Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...My Kinky Colon

Ah, the joys of colon cancer...will they never end?? Eating is suppose to be painless, except when your bowels get a kink in them. Then it becomes a royal pain in the ass.

For weeks eating had slowly become a major ordeal. A simple peanut butter sandwich had me doubled over in agony. I'm looking like I'm six months pregnant and my onc. doesn't seem to know why. Or maybe he just doesn't want me to know. I had become frantic, knowing something was wrong. I show my belly to some nurses I work with; one newly minted LPN took one look at my belly and said 'you have a hernia, you're going to need surgery to fix it.' Sure enough, I research hernias on the net and also researched medical language from my PET scan, and sure enough; I have a hernia. It was in black and white on my PET results...why couldn't my onc. figure it out?? Why did I have to find out myself??

On November 11th I am in serious pain all day that got worse as the day went on. I call my friend Terri to see if one of her daughters could come take care of my dog in case I had to be hospitalized. I abruptly have to hang up on her and make a mad dash to the toilet to hurl. She freaks and calls my neighbor John (whom I stubbornly told her not to do, good thing she didn't listen). John comes over and Harley, my dog wasn't about to let him near me. He couldn't make a step towards me without my dog snarling viciously at him, and this is a dog who is scared of cats. It was agony getting myself ready to head to the hospital with a frantic dog trying to protect me, bless his heart. I decided to wear my 'Fuck Cancer' tee-shirt. If people didn't like it, they didn't have to look at me. I was feeling a bit ornery, I must say.

We finally make it to the hospital. I am in total misery. I could barely stand, let alone walk, but of course I had to wait my turn, there were others there before me. A nurse finally cause me back to take my information. Breathing was agony. I ask for something to vomit in and was given one of those pink bath basins. She leaves for a few minutes and I hurl and hurl and hurl pink vomit in the pink basin. I cannot believe the amount of stuff that came out of my poor stomach. She comes back, takes that one away, gives me another one, and sends me back out to the waiting room.

I'm curled up in the fetal position in the chair, leaning heavily on my friend. I was feeling sick to my stomach again and, not wanting to hurl in front of so many people, head to the bathroom. I migrated between the handicapped stall and a regular stall; moving was misery, but so was staying still. I crouched down in the stalls and hurled some more. And then some more. And then some more. A couple of times people came in to use the restroom and I crouch quietly in the corner, hoping not to be noticed and praying I wouldn't vomit when anyone was in there. I'm kinda shy when it comes to stuff like that; I don't like puking in front of people.

Eventually I went back out to the waiting room. I was no longer hurling but I was still in agony. Finally a nurse calls me back; I can't even remember what her purpose was, but thankfully she was merciful. I was continually told there were no beds available yet, so sorry. But I see an empty bed up against the wall and I point that out. She starts to say no, that bed isn't for patients, but one last look at me and she quickly changes her mind. I curl up in the bed and she covers me with warm blankets. I almost wept from gratitude.

Finally someone comes to draw blood. I remain curled up in a fetal position with my back to him and just gave him an arm without moving any other part of me. Shortly after that, I'm painfully put in a wheelchair to take me to a room that finally becomes available. My friend John joins me.

An IV is started and soon I am taken for x-rays. I am dying of thirst but they didn't want me to drink anything in case I needed surgery. So I asked my friend if he was thirsty, and the nurse, no dummy, got him some water and left the room, knowing full well I was going to drink some. I couldn't quench my thirst.

My friend and I are thinking I'm going to be given a prescription for some pain pills and sent home. Silly us. A doctor finally comes in and tells me I have a partial bowel obstruction.

I said, fine, when can I go home?'

'You're not,' he informs me, 'you meet criteria to be admitted to the hospital.' Great. Not another hospital stay. Not again.

So I sent my friend home with my house key to give to my next door neighbor. Harley knows them well and trusts them.

For the next four days I was juiced up on dalaudin and denied any food but ice chips. My surgeon does not want to operate because my immune system was in the tank thanks to chemo, so he wanted to wait to see if the kink would work itself out.

'Yep, you got a hernia,' he says after glancing at my belly.

No shit, I'm thinking. I figured that out for myself a few weeks ago. I'm feeling a bit snarly.

