Add that with a dose of approaching my 50’s the angst had me in a tizzy.
What I thought was my body changing with dreaded menopause, was actually hellacious cancer cells multiplying rapidly in a tumor in my colon.
It was a normal (hot and muggy) June morning in Florida. Trying to get my teenager up for summer school was challenging. But not so much as the stabbing pain in my lower stomach.
I had no time for pain. But something was wrong. I had always been so healthy. Fit. A yogi that never had a weight problem until that year. My abdomen was thickening, and I did not like it one bit. A long run after work that day was what I needed.
But then picking up my son and his buddy from the YMCA that afternoon, I knew that I could barely breathe from the pain, much alone put on sneakers and run.
The smell from the deli meats were making me nauseous and we had to make a quick exit. Something was wrong.
As a single Mom, in order to keep the house running, making sales at work was a must. The next morning, I did the unthinkable. I called in sick to work and made an appointment with my doctor.
That day in Mid-June of 2013 would be the start of many appointments and many doctors. After the 2nd week into the testing, the verdict came in. An ugly and rather large tumor in my descending colon. And yes, it was cancer.
Shock. Disbelief. Denial. Fear. All wrapped up in one quick phone call from the colonoscopy doctor.
This doesn’t happen in our family. What about all the salads I ate all my life? Doesn’t that count?
No amount of reasoning or justifying would make it go away. Surgery was planned immediately.
My lovely sister Karen who lives a few hours south was so gracious and told me she would take care of me. She had this and would be my advocate. I had always been such a independent and strong go getter, but this news had me a weepy hot mess.
The main thing in my head was, what will happen to Patrick? As a Christian, I have never feared death. I don’t want to die but I know there is a place for me in heaven where I will spend eternity. But who will take care of my 13-year-old boy?
After serious prayer and lots of love outpoured to me from family, friends, neighbors and co-workers, I went in to have the cancer cut out of me.
The 6-hour surgery removed 13 inches of my colon-my left ovary and fallopian tube-23 lymph nodes-and part of my rectum.
When I woke up to a room full of loved ones, I was given the news that my wonderful doctor had successfully resectioned my colon and I did not have leave the hospital with a colonoscopy bag. (Which is a bag to eliminate from if the surgery does not allow for regular bowel moments). Praise God!
A few days later the results came in from the 23 lymph nodes that were taken from my abdomen. More cancer cells in them. Due to the severity of the mutational type, double dousing of chemotherapy was to start yesterday.