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It was confirmed on a Thursday morning: colon cancer. Just a week earlier, I had awakened from anesthesia to find a doctor at my bedside, and all I could focus on was the word “tumor.” The weight of that term is hard to articulate; it envelops you in a heavy shroud of fear and uncertainty. I felt both suspended in air and plummeting to earth, though that might have been the lingering effects of the medication. My breath caught, reminiscent of the experience during the CT scan that followed, where a mechanical voice instructed me to “hold your breath.” I could have used that voice in recovery, especially when it followed up with “now breathe.”
I had been anxious about this diagnosis. At just thirty-seven, I was aware of something wrong for months, but everyone insisted it was just hemorrhoids. “You’re too young,” they said. “You’re too attractive for that,” as if illness could be selective. The truth is, cancer doesn’t discriminate.
My first brush with illness came at the age of seven when I was jolted awake by the sting of needles and the sensation of fire coursing through my veins. I tried to escape the bed, but I was frozen, trapped beneath the sheets that felt like they were burning me. After weeks in the hospital, doctors concluded it was likely rheumatic fever, but they couldn’t explain why I survived.
There’s a strange familiarity in the fear of illness. While it feels daunting, this time is different; I’m a wife and a mother. People count on me, and I live for them. I’m not that child hiding out in a hospital room, waiting for the nurses to leave so I could sneak cookies. Now, I’m on my living room couch, baby monitor nearby, wondering how difficult this journey will be.
It’s significant that my worries have shifted from how long I have with my son and husband to how challenging this will be. For much of the past week, the darker thoughts loomed in my mind, leaving me tear-stained and shattered in my husband’s steady embrace. He is my anchor in this storm.
I’m frightened and overwhelmed, but I can’t determine which is more consuming: fear or the outpouring of kindness. When I awoke in the hospital, my doctor gently placed her hand on my arm, delivering the news without sugarcoating it. She commended me for trusting my instincts and assured me I would be okay, even though I struggled to believe her. Later, as my husband and I picked our son up from school, I collapsed into his arms, crying from fear.
The next day, I received a call from a nurse named Emily at the endoscopy center. My doctor had asked her to reach out because she is a colon cancer survivor herself. She offered to accompany me on this journey, and I wept with a mix of fear and gratitude.
When the insurance representative called to confirm my CT scan, I expressed my appreciation for having good coverage. It turned into a shared moment of emotion as we both cried. She envisioned me enveloped in light, and I felt the warmth of strangers holding me in their thoughts and extending their prayers.
It seems that when you face something insurmountable, you begin to see the divine presence in everyday moments: in the messages from friends, the comforting voices of strangers, and the hugs from new acquaintances. This experience is scary, yet it reveals the beauty of human compassion.
I’m uncertain about the road ahead. I don’t know the extent of what’s inside me or the treatments I will undergo. However, I’m determined to move from fear to action, listening to my doctors and fighting to overcome this. With a supportive community around me, I know I can rise, even if I stumble along the way.
Lessons Learned
In my first week of this journey, I’ve learned three important lessons:
- Crying doesn’t ruin your makeup if you only wear it on your upper eyelids.
- “Survivor” and “Fighter” by Destiny’s Child and Christina Aguilera have made a triumphant return to my playlist, and I’m all for it.
- Kindness is everywhere and has the power to lift you from despair if you just reach out for it.
If you’re interested in more insights, check out one of our related posts here. For excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination, visit Mayo Clinic. Additionally, for those exploring self-insemination options, Cryobaby offers valuable tools.
Summary
This deeply personal account shares the experience of being diagnosed with colon cancer at the age of 37. The author reflects on the emotional turmoil, the support from loved ones and strangers, and the determination to face the challenges ahead. Emphasizing the power of kindness and resilience, the narrative highlights the importance of community during difficult times.
Keyphrase: colon cancer diagnosis at 37
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