Posts filed under ‘Colon Stories’
Reason #3
You will inevitably fart during ab workouts. Every. Time.
If you’re colon’s been shortened or nearly removed, it gets harder and harder to hold in the flatulence as you’re crunching, twisting and turning all of the core muscles. When I go to the boxing gym, I try to stand around all guys so everyone assumes it was one of them.
March 4, 2010 at 12:50 am Danielle B
Reason #2
You’ll have to get used to going #1 and #2 every morning when you wake up.
This one’s pretty self-explanatory.
March 2, 2010 at 5:29 pm Danielle B
Happy Colon Cancer Awareness Month! As a way to help bring even more awareness to the disease and why getting checked is so incredibly important, I’ve decided to dedicate every post in March to colon cancer awareness. But instead of telling you to get your colonoscopy, check your poop and know your family history, I thought I’d give you real, practical reasons about why you want to stay on top of your colon health. Take it from me, prevent it while you can.
Reason #1
You’ll never save money on cheap toilet paper ever again.
Most colon cancer patients are sent into surgery to remove the section of colon containing the cancer. Once you’ve had part of your colon removed, your bathroom trips double, triple or more. After awhile, you get tired of the raw bum because the sandpaper stuff just isn’t cutting it. You’ll switch to the good stuff and never return again, saving your bum in the process but kissing your economical spending goodbye.
March 2, 2010 at 4:25 am Danielle B
Dear Colon,
Well, it’s been a rough week. We were doing so well, and off to a great start. You’d actually impressed me and many of my doctors. You’d been keeping up to speed with me and my busyness, and actually surpassed my expectations. You usually … hold … more than I expect, and have found a way to fade into the background most of the time. I know you still have the typical gas, bloating and “blah” moments pretty frequently, but I’ve found a way to look past those. My props genuinely go out to you. You’ve been doing so well.
But, as we both know, I’m writing you based on the past week or so. We’ve not been getting along, and these fits you’ve thrown now two times in one week cannot go on. Tonight’s little episode right before the birthday party was not cool, and I got your message loud and clear. You were unhappy, and you did something about it. And it’s gotten my full attention.
I realize that I’ve not been doing my part. I haven’t been resting well, eating great, nor managing my stress the past few weeks. But hey, we’re still trying to live as normal life as possible and that stuff happens. Plus, a girl’s gotta have a late night and a sprinkled donut with coffee in the morning once and awhile. I’m not asking for big things here, just a day or two where I can feel like the average 26-year-old who’s enjoying the life, friends and family God’s given her. Not the gal who’s life is defined by her colon … or lack thereof. I know it might be unreasonable to ask for all of that, but it’s where I’m at after a rough night.
I’m writing to propose a deal. I’ll do a better job of watching what I eat so that you don’t have to work so hard. You have gotten so good at keeping up with me, that I’ve forgotten how my diet really does impact you. I’ll rest up and work better at cutting down some stress, with one being exercise. But in return, I need you to cool it for a little while. Lay off the back pains and cramps, and start … holding … stuff again. Give me a little break and let me feel normal again, at least as much as possible.We have to work together, you and me.
Please don’t take this as disingenuous, and an attempt at getting what I want out of you. I am SO thankful you’re still here, even if you are itty bitty. You’ve been through a lot, and I will start taking care of you as well as I can. I hope you will do the same for me.
Love,
Danielle
February 28, 2010 at 4:44 am Danielle B
A few months ago as I was meeting with my geneticist, he posted a question I had never thought about:
“Imagine how good of a volleyball player you would have been if you wouldn’t have had cancer in high school!”
Now granted, I was no Gabrielle Reece but I had my share of spikes and serves back in junior high. But as I entered high school and played my freshman year, the fire went out. A sport that I had always loved was burdensome. I wasn’t as good as I had been years earlier. I was exhausted after practices. I wasn’t having very much fun. I felt out of shape, but I was in shape. I chalked it up to being lazy and ready to move on, but after the doc mentioned that the cancer would have been impacting my athleticism, I started to wonder if my body was telling me something back then – and the exit from after school sports was more than my desire to get home early and watch Jerry Springer. (you all watched it at some point or another too, don’t judge!)
