Varying Degrees of Discomfort

One month into officially finding out I have colon cancer – it’s been a trip.

Also, to make sure we’re all on the same page: your colon has much to do with your bowel movement – your shit, your dumpage, if you will.

[If you want to know more about it, you can send me a message or use your tools maybe and Google. (I don’t want to have to go into those details here. They’re not exactly pleasant.)]

I don’t know how. I don’t know why, but for some reason, while I was in the hospital, the thing that would wake me up was the dumpage. It’s become a fixed body sched now.

This said first order of business royal dumpage would then determine how my energy is for the day. Whether I’d be glowing and up for anything (kidding, this doesn’t happen to me with or without cancer – I’m far too lazy as a human being) or lethargic and feeling the need to commit arson but too lethargic and lazy to do so.

That’s how I start my day. Lovely, isn’t it?

All the symptoms that the doctors asked me about before I had the colonoscopy are now very much present. They weren’t, prior to all this. They’ve been sneaky. Hence, me not realising what I had.

My boss asked me a while back if I was in pain.

I wouldn’t say this is pain. I mean, I know pain (hello, intense monthly period cramps for a whole week without taking any medication for it!!! Where my bleeding people at????).

What I am experiencing isn’t exactly pain. It’s more like varying degrees of discomfort.

There are two things that bother me daily:

First, there’s this gnawing feeling all over my back that feels as if there’s acid running around and culminates in my lower back. It’s similar to having a really heavy flow while you’re having your period and your lower back feels… heavy.

[I have now officially experienced this WHILE having my period and I don’t know what to say except, yes, I want to commit arson. Yes, I am lazy. Yes, I have a lot of anger.]

Second, there’s a stinging and / or tearing feeling in parts of my stomach.

Now, these two aren’t always ‘on intensely’, but when they want to be noticed, I can’t really do anything. I need to either sit or lie down and wait for the discomfort to pass. [Again, extra magical during that time of the month.]

Oh, wait! There’s a third one: soft food diet.

Look, I grew up a fat kid who got to eat whatever, whenever. Food and I have always been tight and food has always brought me happiness. My relationship with food may not have been healthy but we made it work.

Then, imagine, if you will:

You are feeling thoroughly unwell. You’d had to fast for hours so they could run tests on you. You’d just realised what you have is cancer.

You turn to look at your food tray for some semblance of hope…

… And it’s soup.

The realisation of how much happiness and energy food can give hit me while I was in the hospital.

I know. I know. It’s such a spoiled brat problem to have, I’ll admit that. I know I shouldn’t complain but, damn it, it’s tough. It makes everything feel extra bleak.

This past month, I realised – even more – what a warrior my father was. I witnessed him go through advanced stages of this disease but he never showed us how uncomfortable he was.

We all knew he was in pain but we never saw it… He was being… Dad.

On top of all this, I can feel it spreading, this cancer.

I can feel it taking over parts of my stomach which were previously fine. I’m feeling new aches and pains.

I can feel it taking a toll on me – not only physically, but also – mentally and emotionally. I’ve had days where I’ve genuinely felt so beat tears were so extra easy to come by (and if you know me, you know that’s saying something).

There moments at night when all is quiet – there’s nothing to distract me from anything – and all the discomfort I’ve ignored all day comes through and I feel all of it.

I’ve had days where I’ve felt genuine fear over how I’ll overcome this.

Yes, you read that right. This Kerly – stubborn, sarcastic, dark humoured, will laugh at serious moments Kerly – is scared now.

Somehow, I wasn’t before, but I am now.

It’s only been a month.

Windowsill

‘It’s not fair, you know? I think I’m just now starting to figure out how to live my life.’

Jerry Vogel, A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

I have cancer.

Specifically, colon cancer.

Similar to what my father had.

I found out officially on the evening of May 28th when the biopsy results became available but I knew, in my heart of hearts what it was, at least a week before.

I knew because I witnessed everything that happened to my pops when he battled cancer a second time when the cancer reoccurred some 20 odd years later in the same spot.

I could tell from how the doctors were acting. To the words they used. The images they got from the colonoscopy. How I felt – everything. I simply knew.

The night before I finally went to the hospital, I’d written the beginnings of a poem. It’s called, ‘If I Die Tonight’.

I’d written it cos I didn’t want anything to be left ‘unsaid’. I tried, to the best of my abilities, to be as succinct as possible and capture what I wanted to capture at what felt like a near end. Cos… It felt like I was at another near end.

The feeling of near end was brought about by my severe anemia. I knew my hemoglobin levels where at a low again but… You know… Stubborn me. Wouldn’t accept defeat.

My stomach pains, which had gotten worse weeks prior, didn’t help at all. I felt stinging, tearing pains in parts of my stomach. Pain that was something else. Pain that would knock the wind out of me.

Not exactly nice when you’re already low on oxygen as a human being.

And so on May 18th, The Love brought me to the hospital. To his great relief cos I’d finally stopped being all stubborn about getting checked and, also, to his great frustration cos it always takes near-death to get me to agree about going to the hospital.

[See, I’m the one who doesn’t want to be checked. I grew up a sickly kid who frequented hospitals. This is where the stubbornness and aversion towards hospitals and doctors came from: I’d seen / experienced enough of them as a kid to last me a lifetime.]

We got there. Went for the ER. Covid-19 precautions and all. I started to relax when they gave me oxygen, my official new favourite thing in the world. Then the doctors started checking me and the tests started happening.

