A Pain in My Ass!
Adventures in colorectal cancer
26 June 2019
I have cancer in 2 places in my colon and also in lower lining of my abdomen. Specifically, I have 2 lesions in the upper colon where the large intestine meets the smaller intestine. This is called the secal valve. I also have a growth in my rectum area. The name of the abdomen lining is the peroniteal lining or omentum. Both anatomical terms have come up in the various reports. Just this past week on June 19th, I’ve begun chemotherapy. On June 6, 2019, they did a colonoscopy. On May 28th, they drained 5 liters of dark amber fluid (11 pounds) from my belly. The condition of fluid in the belly is called “Ascites”, and it’s usually associated with severe or nearly terminal liver disease. You can imagine my relief when on June 7th, I have my first meeting with my cancer doctor, an Oncologist. He tells me the fluid collection is not from my liver shutting down, it’s just from the abdomen cancer. That’s a relief. On May 8th, the ER doctors agreed on 2 things: 1) I needed to see a Gastroenterologist because I have a lot going on, and 2) I have hemorrhoids. I went to the ER because for the few days prior, I had poop that was laced with a bright red mucus. While they might have been from hemorrhoids, I learned a month later on the colonoscopy it was cancer…and maybe hemorrhoids on top, caused because the strain in ordinary fecal matters.
May was a stressful time for my family. Every scan and blood test caused my primary nurse more alarm, posed more questions than answers, and nearly every medical personnel wanted to just defer me to someone more specialized than themselves. I’d like to insert a joke here because I haven’t been able to make very many about this in the past month and half. The situation is funny because it’s not. It’s funny because it’s terrifying. It’s funny because I want to shut out everything except the most immediate updates from the most informed doctors and nurses, yet I can’t. I want to shut out everything and read my comfort literature. It’s funny because I’m 37 and have been remarkably healthy my entire adult life. It’s funny because everything I thought I knew about my resilient immune system has gone out the window. The distinctly unfunny nature of this illness is expressed in the title of this blog, “A pain in My Ass”, which weeks ago I cringed when I thought of it because it’s physically extremely uncomfortable and a bad joke. I dislike puns and bad jokes, but this experience warrants the title because it’s so appropriate.
I remember a Saturday Night Live skit from the early 90’s where the talk show was “Fecal Matters” with the host, “John Fecal”. The host naturally kept asking the guest about his stool and he was getting increasingly disgusted and outraged. He finally calls out the host who happily reminds him that’s the name of the program. The guest responds, that he thought it was called “Fecal Matters” because the host’s name was Fecal, not because it was the only topic of the show. I also mention this story because I’ve always found my own waste products disgusting and rarely looked at them even for medical reasons. The smell alone made me nauseous. However lately…I’ve developed a grim interest in it because it’s the most obvious and readily available source from my body to evaluate my developing situation. How it used to be months ago, how it’s been this spring, and how it’s changed over this past month, how it changes when I’m preparing for the Colonoscopy or on Chemotherapy. Feces tell no lies. I’ve also lost something of a filter on the issue because when speaking with medical personnel who want to know what’s going on, I have to tell them. To the caring friend or family member, I tell them. To my extremely patient and concerned wife, I tell her.
I’d like to end this first blog post with an admission. I don’t want to write this blog, I need to. I’ve tried to shut out everything except my illness, rest, and my books, but my family and friends won’t let me. Friends have reached out and demanded I tell them what’s going on. Urged me to find time to visit because they know I need it. People that are distant or close alike have offered their support, showed their concern. When my sister reminded me to count my blessings, I didn’t think about how my health could be worse, how my illness was finally being diagnosed correctly. I thought about who has reached out and helped keep my family together. Who has provided support or sound medical advice. Who has been there and continues to be here. Who is with us now.
Something Clever or Pretentious 