friday’s off each week).  I was one of the blessed ones.  To my knowledge, 4 of the 7 of us in the infusion center passed away eventually.

Those are terrible odds.

So how did I luck out?  Well for someone who a) doesn’t believe in luck (I know that luck is situational and one can [will] themselves into better situations and b) is faithful to the knowledge of a higher power, the only reason I was so blessed was because of the prayerful people in my life, and a wonderful God who answered those prayers by way of early symptoms, great screening procedures, tentative physicians, awesome infusion nurses, wonderful souls on their own cancer journey, a dedicate wife, and my mental attitude toward not being victimized by the decease.  (not necessarily in that particular order).

I had my moments though.  I got sick for 3 days after each treatment.  Then just as things started to feel normal again, back to the infusion center for another dose.  Let me tell you, when you are that sick from chemotherapy, dignity isn’t really an option.  I’ve literally vomited in the median of a major street in my town, during rush hour, horns a-blaring.  I had nowhere else to go and sometimes that urge just hits you and it’s on its way to your throat before you can react (sorry for being so graphic, really).

I cried sometimes too.  Not necessarily for me all the time (although I did).  I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me.  Some folks were WAY worst off than I was.

I was sad for my wife.  What must she be going through?  I have cancer, but WE are sick.   WE are going through this.  WE are dealing with some pretty undesirable outcomes.  WE are a team.  You can’t have a one-person team.

In the end, cancer sucks.  Being sick with cancer sucks even more so.  But… God is great.   He’s got a better plan, and I must not be finished here on this side.  Not just yet.

After 7 months of chemo, and follow up colonoscopies, I finally made it to the 5 year, post diagnosis, post treatment, milestone.  This is when reoccurrence is deemed to be lowest.  Today I can say I learned from the experience, the pain, and the feeling of accomplishment during the process.  It changed my life, as I assume it would for most having gone through such an ordeal.

I’m thankful to God for the safety, and to my wife for her strength.  I wouldn’t have made it without them.