Fighting early-onset, stage 3 rectal cancer
Blueberries
A few days later, I found myself in a tiny office lying on my side, fully clothed with Tina’s hands on my bottom. Tina was likely in her 30’s, dressed like your average physical therapist in workout gear and sneakers. Her sandy blond hair pulled back without fuss. “Bear down,” she said authoritatively.
8 IV chemo treatments, 2 weeks apart
I started going for IV treatments at the end of January. Every other Wednesday. They told me to plan to be there about 3, 3 and a half hours. Covid was peaking again. I didn't want my parents, family, or friends putting themselves at risk to come in and sit with me, so I went each time alone.
Fuck cancer
I can only speak for myself, and I’ve been told more than once my brain’s a bit wonky, but “Fuck Cancer” isn’t how I feel about having stage 3 rectal cancer. Saying “Fuck Cancer” isn’t for me, someone who has it. It’s for those who don’t.
Nothing compares to…
Since I was seventeen, I've wondered if I could pull off the Sinead O'Connor look. After my second IV chemo treatment, I woke up one morning and discovered about a dozen hairs on my cream colored pillowcase. I ran my right hand through my hair. More. I probably did it another five times with the same results.
Chemo side effects: “everybody is different”
My mom and I are sitting in an exam room with the oncology nurse practitioner, Karen, a member of my oncology team. (You get a whole team when you’re diagnosed with cancer.) Mama has a paper and pen at the ready as the nurse talks about the first phase of my treatment, iv chemo.
The tumor—where it’s at
I had my colonoscopy on Friday, December 3rd. Right after the procedure my gastroenterologist told me I had rectal cancer. That’s all he knew. He could see the cancer on the surface of the rectal wall. I needed to schedule a CT scan and an MRI to find out more.