Verb or Noun
I knew the bus stop so well now. Having always remained on the bus, it was just another stop until this year. And now I stepped off and walked into the hospital solo. I had always had one of my dear friends with me, but this time I wanted to go by myself. I didn’t find this place scary anymore and I felt the fear of the unknown had departed from my mind. Waiting for my name, so the surgeons could finally tell me what they removed from me. And what else they may have found.
She called out my name, I was a little confused as I walked towards her. Usually it was Dr Spartacus, wait maybe she called out another name? I forgot my glasses. Oh, it was her. She had been standing above me as I was wheeled in, told me I would forget her. She led the rounds at the hospital in the days after surgery and her matter of fact energy was here with me again as we went into the small consult room. I call her She, as I don’t know her name. In the confusion, I did not absorb it, nor do I often in general life.
“How are you?” as she held a pen on a note pad, waiting for whatever I said.
Before I started, I said “I DO remember you, even when you said I would not”. She laughed, then I explained the three weeks of recovery so far. And how the actual wounds healing was the small bit. Adjusting to my rearranged insides was the challenge. That was the exhausting part. They never mentioned this, I told her.
“Yeah that’s very normal” like she assumed I had been told. She then looked at the screen and said, “Well, we caught it in the earliest stage possible. No signs in the 29 lymph nodes we removed and the plan now is just to monitor, do a scan and colonoscopy in a year”.
Did I need those lymph nodes? A year? Earliest stage? For those reading, you know I had been on the rollercoaster of likely it being Stage 2 or 3. Now it’s Stage One confirmed. It’s like whiplash. I am meant to jump for joy. I am lucky. What is this luck we talk about? Is it a verb or a noun? I wanted to wake up and get off this ride I never wanted to go on. Yet it seems I won’t get off it and alongside this, I will go back to normal life. I have relief but the residue of fear in the same breath.
And the thing you can’t quite say “Cancer Free” because that’s never guaranteed. The honest version is quieter. The thing you never thought you would have and never thought you would lose is gone now. Not forever safe, just gone.
She assessed my scars and how they healed, and told me I could slowly start back exercising while she pushed into my abdomen like dough. It felt like a quick GP appointment in some ways. The gloves were quickly off while she asked if I had any questions.
Bowel Cancer Australia came to my help when I felt pretty isolated in recovery from the hospital. I had read their website, and sent them an email. Within 24 hours a Nurse, a Dietitian and a Physio had called me and started putting together a plan for me. I suddenly had tears in my eyes as the nurse spoke to me. They understood all the weird things my body was doing, they had spoken to many like me. 30 cm of my intestine was gone. My body wasn’t going to just act like everything was normal. Maybe it never would. Simple foods (boiled fish and mashed potato yum yum), scanning ingredients on everything, planning my short trips to ensure I have a bathroom nearby. But a trade off for life right?
I have learnt and want to pass on. Bowel Cancer is Australia’s second deadliest cancer behind only lung. It kills both men and women. Overall rates are actually falling, thanks to screening. What’s rising, alarmingly, is early-onset cases in people under 50. People too young to be invited to screen. People who get told they’re “too young for it to be that.” People like you perhaps. Processed meat is proven to cause bowel cancer and it’s what they call a Group 1 carcinogen. Red meat, alcohol, being sedentary and overweight all raise risk too. That was a yes, yes and yes for me, and now I have the chance to reverse that and start fresh.
I told the Surgeon about Bowel Cancer Australia resources and she was not aware. I then told Bowel Cancer Australia about my surgeon’s response and they said they hear this daily. So much work and awareness to go, even with the surgeons who treat the actual cancer.
She gave me a formal nod as I left the consult room and reminded me that my recovery isn’t overnight. The final 10% is the longest and hardest. The energy levels gone, the confidence low. The weird pains and aching and mental fog.
I saw a colleague just after my appointment, who’s had breast cancer. She said at lunch: “I’m jealous of you. You’re really fucking lucky.” I didn’t say much, or deflect. I nodded sincerely, held her eyes, gave her the space to have said it. I responded, “Because I haven’t had chemo, I kind of feel like I haven’t had the proper cancer journey. But I’ll take that.”
There’s no “proper” journey, no membership tier you only reach through chemo. Not like anyone is grabbing this membership. It’s been a four month intensive journey. A tumour discovered, months to decide what to do, surgery that took part of my bowel, a stoma marked just in case, weeks of recovery, new insides I am learning to live with, the emotional waiting to find out the staging. Not a lesser version. A different shape. Luck and cost aren’t in competition, I can hold both.
Walking out of hospital, I realised I was not coming back. Not for this, not for a year. And it felt uneventful. Walking past the waiting room, different people sitting there. At different stages of the unknown like me. Maybe an initial consult because their partner made them. Maybe they are about to walk in and find out some devastating news. Then walking down past the cafe. Two women sharing a focaccia. Waiting for someone, maybe. A post-consult snack, or a pre-consult one, before one of them goes in to discuss something heavy.
I thought the end of this would feel momentous. The Bell. I always read about the final chemo treatment, you go and ring the bell, gruelling, ceremonial, the photo everyone shares. There’s no bell to ring for me. Just the ding of a tram as I jumped on it and headed home.