It’s Cancer

January 29th comes and I remember being the back of the GI clinic waiting on Dr to come in and give me the good shit to sleep. So he asks how am I feeling after the prep, which by the way absolutely sucked, I was sick from both ends for two days, okay you get the picture. So I tell him I feel a ton better finally, so he says great! The next thing I know it is the next day and we are sitting in a surgeon’s office, how I got there, I still have no idea. See I told you he gave me the good shit. The surgeon comes in, very nice man, calm, almost soothing voice; rolls his stool up in front of me and eye to eye says:

“It’s cancer”

I don’t even know how I reacted immediately, I know I did not cry. I think I was speechless. He had me sit up on the table and is feeling around my belly. He went on to tell us that the GI could not even complete the colonoscopy, in fact he couldn’t get but 20 cm up because the tumor was so big and basically that we need to operate right away for fear of rupturing. So I said okay let’s do this now, whatever we have to do. Well of course it’s not that simple. So there was a lot of back and forth between my room and his office which was on the other side of the wall….damn thin walls I could hear him on the phone with the lady who would become my Oncologist….working on the plan. The plan was to spend the rest of the week getting tests done, all kinds of damn blood-work and scans, and meeting with the genetic counselor because of my age, all in prep for surgery the following Monday to remove this tumor. Now when someone is told they have cancer, society tells us we are supposed to cry right, nope not me. It took me really a good month before I cried. I mean I tried to cry after the Surgeon left the room and it was just Brian and I for a few minutes because I mean again, I was just told I have cancer, scary fucking shit and society says I must cry so but nope not me not really. Even when I called my family back in Arizona and told them, I mean I was shaking I was scared but I really didn’t cry.

So we spent the rest of the week getting tests and scans done. Let me also add in here that I had to meet with that very first Dr I saw to be released for surgery, basically she had to listen to my heart and lungs and sign off saying I was fine for surgery. Well two days worth of calling her office telling them I had to be seen per the Surgeon immediately but they said “too bad we can’t fit you in until next week.” So I called the Surgeon’s office and told them what was going on and guess what, an appointment suddenly became available. I’ll never forget this, the Dr walked into the room, looked at me and said: “oops!” clears me for surgery and leaves. You can sure as shit know I have not seen her since. It was basically required we meet with a genetics counselor because of my age and also because we needed to find out if this is heredity or not as that will affect Masen’s care. So basically the genetics tests asked questions, family history back as far as we can remember on both Mom and Dad’s side of the family as well as some special blood-tests. On Mom’s side, only my Uncle Johnny had colon cancer, everyone else as far back as we can go didn’t have anything. On Dad’s side, I have two great Aunts who had it, one passed from it and one beat it and passed from a stroke in her 80’s as well as I have an Aunt who has some sort of polyup syndrome where when she has her colonoscopy they find a lot of polyups. I am being tested to see if I have lynch syndrome which basically means that if I have this then the cancer is hereditary, if not then there is no pin point reason as to why I have it. If I have lynch, it means Masen will have to start being checked at a young age because he would be at risk for getting it (okay, now tears come for my boy, please don’t put him through the shit I am about to go through even though I have no idea what is coming). Well I am lynch negative, so we have zero clue as to why I got it. We would later find out going through chemo that I am just special! As in if it’s weird and odd, it’s going to happen to me.

So in 1981, I was born on my Mom’s 25th week of pregnancy and kicked ass to live, from what I am told we have no idea why I was born so early and here I am.

In 2011, my first son, Kristopher, was born on my 27th week of pregnancy, ironically my Uncle Johnny’s birthday, lived 5 days and passed on July 4th. My water broke at 15 weeks with him, zero clue why.

In 2018, at 36, I am diagnosed with cancer, lynch negative so we have no idea why. What we would later find out is that it is not “just cancer” but it is Stage 4 cancer. Fuck.

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