He will not operate to fix it until four to six weeks after chemo. 'It's not life threatening, and hernias are not painful.' WTF?? MINE IS, I wanted to scream. He obviously has never had one. It's not pleasant feeling your intestines gush through the opening in your abdomen whenever you stand up, or sneeze, or blow your nose. Besides, according to MY research, pain IS a symptom of hernias! But I keep my mouth closed; it does no good to argue when you're not in charge and totally dependent on others, and they had control of the pain meds.

I lost count of the x-rays and chalky drinks and more x-rays I had that week; I'm really surprised I don't glow in the dark. Those chalky drinks did nothing to quell my appetite. I also accidentally yanked out my IV not once, but twice. Ouch.

By the third day and two roommates later, I'm so hungry and bitchy I could tear off someone's arm and eat it. My roommate was going to sneak me some American fries from her breakfast plate, but I was too afraid a nurse or doctor would come in just as I was swallowing a big mouthful, so I didn't. I know how my luck runs.

Finally, I got the news the obstruction had worked itself out and I could have some broth. I'm sure the nurses were happier than I was...every time one walked in the room I would pester them for something to eat. Ice chips have no flavor and did nothing to quell my appetite. They graciously said I was 'persistent' instead of the pain in the ass I knew I was, bless their hearts. I cannot complain of the care I received.

Finally, On Saturday, November 15th, my surgeon cuts me loose and I can go home with a 'scrip for some pain meds and instructions to see him in a week with the c.d of my PET scan. Yep, I got one. It's cool to look at. I also saw a color picture of the tumor wedged in the big chunk of colon that got yanked out when I went to see my surgeon the following week. Way cool. Yeah, I know I'm weird:)

Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...The Nature Of The Beast

I've been doing a lot of reading and thinking (dangerous I know) since I was diagnosed with cancer. I've come to the conclusion this so-called 'War on Cancer' is waaay off mark. This war has been going on for decades with no end in sight. All the fundraising and strong talk on beating cancer is not on the right track. Cancer is too smart, cunning, and versatile. Instead, how about dishing some of that money out to people who are going broke and losing their homes while trying to save their asses? Or put the money towards prevention and detection? But I doubt even that will put an end to cancer. Why is that?

Because cancer will never be beat until people stop doing things that invite it to take hold in the first place.

I think most people here have realized that and are doing something about it. Sadly there are way too many others who choose not to. Society complains that teenagers have an immortality complex, thinking they can do really stupid things with no adverse affects. Well, there are millions of adults with the same mentality. And we cannot force people to stop and change dangerous behaviors that bring on dangerous illnesses.

On the other hand, there are others who don't give a rat's ass about anybody or anything but making money regardless of the consequences on human health, animal welfare, and the environment. The are many people who eat right and take good care of themselves and still they get cancer. Why?

How about making cigarette companies and factory farms fork over some dough to help pay for all the illnesses and suffering their products are creating? How about putting a ban on giving farm animals antibiotics and growth hormones? It's no secret what this crap does to human health but still it remains perfectly legal. How about imposing massive fines on companies and corporations for polluting the water we drink with animal waste, pesticides, herbicides, GMOs, and a host of other known carcinogens? What will it take to put an end to this insidious atrocity?

It will take each and every individual to empower themselves and take responsibility for their choices and STOP BUYING THEIR CRAP! If people would take the money they spend at doctor's offices and prescription medications and spend it instead on wise food choices, it could be done. Easily. It takes big bucks to run factory farms. Cut off their funding (our dollars) and they will fall. They are in business because we keep them in business. We pay them to give us products that are making us sick and killing us off.

We can't depend on the government to do something about this. They are in the back pockets of the very ones who are dishing out poisons to their fellow human beings. And until people wake up and smell the veggies, this 'war' will never end, and never be won.

Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...My First Scan

A couple of months ago I had my last hamburger. It was big and juicy and I ate the whole thing, knowing I would be paying for my indulgence the next day. I just didn't know how high the price would be. I didn't know that I would apparently screw up my guts; it looks like something 'slipped' in my innards and I can't get them back where they are suppose to be. I push them back where they are suppose to be and they ooze back out. Creepy. I told my oncologist and he ordered a CT scan to be done October 10th. I drank liquid chalk for breakfast that morning and did not enjoy it. I didn't enjoy the needle either, but that wasn't too bad. I'm pretty fed up with needles. The needle that goes in my port looks like a nail instead of a needle.