As I watched the opening ceremony to the Olympics, it made me wonder what type of athlete I would have become. The dream of becoming a great athlete was always so far fetched and unrealistic. But as I watched men and women my own age ski down mountains, ride 90 mph on sleds, and play ice hockey to a worldwide audience this week, I realized that dreams are obtainable, and our adolescence defines our adulthood more than we ever realize.
I’m not saying that I had the talent to be an Olympic athlete, but this week I’ve wondered what life in general would have been like had I not gotten cancer in high school. I’ve gone back and forth with wanting to go back and change it, and being content with how it all turned out. It felt so unfair at first – instead of worrying about my dress for prom, I was more concerned if I would have hair! Forget the Algebra, I was concerned with blood tests.
Now that I’m older and a two-time survivor, I’ve realized that being sick at a young age actually sheltered me from the real world, and I’m OK with how it all turned out. I’m glad it first happened when I was younger – I had so much to look forward to, the diagnosis felt like a speed bump rather than a road block in my teenage life. Sure, there are parts of the experience that I would do without, but having cancer in high school has made me who I am and given me a unique perspective on life. I wouldn’t have the husband I do now. I wouldn’t be as close to my family and friends. I’d probably still be embarrassed about buying toilet paper at the store. And I wouldn’t have met all of the incredible and inspiring doctors, nurses and fellow survivors had I not had the disease.
It’s taken me awhile to get to this mindset, but I feel I’m finally here. I finally see how to count it joy when your trials come. And while I may not be competing on the snowy slopes for an Olympic medal, I’m in my own race against disease and life is all the medal I need.
Opening Ceremony Costume Party
February 16, 2010 at 3:50 am Danielle B
I often get asked how I’m doing these days health-wise, so I thought I’d take today to give an update.
I pretty much am fully recovered and back to speed after my surgeries and hospital stays last June. It took a little longer than I expected to gain all of my strength back, but it’s rejoined me nonetheless. I’m back to boxing and doing Jillian Michaels’ workouts, which I’m convinced that if cancer won’t kill me – those surely will! Holy cow they are hard!
I was put back into the circuit of receiving checkups from my oncologist every 3-4 months after my diagnosis last summer, but so far everything has come back clear. My lab work is showing that my levels are normal, and my PET scan came back clean. I also had a CT scan that looked good. They did see a few spots around the liver that seem to be fatty deposits. They will keep an eye on them to make sure they’re nothing to be concerned about. I’ll have a follow-up CT scan sometime this summer, as well as an upper & lower GI scope.
I had an interesting time as I added another doctor to my “A Team” of physicians and began meeting with a geneticist. Because I’ve been diagnosed with colon cancer twice now and I’m not even 30, it’s highly suspicious that I have a genetic disorder. I was tested for “FAP,” but it came back negative. Back in the day when I was 17, M.D. Anderson suspected that I might have a disorder called “Lynch Syndrome” but testing couldn’t prove it. This past summer’s diagnosis raised suspicions again, as colon cancer appeared once more. My family and I were reevaluated and retested. While we would have loved to have concrete answers, we didn’t quite receive the certainty we were hoping for. But, reports were still clear and leaning toward there being a genetic problem, science just hasn’t caught up with us yet. I believe that my case has been left open to make us still have faith and hope. We can’t totally explain the two cancer occurrences, but we do know enough to try and stop them from happening again. The doctors have recommended that I be treated as someone with Lynch Syndrome so we can stay on top of the cancer risks and prevent it from returning the best we can!
Other than the frequent scans and more doctors appointments, life is pretty much back to normal. I still go poop (I’m asked that often!) – although because I have less than a foot of colon left, it’s much more often than others. I was very nervous about the foods I would have to avoid for the rest of my life, but it’s really not been that bad. Oils and heavily fried foods seem to be the worst, but I can eat almost anything in moderation – depending on the day, what else I’ve had to eat and my stress level. I’ve not had any more “IBS-like” attacks since my surgery (I was having several the month leading up to the big day) and generally feel pretty good if I watch my diet. As my blog shows, I have been eating more locally grown, organic foods to help me give me the best fuel and energy my body needs.
