"It's Cancer"

My miracle surgery on September 11th was just a little over two months ago. The tiny growth I feel growing out my anus is probably a stitch trying to come out. It's nothing. It has to be nothing, but I've dealt with "nothing" before, and it turned out to not be nothing, so I better call my surgeon.

My surgeon didn't answer, and I'll see him in another month. I'll just talk to him about it then.

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The kids are with us at the appointment. It's just a post op. We had one in October and took them to the zoo. This time we are planning on going to the train museum, but I have that growth that is now very noticeable. It can't be nothing, but I'm not going to freak out. I'm not going to freak out even though my favorite surgeon just told me he's worried. I refuse to freak out. Everything will be okay. It was okay last time.

I can't eat. I can't focus. We are visiting a historic site to get our minds off of it and to help the kids feel better about not going to the museum. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to freak out. It's probably nothing, anyway. Just a small thing. No big deal. It's not the four inch thing that was cut out of me just a few months ago.

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It's swim day. I'm about to head out the door to take the kids to swim lessons. I've been home for a couple days and haven't heard anything. No news is good news, so it's nothing! I need to take the kids to swim, but wait, I'm getting a phone call. It's from the town my surgeon is in, so I better answer it.

"It's cancer."

No. No it can't be cancer. No! I'm not old enough for this! I'm only 31 for heaven's sake! I can't have cancer!

"I'm afraid you will have to have a colostomy bag this time. There is no way around it."

NO! My miracle is being ripped away from me! I'm going to have a piece of my intestine outside of my body and have to depend on an appliance for the rest of my life!? NO! NO! NO!

I hang up after I cry uncontrollably and loudly right in my surgeon's ear.

I can't take the kids to swim. I can't function right now. My surgeon has to call my husband because I can't do it. I can't say those words out loud. That makes it real. I lock myself in my room and just cry. I mean, I just ugly cry. Really ugly cry for a long time. There's no going back after those words are said.

I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer.

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I have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me. I still think of that previous surgery as a miracle because it made is so I caught my stage three rectal cancer quickly. I truly think that had I not had that four inch benign monstrosity removed just a few months before cancer grew, I would have waited too long to take care of this.

Cancer doesn't care what age I am. Cancer doesn't care that I ate healthy. Cancer doesn't care that I worked out almost every hour I was awake and was more fit than I had ever been. Cancer doesn't care that I have a family to take care of.

Cancer is a jerk.

Source

However...

Cancer does not define me.

I am not cancer.