“You have a tumour in your bowel,” the doctor said.
One simple sentence that has changed everything.
I was a 38 year old mother, partner, friend, sister, daughter, niece, colleague, person you used to know, woman you saw every Monday at the café. I was me. I was not someone who had a ‘tumour’.
January 24th 2018 I became a cancer patient. I went for a colonoscopy, expecting to find colitis, IBS, or ideally, nothing. I had been relatively healthy for the last eight years. Despite fluctuations in weight and motivation to exercise, I’d delivered a healthy baby, nurtured diagnosed anxiety disorders, limited alcohol use and overall was living my best life. I had balance, or very close to. I had worked very hard to get to this point.
I had many reasons to explain the constant bleeding, pain and discomfort that came from my bowels. Was the occasional wine I had before diagnosis the reason there was blood in my stool? Was this a reminder from the body that I had damaged so badly in my youth? Was the blood from the haemorrhoids that my pregnancy body gifted me with? Was it because I had gained weight from evening snacking that the haemorrhoids would not go away? Was my bowel in a constant state of angst because of my anxiety? Are the traumas I’ve faced in my life, spiritually and actually, rooted in my core?
Emma before her cancer diagnosis. Photo: Supplied Source: Supplied
From my mid-teens to late 20’s I was a heavy smoker and drinker. I was also very career driven. I worked hard and played harder. I spent many years self-medicating my mental ill health. I was drinking a bottle of whiskey a day, smoking a packet of cigarettes a day, working 12 hours a day. I thought I had it all under control, but everything compounded. I suffered greatly with my health, succumbed to alcohol induced seizures and was facing the reality that I was acutely lonely, disconnected and unhappy.
I had to change. I turned 30 and so began my time to heal, reflect and find some balance. I found happiness, love and started my own family. However, soon the stress of life saw me slip into some older patterns, like working long hours, and self-medicating with occasional drinking, that whilst under control, was a nagging beast. Cancer came at a time when I needed reminding that I was living my second chance already.
My partner, son and I were launched into the cancer world where it was all about looking after me. The local integrated cancer centre embraced me and my small family. I had my tumour removed and a bowel resection through major abdominal surgery. I had four weeks to recover and I reflected on how lucky I was to have my family by my side. Together we prepared mind, body and soul for the six months of chemotherapy ahead. As the months of chemotherapy wore on, we grieved, laughed and loved. I had moments of thinking death would be better than what my body was feeling. Sometimes I could not will my body to work; my liver was tired and could not process the cytotoxic drugs any longer. My family sat with me through this, patiently, holding me, and in turn they had a big network holding them. We took each day as it came, and planned nothing, except, morbidly, end of life affairs. We prepared our son, and selves, for the worst, but kept hoping for the best.
I want to teach my boy, and myself, how to live your best life.
Eventually I turned a corner. I was soon ringing the celebratory bell in the chemo ward to mark my final infusion. My portacath aching in my arm after months of use, my tears flowing, my gratitude to the care team that got me to this point. I still had so many unknowns, but bringing me focus was my son’s soft warm hand in mine.
I faced some hard months of detox and assessing the lingering damage. The scars, the nerve damage, the limited capacity to engage in life had now all raised to the surface.
I am now faced with some recovery challenges and my surveillance appointments are still three months apart, but I am focusing on healing. I want to try and remedy the wrong.
I eat better, grow my own vegetables, don’t drink alcohol or eat meat. I’m trying to limit sugar and move more. I now know the risks of bowel cancer, that lifestyle choices become the blueprint for the future you. I want to teach my boy, and myself, how to live your best life.
I am a (nearly!) 40 year old mother, partner, friend, sister, daughter, niece, colleague, person you used to know, woman you saw every Monday at the café. I am me. I am someone who had a ‘tumour’. I am a cancer patient.