Of course, I still have my days now and then where I need to stay home, get extra rest, or stay close to the potty – but those are becoming fewer and fewer. I have a clearer understanding now than ever that each day is a gift, and feel so fortunate to be granted another second chance at a healthy life.
Thank you for your prayers and encouragement through all of this! As you continue to pray for me and my health, I also ask that you keep fellow cancer soldiers in mind who are undergoing chemo, radiation and other treatments to kill, or hold back their cancers. It’s a rough gig, and they need all of the support we can give. I pray that many others who are currently fighting will also have their health restored and positive health updates to give!
February 11, 2010 at 5:18 am Danielle B
Some days you never forget. Just about everyone can tell you where they were during 9/11. I distinctly remember Columbine. And my dad still tells stories of JFK’s shooting. Today is not a day that is remembered by our nation, but it is a day that’s significant for me and my family. It’s one of those days where no matter how many years go by, I will always remember where I was and what happened nine years ago.
My story actually begins at the library. I worked at the public library near my house as a “page” which meant I had the glorified job of arranging books on a cart and then reshelving them. It was a great job with flexible hours, decent pay and amazing coworkers. It was a Tuesday night. I was with my friends (we called ourselves “The A Team”, ) and we were excited this evening because we had the special job of moving the tables and chairs in the childrens’ book area for a speaker. We loved when speakers came. We’d spend at least 30 minutes on unique arrangements for the chairs and table stacking patterns. Anything that could take up extra time, we tried.
As much as I was trying to have fun with our furniture arranging on this evening, I wasn’t feeling it. I was expecting a phone call, and my mind couldn’t stay focused. I couldn’t shake a feeling that something was off. As we finished setting up for the program, I looked up to see my mom & dad coming through the doors. I was surprised to see them since I had two hours of work left. Something was strange though. Their faces verified my anxious feelings. Plus, they looked like death. They met me in the childrens’ area and began to deliver the news.
“We got a call from Dr. T’s office today,” my dad said. “Your mass they found was malignant.”
Dad and Mom looked at me with somber faces, pursed their lips, and anticipated my response. As they began to reach in for instant comfort, the reality that I was a little too young for the disease set in as I asked,
“Malignant? What does that mean?”
They got an even sadder look on their faces.
“It means it’s cancer honey,” Mom said. “Your tumor is cancerous.”
As soon as Mom explained that malignant meant cancer, I felt a heaviness that hasn’t ever completely lifted. I’m sure I began asking many questions they couldn’t answer. We made our way toward the front of the library for my coat and stopped by to tell my boss that I’d be gone for a while. She gave me a big hug and told me not to worry about a thing.
The rest of the evening is a blur, except I remember telling my brother, calling Mike who was at SBU, and having Nick come over to pray with my family that evening. I knew nothing about cancer, except that the only man I knew who had it, died. I knew I should have felt scared, but didn’t fully understand. I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t sure I was upset. I was just numb and confused about what this all meant. At 17, I didn’t have a lot of experience with the disease, nor did I understand its repurcussions. All I knew was that life would be different.
One thing I remember telling Nick that evening was that I was thankful for the opportunity to spice up my testimony. I had always felt I had such a vanilla story of knowing Jesus. I was raised in the church, so my journey was so typical up until then, or so I felt. But this night, when the cancer bomb dropped, I knew my story had changed. While I was unaware of the physical and mental changes, I definitely knew that part of this new diagnosis was spiritual. And my teenage faith automatically put me into the “God’s got a purpose” for this mode that night.
T
oday I enter my ninth year as a cancer survivor, and I am reminded by my own words back then. No matter what comes – whether it’s a third diagnosis, a complete colon removal, a rough day with olive oil, losing a friend, or just a challenging emotional day, my prayer is that I forever hang on to my own teenage advice and remember God’s got a plan for all of this – and I have to trust that.
2Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. 4Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. James 1:2-4
January 23, 2010 at 9:58 pm Danielle B
I’ve been away from the blog for a few weeks. It’s been a very challenging couple of weeks. I’ve stayed away to process everything that’s happened. But, part of what helps me keep going is knowing I’m still on this earth for a reason. So with that, I feel I must share my heart. Hopefully God can still use and have a purpose for my ponderings and poutings. So, with that, here’s today’s topic: Why surviving cancer is just really friggin’ hard some days.
I’ve been extremely challenged lately. These may even be some of the most challenging times I’ve had on this cancer journey. That might seem odd since I’ve not been in the hospital, had any scans, received chemo, nor even felt ill. But as I’ve heard and now first-hand experienced – the physical side of cancer is only one aspect of the disease.
As my last post told the story, I lost a close friend a few weeks ago. My Nurse Kim was a rock in my life. She had helped pump me up and give me hope for life after cancer, and life through cancer. Her passing leaves a void in my heart. I feel fortunate though to have had a Nurse Kim. I pray every survivor has a cheerleader like that in their lives.
In addition to Kim, I lost a fellow fighter last Sunday. The Colondar community is very unique. We’ve all been diagnosed with colon cancer way too young, and we have really random stories. But our randomness bonds us together. Although most of us have never met, we become comrades with one another, and add to our fleet each year. It’s as if we’re a fighting squad. We’re brothers and sisters suffering in the same unseen battle. So last week when one of us died, we all were hit hard. The reality of how unfair this life, and the disease, can be came rushing in uninvited. I experienced the guilt of surviving when other’s haven’t, felt the fear that it could have been me, and then the anxiousness of asking the question my mind wants to avoid, “who’s it going to be next?” The only thing I could really equate my feelings to was war. This must be how soldiers feel as they loose men they’re fighting next to. It doesn’t matter if you were best friends or strangers, it still hurts when they’re gone.
In addition to coping with the unfortunate deaths of the past two weeks, I’ve also been dealing with several other difficult situations due to my health history and other repercussions of the cancer treatment. The details are unnecessary, but let’s just say that I’ve envied healthy people this week. It’s hard being a cancer survivor. You physically battle one of the most gruesome, relentless diseases out there. You fight for your life to stay here. And then you beat it and stay here! But once you start living your life again free of the physical pain, you’re then beat up again by the outside world. Contracts, criteria, rates, eligibility, follow-ups, close calls, acceptance guidelines – all of the sudden you’re in another stressful situation that takes just as much of a negative toll on your emotions as chemo does your body. You’re faced with financial, mental and emotional stress. You try to fit back into the place you left, but you can’t. It’s as though you’re stained, your record tarnished. You’re not wanted. In some places, you’re excluded. And even if you do get in, it’s going to cost you a fortune. Although you know that cancer is nothing that you did to yourself, nor did you ask for, it’s hard not to feel guilty and responsible for carrying it with you. It’s like bringing a kid to an “adults only” event. It’s tollerated and worked around, but not embraced.
This has all been in the midst of 26th birthday. I’m typically the party gal who loves getting everyone together to celebrate. But last Monday, I couldn’t muster it up. There’s been too much to wade through and my emotions were shot. It was a bittersweet birthday. Not that I wasn’t glad to see it this year, as I was all too aware that it was not guaranteed, nor are the next ones. I had a small celebration with my hubby over dinner and a movie. It’s what I needed. It’s strange how “Happy Birthday” has come to mean so much more. This year, it was “Praise the Lord you’re still here.” And just making it to that day was enough for me.
I have hesitated writing a post like this in fear of sounding like I’m just complaining on a blog. But I felt like I really needed to for the sake of being transparent. Plus, it helps me really process everything I’ve been feeling. I typically try to hold it together and be real, yet focus on the positives. Cancer survivorship does bring many positives and is one of life’s biggest accomplishments and joys for me. But I feel it’s important to be real about some of the downsides too. It’s important for those who will one day join my side as a survivor to expect the non-physical struggles. It’s important for those who have not had the disease to get a glimpse into how life is really like for us some days. It’s the story behind the answer of “fine” you get when you ask how we’re doing but we really don’t want to go into it.
