Maybe for some people it’s easy to pinpoint the first day of their journey with cancer. The day they found the lump or the day the doctor told them. For me it has never been so cut and dry. For me, I think it was the day I finally admitted there was something wrong.
Thursday, July 19, 2012. Two years ago today. I’d been in pain since Monday. I experienced bouts of nausea and an inability to eat for about a month. I’d been anemic and very lethargic since February. But this was the day I could no longer deny that something was seriously wrong.
I hadn’t had a bowel movement in a week but I wasn’t constipated. I had moments of stabbing pain on and off all week. That day, though, I picked the kids up from camp at noon and couldn’t leave the parking lot for the pain. I spent the remainder of the afternoon on the couch screaming on and off in pain until Mike called on his way home from work.
He could tell right away I wasn’t doing well. He told me to call my doctor and ask the neighbors to watch the kids. I was ready and waiting when he got home. I still thought I was overreacting.
The doctor sent me for a CT scan. Diverticulitis is what he thought. I vomited up that awful drink. They did the scan anyway.
A blockage they called it. I was sent home. Tap water enema and miralax were prescribed.
You never know how much your husband loves you until he is willing to give you an enema. I never want to find out, but I hope I would do the same for him.
That’s it. That’s the beginning of my cancer story. We had no idea how serious this was. We had no idea how much worse this would get. We had no idea how this would change all of us.
I don’t know if I will continue to share the horrific parts of my cancer story. There are so many wonderful parts I want to share instead. So many small miracles and revelations I’ve experienced since it all began. Those are what I want to share. Those are what I want to remember. But this was my beginning.