It started in late September – faint at first. It is a relatively normal symptom, one that could be the result of a variety of medical conditions. Not really something you casually bring up to others, this blood that I see. But to a doctor? Yes, I do tell a doctor. Because I want to be sure. And, seeing that I am a healthy 24 year old, she tells me to up my fiber, but not to worry. So I heed her advice and do my best not to.
Yet, the bleeding continues and so does my concern. I go back to the doctor, and still she says, “Don’t worry. It will subside with time.”
I can’t NOT worry. I research my symptoms on WebMD (which is never a good idea). Hemorrhoid and anal fissure both appear as potential causes, but alongside these also read the words Colon Cancer. At that my heart skips a beat.
The bleeding persists through the fall and into the winter. I find myself at the doctor’s yet again. My third time bringing the same story to her. Now, with six months of bleeding having passed, a shadow of concern sweeps her face. She refers me to a GI doctor for a colonoscopy. Perhaps there is something bigger at play here.
Prior to my colonoscopy, I attend a consultation with the GI doctor. He asks me a variety of questions in regards to my overall health and wellbeing. I am in good shape and appear to be the image of health. He does a quick examination and then reassures me that it is likely an internal tear; the colonoscopy will allow for anything more serious to be ruled out. With that, I leave feeling calmed by his confidence…. After all, it is likely just a tear.
Two weeks go by and then I find myself preparing for the procedure – a procedure that usually isn’t performed on those of my age. I wouldn’t wish this preparation on anyone. But still, I know that going through with this will provide the answers that I seek. So I do.
When I awake from anesthesia I am relieved to find that it is done and my Mom is at my side, holding my hand. The doctor comes to us and shares that they did find something. A polyp – 2 cm in diameter – was removed from my colon. The doctor confides that the polyp doesn’t appear to be cancerous, but it will be sent off to a lab for a biopsy just to be sure. Once again, for what feels like the umpteenth time, I am told not to worry. And, as before, I try my best not to.
A week or so passes and the bleeding has stopped. I begin to relax, letting myself entertain the belief that I am perhaps, just as they say, fine.
On a Tuesday afternoon I find myself pacing my classroom, monitoring the work (and chatter) of the 35 nine year olds whose education has been entrusted to me.
“Miss Seeley, your phone is ringing!” one child calls out.
Seeing as my students are momentarily engaged with the task at hand, I take a chance at answering the phone.
“Hello? Miriam Seeley? Yes, this is Dr. Z’s office. He’d like you to come in today and see him. Can you do that?
A shiver runs through me. After a pause, I respond, “Yes, of course I can do that.”
Once I get my students safely to the PE room, I pop in to speak with my principal. A kind woman, who I’ve kept well informed of this matter with my health; she urges me to leave for the doctor immediately.
“We will find someone to cover your class for the remainder of the day.”
I pull into the parking lot of the Dr.’s office, not really cognizant of how I got there. My mind is on autopilot.
“Why would the doctor want to see me?” I think to myself, “What could be so bad, so important, that it couldn’t be shared over the phone?”
In the exam room I sit and wait for the doctor to come in. My mind races with potential scenarios and I don’t even try to distract myself with my phone or a book. The doctor comes in. He takes a seat and clasps his long fingers together, locking eyes with me.
“Well Miriam, I am afraid that the polyp we found was not as I’d hoped. The biopsy revealed it to be cancerous.”
He says more after that, of course, but of what – I do not remember. My mind froze on the word “cancerous”. Cancerous. Cancerous! Cancerous? What?! I’d feared it could be, but never had I imagined it actually would be. What I feel is complex to describe, as I move through various emotions within mere seconds – going from disbelief, to fear, to grief, to overwhelm to anger, and then back to disbelief. I do not cry, though I will later. I do not yell, though I certainly will in time. I do not ask why, or how. I sit, I blink, and I nod. I am processing absolutely none of what is being shared after that awful word passed his lips, cancerous. It is as though my ears have been stuffed with cotton; my vision blurred. Stunned – that is what I am. In this exact moment, organization of thought or feeling is beyond me.
“So, what do I do now?” I ask quietly.
“Not much tonight. Go home, have a margarita, try to relax. A surgeon and oncologist will be in touch with your next steps. It is possible that the cancer was contained to the polyp and that we have removed it all. However, these cancer cells are extremely aggressive and this needs to be treated and monitored with care. Call your family, surround yourself with support. We will learn more in the days to come.”
So once again, I do as I’m asked and I try not to worry. I take the doctor’s advice and call my family. I call a couple of close friends. I prepare for the unknown that is to come, all the while trying to remain calm and present to what I know. After all, I am probably fine, right?
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