Maybe in the future, there will be a little more sensitivity toward a survivor’s life post-treatment. While it’s unrealistic to hope that we won’t lost any more fighters, maybe it will be easier to identify why the loss of a stranger to colon cancer is so upsetting. Maybe ACS will read this and understand what them “sponsoring birthdays” really means to a survivor. Maybe by getting some of the realities out in the open, this will help someone else who’s fighting. Maybe it will help those who aren’t. But all in all, hopefully it has shown everyone why living life as a cancer survivor is just really hard some days.
December 18, 2009 at 11:49 pm Danielle B
I sat down at the beautifully set table. The glasses, plates and silverware sparkled and shined. The table cloth was spotless, perhaps even ironed. We bowed our heads as my dad led a prayer to thank God for what He’s brought us, for the Thanksgiving holiday, and for the food we were about to eat. And as the prayer began to wind down, I silently slipped in, “And let me survive this holiday.”
All of the sudden dishes upon dishes of food began dancing on the table, and it seemed as though Handel’s “Messiah” had just started playing as large spoonfuls of goodness galloped onto our plates. The seven layer salad topped with eggs, bacon, ranch dressing, cheese and lettuce broke us into the dinner, with dishes of mac & cheese, cheesy broccoli rice casserole, rolls, cream of mushroomed-green beans, and creamy corn followed. As heaps of food landed on each of our plates, my prayers increased as I began to slowly dive into the meal.
“Remember your boundaries,” I told myself. “Bread first, little bit of everything, don’t let my main dish be dairy, don’t get over-full, save room for dessert.”
I joined in the fun and started the “oohing and aahing” with the rest of the gang gathered around our Thanksgiving feast. I savored flavors and foods that six months ago, I didn’t think I would ever eat again. Flashbacks to my hosptial stay flooded my mind as I vividly remembered what it felt like to lay in the hospital bed and have the nurse come in with new IV bag full of white powdery stuff (TPN) she called my “steak and potatoes” that fed me nutrition through my arm. My dream from six months ago had come true. I could eat again, I could enjoy food without it turning on me, and I could experience the joys of life even without a colon.
This Thanksgiving, I had a new perspective on thankfulness. In the past, my surbanite answers have always been the superficial “family, friends, food and fun” when asked what I was thankful for. But this year as I peered over dish upon dish of casseroles and cakes, I was thankful for something else. I was thankful to be alive. I was thankful for the doctors who helped guide me toward the right decision in surgery, and figured out how to fix the complications once they came. I was thankful to feel normal again. I was thankful that I didn’t end up spending all day in the bathroom, nor get sick over the meal. And I was thankful I could have cheesecake for dessert.
December 1, 2009 at 6:16 pm Danielle B
The other day I was standing in the hallway.
Picking up my things after church.
My husband acted like he hadn’t seen me in ten years,
And had just found me through a Google search.
It had really only been a few minutes, but to him, way too long.
He quickly got the look on his face, “I am going to fix what is wrong.”
He put his arms around me and gave me the biggest hug.
And all of the sudden it squeaked out, like a tiny little bug.
Sometimes you can stop those things, or at least hold them in.
But in this instance there was no turning back, the lion had left its den.
He hugged me so tight in the hallway, it forced the mighty wind to blow.
But at least nobody was walking by to experience the smelly show.
I laughed as I hugged him back, whispering that he’d just made me fart.
And when he kept on hugging me, I knew he loved me with all of his heart.
November 21, 2009 at 4:41 pm Danielle B
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oday I enter my ninth year as a cancer survivor, and I am reminded by my own words back then. No matter what comes – whether it’s a third diagnosis, a complete colon removal, a rough day with olive oil, losing a friend, or just a challenging emotional day, my prayer is that I forever hang on to my own teenage advice and remember God’s got a plan for all of this – and I have to trust that.
Semicolon Stories 