Huh. Where to begin? About three months ago I was diagnosed with rectal cancer. Yes ass cancer. Typical right? I can’t even have a nice dignified cancer but nope ass cancer which for me if I survive means people will be asking about my bowel movements for the rest of my life and of course will also be super keen on rectal exams.
The craziness all started when I had my first CT Scan done. An abscess appeared in my pelvic floor giving me the brief hope that it was diverticulitis and not cancer. I was told to rush to the ER and be admitted. I followed the instructions and was soon being pumped full of antibiotics and having invasive tests done that might take therapy for PTSD one day to get over the memory of. So yes indeed it was cancer. Oh boy the dreaded C word. And not at a good stage at all. That’s what I get for procrastinating.
So onward to treatments and schedules and many phone calls and appointments being made. Next up was the dishy surgeon (yes I usually get crushes on doctors its just something I do, don’t judge) who showed me the port they were going to insert under my skin with a line leading to my central line. And then when they went to insert the port into my chest right under my skin I aspirated on the table. The first thing the cute surgeon asked me was what on earth did you eat. Oh well you guys told me to drink Gatorade I just happened to choose red. This episode landed me in the hospital for a few days the aspiration giving me an epic asthma attack.
And then when things were all calm and I was set to begin treatments the abscess reared its ugly head and I spent most of July in the hospital dealing with it. They (the clever doctors) inserted a drain through my butt cheek to drain the abscess away to a bag that was strapped to my leg like a very un-sexy garter belt. Gross. The nice staff kept asking about my appetite and I just wanted to reply what would your appetite be if every time you went to the bathroom you got to look at a bag of puss strapped to your leg?
What a crazy road its been. So crazy that my oncologist came into my room sat in the rocking chair and said do you think you have a problem with karma? I replied yes i think I was a viking in my past life and I really got into the raping and pillaging. He laughed. I tried the same joke on my surgeon and he didn’t laugh. I don’t think surgeons have much senses of humor. What a pity.
So now I am back at home safe and sound with my dogs and cats and the crazy person New York State says is my husband. My sixth round of chemo is in the bag and I still seem to be tolerating it pretty well although more and more side effects are appearing none of which are amusing, mouth sores, acne like rash on my face, neuropathy meaning pins and needles in my hands and feet especially when exposed to cold. So no swimming for me this summer. And of course my stomach goes nuts 2 days after treatments ends but I am starting to get my hands around that and expect it to happen instead of being surprised.
You always wonder how you will react to news like this. My first thought of course was who was going to take care of my dogs and cats but then I realized I probably wasn’t going to die in the next day or two. But you know what you just take it in stride and it suddenly cancer becomes the new normal. I am not saying I haven’t had my share of holy shit I going to die moments. I spent the first couple of days literally laying in bed staring at the ceiling and muttering holy shit over and over again. Falling asleep fitfully only to awaken to fact that I still have cancer. But I figure I probably wont die any time soon and shit I might even survive it and die of old age lonely and forgotten in a nursing home. And there has been good news recently my tumor marker came down quite a jump so that means the treatments are working. Which is such a relief now that I can honestly say. Wish me luck everyone all prayers from all denominations are welcome and well as copious knocks on wood.
3dogsbarking 