Cancer (I have it)
Posted: October 23rd, 2013, 7:27 pm
Hi MIHH community,
I joined here a while back, looking for support and understanding for my mental health disorders. I was diagnosed as Bipolar II with generalized anxiety disorder as well as PTSD when I was 19. There have been huge ups and downs, which is fitting of the diagnosis I suppose. When I first joined here I think I was in a bit of a down. I had started school again, I wasn't feeling confident in my direction or myself, and I knew I wasn't taking proper care of myself. I was irresponsibly taking my medications and having a bitch of a time getting a doctor in sync with myself. After finding the podcast I started listening to it obsessively, because replacing socialization with podcasts is a favourite mode of escape for me (if it feels like a conversation, can't we just call it a conversation?). I joined the forum in what I can only assume was one of my manic-make-a-change moods- believing that perhaps an online community could keep me accountable for my mental health when I could not. Well, my obvious lapse in posting and participation probably shows you that this mood was fleeting.
That summer I actually gave up the medication. I can't tell you whether this was a right or wrong thing to do, I just know that after a hard crash into depression after a fun mania weekend I was put on some new medications that actually made me shit myself a few times. Now any medical students or professionals that may happen upon the post please note: shitting yourself does not a cure for depression make. I felt as though doctors that didn't know me were taking too many guesses with my body and mental health- so I said fuck it. Not fuck it in a sense where I was giving up, but more so fuck it lets try something else. Looking at my life I realized that I was most successful when extremely busy, so I made myself extremely busy. I put myself to high standards and refused not to meet them. There were weeks where it was hard as hell, but ultimately, off the medication I was feeling so much better. The scheduling, the new focus, it made me feel like I had an identity outside of my diagnosis. And it was a successful one.
The school year was amazing. This summer I was asked my the university to TA a course and direct a show, which is not often done for undergraduate students. I was given a position at a theatre company in Toronto as well, and I decided to take on a few online courses just to keep the momentum at full tilt. Well, this summer has been full something.
In May I took a small fall and sprained my right ankle in 4 different places, dramatically shredding several muscles. It didn't make a lot of sense to the doctors, it seemed like just bad luck. The inflammation and pain was really bad throughout, I was put in a hard fiberglass cast. I made the choice not to slow down. I hoofed it up and down inaccessible subway stairs across Toronto to satisfy all of my commitments. My new identity as an overachiever could not be compromised by this small mishap, and I made it my mission to leave everyone in awe of my tenacity. It was fucking miserable, but a part of me enjoys playing strong.
I don't know when, I think near the end of my cast's tenure on my leg around the same time when my play was mounting, I started getting really sick. I was loosing weight and using the bathroom all the time. My bowel movements were painful and bloody. I figured I had just overdone it on the pain medication and that'd I would deal with it when I had the time. Weight loss, well, I was excited about it. The bipolar cocktails over the last 4 years had done a number on my weight and I wasn't finding the time or energy to get it back under control. I let myself be sick for about six weeks before doing anything about it.
The first doctor gave me pills for gas and told me if that they didn't help that maybe they'd check for ulcers. He was entirely disinterested and entirely the worst. Shortly after this visit, I left Toronto for a week to go back to my home town of Sarnia. I would be teaching 9 hours a day in a children's musical theatre camp while staying with my parents, it's something I do every year and immensely enjoy. Two days before starting to teach I was watching movies with my mom and I probably left to have a painful bowel movement 25 times. The next day she made me drive myself to the ER to get myself checked out again, though I really felt like I was fine. I had an excellent young doctor that was extremely interested in what was going on. Turns out in about a month and a half I had lost 30 pounds. I hate scales and my weight and knowing anything about it, so I was really shocked. Stuff was fitting differently, but 30 pounds? My blood work returned with high levels of inflammation, which is a sign of IBD. I was scheduled for a colonoscopy for the week following camp. At camp I was so sick everyday all I could eat was a snack sized yogurt and banana. I lost another 10 pounds that week.
I asked my boss back in Toronto for another week off work to deal with some medical issues, offering to attend any meetings by phone and completely all my work out of office. I really figured I'd be back within two days of the procedure. Turns out that was really wrong.
The doctor found a tumor about 5 cm from my asshole. Which is glamorous. At 23 years old, on August 22, I was diagnosed with stage 3 colon/rectal cancer. It's awful.
The life I felt like I had so together has been completely fucked up. I've had to move back home, leave my new job, take a leave from school, withdraw my plans for masters applications, put over 250 kilometers of distance between my boyfriend and I, and start dealing with cancer. At first I figured, I'm young. I'll be back in school and in Toronto by January at the latest. It'll be fine.
