A doozy of a first post!
I, at 40 years old, have been diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. It's a bit blunt, but I think it's essential to get it out there. So now I can take the time to tell you how I got here and where I'm going.
This process started during my annual physical with my primary care physician during the first week of September. I had nothing remarkable to report other than some shortness of breath during some brief physical activities. That seemed to be a chronic issue, but I attributed it to just being out of shape. The doc ordered the usual blood work, and the results came back with low hemoglobin. That triggered another panel which showed that I was lacking in iron. My doctor ordered a colonoscopy and endoscopy to try and determine why I was anemic.
*Side note, My family has a history of gastric cancer in addition to my childhood cancer (I may write more on that later). Unfortunately, due to the guidelines for colonoscopies and endoscopies, my doctor said that insurance would not pay for such screening for a 38-year-old otherwise healthy man. However, we agreed that we would have a low symptom bar for such screenings. It turns out the anemia was my ticket into the world of gastric screenings. Now back to the regular post.*
I had a colonoscopy and endoscopy scheduled for mid-October. I fully expected to receive a diagnosis of a bleeding ulcer to explain my iron loss. Instead, after coming out of my propofol-induced nap (the drug-induced rest is well worth the prep!), the GI specialist said it wasn't good news. He said that there was a tennis ball-sized tumor at the hepatic bend.
This news was less than ideal.
My life and the lives of those around me changed at that moment. Shock, anger, sadness, denial, pretty much all the emotions (except for the good feelings) occurred at once.
This unfortunate news kicked off a whirlwind of doctor's appointments, scans, and blood tests. You know, because I wasn't busy enough already.
Starting with a CT scan, the doctor notified me that the cancer was likely stage three. Due to the lymph nodes being enlarged and enflamed. The words in the report also used the term "suspicious for local metastatic disease." Also, a less than ideal finding.
One week later, I met with the surgeon, and he said that he would have to remove the right side of my colon. Unfortunately, the adhesions from my childhood cancer (I might write more on the childhood cancer later.) would likely result in open surgery and not laparoscopic. He did, however, say that he would "scope you and do it laparoscopically if I can." Partial resection has a 3% chance of complications. So it seems my odds are good. If the statistics weren't enough, the surgeon is the chief of surgery of colon and rectal surgery at Washinton University.
Five days after that, I met with the oncologist from Siteman Cancer Center. It turns out that she specializes in early-onset colon cancer. So it seems that I lucked out! The oncologist rounded out some information for me. Things like the final staging of my cancer won't come through until after surgery, and pathology does their part. She also mentioned that due to the hypermorphic nature of this cancer, it's likely caused by my genetics. I'm hopeful that I have stage 2 colon cancer. (I also keep hoping this is all a bad dream, but so far, I haven't woken up.)
I have always heard about the vast resources that Siteman has offered. However, up until this point, I have not experienced those immense resources. I feel great about getting treatment at Siteman and honestly believe that the doctors here are amongst the best in the country and possibly the world. I am fortunate to have such facilities only 10 minutes from my home.
That's it! You are up to date. I wrestled with if I wanted to type this out and post it for people to find. Now that I have, I am glad that I have typed it out. I'm not sure what future posts look like, if I will even update it again, or what I might write about my treatment. Check back here, though, because if I'm feeling up to it, I'll write about it!
Say a prayer, or send good vibes. My surgery is tomorrow, November 10, at noon. I hope to see you soon.
