I don’t know how to even begin this. Plenty of people say that I’m a pain in the butt. Now I have a diagnosis to prove it. My colonoscopy has hopefully saved my life. When I went for my follow up from the colonoscopy, I felt like something was wrong. I knew my experience with the procedure was not the normal. I remember how my Daddy always knew he was sick before the doctor told him. I felt it in my bones.
I’ve got a high grade something or another. I stopped listening fully when he paused going over everything and said the dreaded, “but.” I do understand that what they have so far is not malignant but it is something that if it stays, it will eventually be cancerous. As of today, it is pre-cancerous. I have to have a surgical removal of the remaining tissue so it can be biopsied. Following this, I will probably have to have a colonoscopy done every year or every few years for the rest of my life.
Despite the feeling deep down in my bones that something was wrong, I am still in shock. I feel so tired. Like I’ve run a marathon. My worry has done that for me. My mind is racing and it’s all over the place. The “what if’s” are gnawing at my belly and I don’t know how I will make it through the next few weeks while I await this procedure.
I feel like I’m staring my mortality in the eye. I realize it’s not as bad as it could be but it’s still something wrong. I won’t be able to go get extra life insurance with a diagnosis like this. I will always feel like a ticking time bomb from today forward. Every little thing that doesn’t feel quite normal will send the alarm bells off. I will always worry about the what if’s of the future.
But in many ways, I’ve always had that worry. Ever since my dad was first diagnosed with cancer when I was a teenager, I always thought it wasn’t a matter of if I got cancer but when. I’m praying this is not the when. But if it is, I want to be brave like my dad. He fought and fought. The battle of the mind was more important than the battle of any chemo or radiation, his oncologist used to say.
I have this to comfort me—if it is cancer, then the likelihood of it being in the early stages is pretty high. Early stages of any colorectal cancer are easier to treat. I almost cancelled my colonoscopy. I almost convinced myself that it couldn’t happen to me. I could have almost died from stubbornness and pride. When I die, I want it to be from living life to the fullest not from my own stupidity.
As I was scheduling the surgery, the office manager held my hands and told me that we were claiming healing in Jesus name. As I paid my copay, the sweet lady checking me out told me to just take it one day at a time and offered me a Tootsie Roll. I must have looked like a porcelain doll ready to crack because I felt like a porcelain doll about to crumble. And, I did. I walked out into the sunshine and passed by people who had no clue what my mind held within its confines. I wanted to tell everyone I passed by what was going on. I wanted someone to hold me up as I walked to my car and tell me to get my head in the game. Instead, the tears fell. And fell and fell.
I had to go back to work afterwards and try to act like everything was fine when everything was not fine. Nothing will be fine for a while and yet, everything will be fine. Life will go on until it doesn’t. The positive is that there was a test that could catch this before cancer was ravenous within my body. The positive is that, for now, there’s no confirmed malignancy. The positive is that I am surrounded by my tribe of friends and family who will hold me up when I can’t stand on my own. The biggest positive is that the future is mine to own on my terms.
The sun will never shine any brighter. The rain will never smell any fresher. The best is here and now. And for me, I choose to live it at its best and love it even in the worst.
Messpot Diaries 