The first few days meant putting in as much blood as they could in me cos my anemia had gotten to an all time low. Those days also meant me having to go through rigorous tests to try and figure out what was happening to my stomach.

It wasn’t until the 4th day when I got to have my colonoscopy. I was asleep the whole time but when I’d woken up, I saw the food the doctors had requested for me had changed to soft food. Curious. But I wasn’t too bothered. More annoyed that I couldn’t have what my niece would categorise as ‘happy food’ (food that makes you feel… Well… Happy to be alive and all that).

Doctors came and tried to skate around what they saw in my colon during the colonoscopy but… They weren’t fooling me.

That evening I noticed my stomach had bloated out. When I’d gotten admitted, my stomach had been flat except for that part that had pain.

That night it all clicked.

That night I knew.

A week before the biopsy results came out.

I knew.

I’ve been around this. I knew.

That night, I told The Love what I knew it to be. We had a moment. What’s weird is… I wasn’t emotional over it.

I was stuck on the term one of the residents used when trying to soften the blow. He’d started by asking if we had cancer in the family. This is always tricky cos… Where do we even start? My pops? My sister? My cousins? My uncles? My aunt? Then he said that there’s a thing called, ‘Genetic mirroring’. And I went, ‘Yeah… My father had it the first time when he was around my age’.

I was then informed I’d need to undergo surgery and then, ‘if’ malignant, chemotherapy.

The day after all this, billing had called to inform us we’d already maxed out my insurance coverage. My insurance won’t renew until October.

Mad, isn’t it?

I was hit with the ridiculous realisation of how much mortality lies on what one can afford. I know money doesn’t solve all things but at least you get a good shot at everything.

The Love kept telling me not to get broken down by the finances. That it shouldn’t be my focus. My focus should be mentally preparing myself for the surgery and chemotherapy when we’ve put up the money.

The Love and my sister had asked if I was ready to go through surgery. My genuine answer was always, ‘I think I am… But my adult brain understands the whole financial parts of it’.

The thing is, my father survived his first run in with colon cancer because he had incredible insurance where he was working. They covered everything. All he had to focus on was his reason for living: his family.

Since we’d maxed out the insurance coverage, I got scheduled for discharge. However, we’d gotten over the coverage so much we didn’t have the cash to cover the rest… It was mad.

I cried more over the financial stuff than I did over the cancer – is that weird? Cos… That’s what happened.

I ended up spending an extra week in the hospital. Not needed there anymore but, everyday, incurring charges cos we couldn’t leave due to the overage. Again, it was mad.

This meant I was still in the hospital the day the biopsy results came out.

On that evening of May 28th, the resident who’d brought up ‘genetic mirroring’ confirmed it: I have colon cancer.

I’m not going to lie. I cried a lot after the resident left. It hits different when it gets confirmed.

That night, I didn’t tell anyone about it except The Love. I cried some more. He encouraged me to focus on the things we can do. Not to dwell on the problem but to find a solution.

He told me to not give up. That I was and am loved.

We finally got to put up enough to get me out of the hospital and left on May 31st.

I want to highlight that we got to put up the money with A LOT of help from our friends and family.

This comes on the heels of me feeling as if I didn’t have anyone except The Love and family. Not that I was ever made to feel that way but I guess you could say this is the downside of being such an introvert like I am. You’re involved but not really. You have friends but also still feel like you don’t want to bother or burden them.

And yet, there they were. People who care about me. Offering what they could. Not only financial help but, more importantly, comfort.

I will never be able to thank them enough for what they’ve done.

Am I ready to die?

Honestly? I don’t mind. To quote my father after he was told he’d only have 4-6months to live when his cancer reoccurred, he said, ‘That’s life’.

That’s life.

Death is part of life.

But goddammit – I still want to live.

There’s still so much more to do. So much more to live for. So many places to explore. So many different delicacies to taste. So many more memories to make.

I still have so many songs, stories, poems to write. They may not be good but dammit, they’re mine.

I can’t and I won’t go with all of these weird, beautiful ideas still living inside me.

For now, I have to chill. Behave. Eat only soft food. While we put up the money for the surgery and chemotherapy and / or wait for my insurance to renew. Whichever comes around first.

I have cancer.

Specifically, colon cancer.

Like my father did. I will fight this. I will survive this.

Windowsill is the horizontal structure or surface at the bottom of a window. Windowsills serve to structurally support and hold the window in place. The exterior portion of a windowsill provides a mechanism for shedding rainwater away from the wall at the window opening.

The Grown Ups | 30Rock

May 2016

We were weird, artsy kids who finally found our tribe. We became fast friends and, somewhere along the way, family.

We’ve laughed (ALOT), cried, sung, danced, made music together. We’ve seen the beginnings of romances, heartbreaks, weddings, deaths, births. Conversations have shifted from living the dream of making music and being absolute rock stars to grown up things (injuries, illnesses, medications, babies, families). We’ve gone from pulling all-nighters for the fun of it to cutting gatherings short cos some have babies to go home to (and cos… We can’t really pull all-nighters anymore).

We’ve lived so attached to each other and, as life goes, apart. But we always come back together.

We met when we were in our late teens and early 20s. Now, we’re in our 30s. We’ve been in each others lives for 14 years now (I had to use the calculator but, yeah, I did the math!). I don’t know how else to put it.

We were weird, artsy kids who finally found our tribe. We became fast friends and, somewhere along the way, family.

P. S. I did the thing I’ve always wanted to do with these gatherings of ours: I recorded the sound of it all.