I wrote that to be a “You’ve Got Mail” joke, but it probably reads darker than I mean it to, which means my joke probably doesn’t translate. Sacre bleu.

But alas, yep. I do got cancer.

C-Day

It’s still as weird today as it was on August 10th, the day I was diagnosed. Cancer happens to other people. Good people. People who are “strong enough to beat it” and have “such an incredible attitude.” Cancer is such a boogey-monster-demon-force that it’s almost inconceivable to hear that it’s right there inside of you, and has been for some time.

I found out during a sigmoidoscopy. A “flexible sigmoidoscopy” as it’s billed by insurance. I call it a baby colonoscopy – it requires less prep because it only looks at the last section of your colon, the sigmoid. The good news is, you don’t have to be under anesthesia for it. The bad news is, you don’t have to be under anesthesia for it.

I’d seen this particular GI doctor a few times for persistent issues with my digestive system. The main symptom I’d had was blood in my stool, but it’d been going on for several years without getting worse or causing pain or any other issues. By the time I scheduled the sigmoidoscopy, I’d had other symptoms such as narrow stools, very little stool volume and other random issues for about a year and a half. However, having been told “I’m not worried about cancer” by another GI doctor, I was indeed, not worried about cancer, and avoided the procedure because the issues were far from severe, not interrupting my life, and not causing me any pain.

During my sigmoidoscopy, I was awake and alert, and had a full frontal view of the TV screen where the camera was displayed. I saw everything in real time. The procedure, which had been sold to me by the doctor and the internet as “uncomfortable but not painful,” was extremely painful and I questioned what the hell these people considered painful if not this. Come to learn, the reason for the pain.

Soon after he stuck the camera in, we all saw the culprit. 10 centimeters up, there was a large mass which was taking up what looked like 2/3rds of my colon’s diameter. In the moment, he told me it was a polyp. I fully believed him, and felt both relief to understand why I’d been having all these problems, and lament over the fact that I’d surely have to have surgery to remove it.

Rookie Mistake

They wheeled me back out to Rowan, and I cried and told him how painful it was, but that I had a polyp and now knew what was wrong. Suddenly, the doctor came into my room to talk. I was a little surprised to see him so soon, but didn’t suspect a thing. He told me something along these lines:

“Ok Amanda, so we found a cancerous tumor in there…..something something, some other things. Your life is going to change now. This will be your priority.”

I was shocked to my core.

I think I said “what?” about 400 times. I couldn’t comprehend that he was actually telling me this news. If I hadn’t seen the damn thing with my own eyes, I would have assumed he had mistaken my butt with the patient before.

He explained that I’d need radiation therapy, then surgery. And that this was typically something they only see in older patients. And that he was 95% sure it was indeed cancer.

He was gentle and kind. I’ll forever be grateful for him for his compassion while delivering the news. The nurses were so kind and accommodating, and hugged me before I left.

The day following was full of reluctant phone calls, many tears, and a lot of expecting to wake up. I never did, and still haven’t. (But I still wouldn’t be surprised if I did. It’s completely surreal to this day.) Having to call everyone you love and bring them to tears in one day is heart wrenching and horrifying.

I saw the oncologist the following Monday. On Friday, diagnosis day, I’d gotten a call from the doctor letting me know the biopsies confirmed it was an adenocarcinoma. He also told me I’d have to do chemo. which made everything a lot more real. A lot more “cancer.” Meeting the oncologist was the first step, so I anxiously awaited our meeting and made a list of questions.

Answers

She let me know the basics: chemo, radiation and surgery would all be involved. I’d likely get a temporary ileostomy bag after surgery, and I should expect treatment to total about a year. The chemo won’t necessarily make my hair fall out, but it might thin. I was probably in stage 3. Common metastasis sites are liver and lungs, but could be almost anywhere including brain or bone. I could still drink wine during treatment, and the Beyonce concert didn’t need to be re-scheduled. (Thankfully, I wouldn’t have wanted Bey to inconvenience herself.)

This is a really common cancer, so the treatment plan is pretty solid. MD Anderson is a good idea to check into as a second opinion, but they don’t accept everyone, especially for common cancers like this, and if they do, the wait is long and you’ll have to redo all scans and tests and stay there for a week. See what they say but rest assured, this regimen works.

The next week was a daze. I had appointments every day – another oncologist closer to home who’d become my permanent one (the wonderful Dr. Jennifer Wright at Texas Oncology), the surgeon, my therapist, a reproductive endocrinologist and the most nerve-wracking, the CT scan. The scan would give us a good idea of whether it had spread. In my gut, I felt sure it must have. I’d had symptoms for years, I’d given it ample time to spread its wings and fly.

After the scan, I learned that via a miracle, it hadn’t spread to my liver or lungs. The lymph nodes surrounding the area did appear to be “activated” which is treated as “cancer until proven otherwise,” and made more clear the plan of action – read the next blog for treatment specifics.

Since then, I’ve been drudging through treatment, learning all about the delightful ins and outs of being a cancer patient, and doing my best to find little moments of normalcy along the way. And thanks to my people, retail therapy, and a lot of cookies, it hasn’t been all bad. I mean, cancer still sucks a whole lot, but I’m grateful for many many things in light of all of it.