On October 30, a week before my 31st birthday, a tumour was discovered in my rectum. I had a sneaking suspicion it was there. It was obvious to me something was significantly wrong. I had experienced bleeding and abdominal pains and a slow build up of feeling run down for years, but due to fear, or just hoping everything was fine, I neglected to do very much a bout it. I did see a couple doctors during that time. One who basically told me that in men my age it is usually nothing to worry about. Gave me a suppository to stop the bleeding and sent me on my way. Another who told me I probably have kidney stones (which I didn't). That whole experience just made me shy away from doctors even more.
Nov 5, six days after finding the tumour, I was diagnosed with stage IIIb rectal cancer. Despite my knowing something was wrong, this diagnosis was unbelievable. I display zero risk factors, zero family history, and it has been a shiny point of pride that my immediate and extended family have always been very healthy people, with multiple great grandparents living well into their nineties, and almost no health problems until well into their 70s.
So I've just been blessed with a body that makes cancer? The doctors say it's an anomaly. I guess that makes me feel special.
I have a lot to look forward to. On December 14th I start 5 weeks of radiation, chemotherapy simultaneously. After recovery from this I will have a low-anterior resection with a temporary loop ileostomy (to be reversed approximately 6 months or more after the surgery). Then more chemo after surgery (I'm not sure exactly how long this will be for, but I will learn the details of my chemotherapy on Dec 10th).
At 30 years old I always expected I would be in peak physical condition, but instead what I have took forward to is the prospect of adult diapers, an inability to make children, experiencing sexual dysfunction, and constantly being aware that my colon makes polyps that turn into cancer (three were removed during the colonoscopy). On top of this, I've quickly realized that my career choice of being a carpenter who builds houses is on the verge of being unrealistic. Not working for such long periods of time due to treatments and recovery is not very conducive to my financial security. Coupled with the awareness that this sort of thing very well may arise again, I'm forced to consider a different path. Not to mention my nine year old trying to work through the anxiety associated with the fear of loosing his dad. Poor guy.
There's something else that unexpectedly seems to make the whole process that much harder. People.
I understand that there are people who care about me, who want to help, but the fact is, most of their helping is the opposite. There are people who seem almost happy I have cancer, because now they get to be "a part of something". It's exciting and novel, and provides the opportunity to show everyone else how "caring" and "compassionate" they are. It ends up being an exercise in selfishness rather than in aiding me. Or there are those people who attempt to sugar-coat everything and act like its "no big deal", which is terribly frustrating and hurtful since it is a very big deal to me. I'd much rather someone acknowledge "yes Brent this really really sucks", rather than adding the facade of "everything is fine". Because everything is not fine. I understand the motivation to keep me positive, but that's not my issue. It doesn't help ignoring the reality of the situation.
I also live in an area of the world where there are a lot of "alternative" people who hold fast to alternative methods of doing everything, and I get constant pressure to forego conventional treatment in favour of more wholistic and natural processes. So when someone tells me "wow man, I'd much rather pump my body full of vitamin c to shrink the tumour instead of radiation!", or when a well intentioned woman tells be "I don't believe you need intervention to heal yourself. I have a friend who is an energy healer and I think you would benefit more from this", the intended effect is the opposite. Some people just don't realize how hurtful such suggestions can be. I'm already overwhelmed with everything that's been going on, and such suggestions feel like a punch in the gut and a slap in the face. It feels like a betrayal, like an accusation of stupidity, and like a downgrading of what is actually going on. Sometimes it takes a blunt word to share with these people. Show them a picture of my bloody undergarments because the bleeding is near uncontrollable, or describe the sharp pains origination from inside my butthole. Not that I like sharing such things, but it stops them from thinking they know everything about what I'm going through. And then there are those people who I thought loved me, but just stopped talking to me and stopped telling me they love me. I guess maybe they are afraid. I'm not sure.
Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate that there are people in my life who want to care and help, but most times they miss the mark. Which is why I've come here, because I've been feeling terribly alone in all of this. My life is forever changed, and no one "gets it". I am, however, very grateful for the doctors who have been helping me. I can see in their eyes that they care about me and also fully understand. But doctor patient relationships can only go so far. I'm on the verge of developing a major crush on my radiation oncologist because she's so caring and gentle and understanding (making jokes about all of this also helps
This is ending up being quite the tale. I'm thankful I found this forum, and I wish many profoundly good days to you all.
LOVE