I never received a phone call to say anything was wrong so I wasn't worried. I believe my onc was on vacation when the results came back in. He seems to take a lot of time off.

So I called about 2.5 weeks later to request a paper copy of the results for my records and was told there were 'areas of concern' on my liver and gallbladder and I needed a PET scan done. Not only was I shocked but I was furious. Why the hell didn't I get a phone call two weeks ago telling me this??? So what my onc is on vacation? There are other oncologists who fill in for him, for Christs' sake.

So on October 29th I go to the hospital bright and early in the morning. I'm a little antsy with the needle, of course, and the tech is trying to pin my arm down so he can shoot me up with radioactive stuff (I'm surprised I don't glow in the dark by now, seriously). I finally cooperate and was soon slid through the narrow tunnel. After it was done I asked if I could look at the pictures, knowing that if I saw white areas on my liver I was screwed. The tech guy did one better; he put the pictures on a disk! Great! I work with a lot of nurses, maybe one of them could help me decipher the results. Waiting two days for the oncologist to give me the results seemed like a long time to be sitting on pins and needles. Besides, they seem to be a bit slow to call me with the results of scans.

Sure enough, a tiny white speck showed up on my liver. I try not to panic; when I had my surgery a tiny piece of my liver was cut out for a biopsy that my surgeon was concerned about but thankfully was a false alarm and not cancerous, maybe that's what was showing up.

My oncologist said the same thing. The white speck needed to be watched closely and I would need an MRI in a couple of weeks. Not one to wait around passively, I called my surgeon's office while I was getting napalmed and had the nurse look at my chart and tell me exactly where the biopsy was taken from my liver. It turns out to be exactly where the white speck was. Whew! I'm not so worried anymore, but it still needs to be watched closely, just in case the cancer did manage to invade my liver, which would put me at stage IV. That would really, really, suck. That would put my five year survival at around 8%.

I now understand the agony people here speak of when they talk about scans and having to wait for a definitive answer.

Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...The Empty Nest

I've had seven out of twelve chemo treatments. But I went for five weeks without due to low platelets on day and insurance issues the next. My FMLA ran out and I'm switching over to COBRA, which will cost me close to $700.00 a month. How can anyone afford that when they are not able to work???

I was doing alright until August 16th. That's the day my 18 year old daughter up and moves to Kansas. To be with a boy she's been talking to since she's been in middle school. How could she leave at a time when I need her the most? Cancer may have knocked me flat on my back, but that made me curl up in the fetal position and pull a bunch of blankets over my head. Cancer and the empty nest do not go well together. But she has to live her own life her way. She was not put on this Earth to please me, she has her own destiny that is seperate from mine. I'm angry and hurt but I'm trying to understand. And now, for the first time in my life, I have absolutely no one to focus on and worry about but myself. What a strange feeling. That's what I've always done; for the first half of my life that's what I thought I had to do. I think that's part of the reason I'm in this health crisis. I totally neglected myself. I stopped paying attention to what was going on with myself and my health.

Thankfully we keep in regular contact with each other and she is planning on visiting the week before Thanksgiving. She has a job and an apartment with roommates. She has her first boyfriend. She makes her own dental and doctor appointments. She's doing pretty good and I'm proud of her. She is even planning on taking some college classes next year. Not bad for someone who barely graduated high school.

But I'm still so hurt I can barely stand it. I begged her to stay at least until I'm finished with chemo, but she grew so resentful and passive aggressive I finally told her to just go.

So another chapter in my life comes to an end and another begins. I'll be done with chemo around the first week in January, which is when this whole nightmare started in 2008.

I had five weeks off chemo and it felt sooo good. Now I'm back on it and I feel like crap. I'm still having a hard time with it mentally. So many people's cancer comes back usually more agressive than the first time. According to statistics I have about a 44%-64% chance of being alive in five years. What's up with that? How can those cancer cells survive being napalmed so much? Every other cell in my body is being obliterated, how can microtumors hang on so? Will I always wonder if I have any more ticking time bombs floating around in my body waiting for an opportunity to take hold somewhere? Will I ever again draw a breath free from cancer-anxiety? How does one move on with their life post-cancer? Right now I just feel so stuck.