Turns out treatment is about a year. September was spent dedicated to the harvesting of my ovaries, as the radiation and chemotherapy and surgeries are expected to leave my completely barren. On the positive side, I now have 20 eggs safely stored away. Eggs that will have to be carried by a surrogate because my uterus is directly in the radiation field and will be riddled with scar tissue making it too dangerous to attempt to carry myself. 2 weeks ago now I started the first round of chemotherapy and radiation. It's fine and awful at the same time. The side effects are different from what television had led me to believe. I have no immune system, painfully dry skin (and everything else... which is sexy), a burned ass, and zero appetite. All in all I've lost 55 pounds since July 1st (estimated beginning of weight loss). Which is concerning, because that's really fast... it's also crazy that my mind fucking loves it. It's the best I've ever looked. Sometime in January or February I will have my first surgery. Here they will take out my tumor, which ideally will be small enough that they can put me back together again. They also might not be able to, so I may end up with a life long colostomy bag. Which is far from what any 23 year old woman wants. Regardless I'll be bag shitting for a few months while things heal. As things heal I'll have some more chemotherapy done (for the road), and eventually another surgery to permanently decide the route of digestion (inside the body or out). I'm really furious all the time.
Mentally? I think I'm actually doing better than most. I'm constantly frustrated, but every day I get out of bed and do what I need to do. Doctors keep telling me their inspired by my maturity and attitude, which is irritating because I don't feel like i get a lot of choice in my attitude. People seem to get depressed just looking at me. I feel incredibly alone- I have not met anyone close to my age experiencing cancer. I feel like I'm in mourning for a life I don't get to have. The course of my future has been drastically altered. I feel betrayed by my body. I feel sexless and as though my femininity is being destroyed at every turn (in two weeks I can expect to begin menopause). I know I'm going to get through this, but I just hate it all so much. I'm experiencing an overwhelming life transition... and it's total bullshit.
I joined here a while back, looking for support and understanding for my mental health disorders. I was diagnosed as Bipolar II with generalized anxiety disorder as well as PTSD when I was 19. There have been huge ups and downs, which is fitting of the diagnosis I suppose. When I first joined here I think I was in a bit of a down. I had started school again, I wasn't feeling confident in my direction or myself, and I knew I wasn't taking proper care of myself. I was irresponsibly taking my medications and having a bitch of a time getting a doctor in sync with myself. After finding the podcast I started listening to it obsessively, because replacing socialization with podcasts is a favourite mode of escape for me (if it feels like a conversation, can't we just call it a conversation?). I joined the forum in what I can only assume was one of my manic-make-a-change moods- believing that perhaps an online community could keep me accountable for my mental health when I could not. Well, my obvious lapse in posting and participation probably shows you that this mood was fleeting.
That summer I actually gave up the medication. I can't tell you whether this was a right or wrong thing to do, I just know that after a hard crash into depression after a fun mania weekend I was put on some new medications that actually made me shit myself a few times. Now any medical students or professionals that may happen upon the post please note: shitting yourself does not a cure for depression make. I felt as though doctors that didn't know me were taking too many guesses with my body and mental health- so I said fuck it. Not fuck it in a sense where I was giving up, but more so fuck it lets try something else. Looking at my life I realized that I was most successful when extremely busy, so I made myself extremely busy. I put myself to high standards and refused not to meet them. There were weeks where it was hard as hell, but ultimately, off the medication I was feeling so much better. The scheduling, the new focus, it made me feel like I had an identity outside of my diagnosis. And it was a successful one.
The school year was amazing. This summer I was asked my the university to TA a course and direct a show, which is not often done for undergraduate students. I was given a position at a theatre company in Toronto as well, and I decided to take on a few online courses just to keep the momentum at full tilt. Well, this summer has been full something.
In May I took a small fall and sprained my right ankle in 4 different places, dramatically shredding several muscles. It didn't make a lot of sense to the doctors, it seemed like just bad luck. The inflammation and pain was really bad throughout, I was put in a hard fiberglass cast. I made the choice not to slow down. I hoofed it up and down inaccessible subway stairs across Toronto to satisfy all of my commitments. My new identity as an overachiever could not be compromised by this small mishap, and I made it my mission to leave everyone in awe of my tenacity. It was fucking miserable, but a part of me enjoys playing strong.
I don't know when, I think near the end of my cast's tenure on my leg around the same time when my play was mounting, I started getting really sick. I was loosing weight and using the bathroom all the time. My bowel movements were painful and bloody. I figured I had just overdone it on the pain medication and that'd I would deal with it when I had the time. Weight loss, well, I was excited about it. The bipolar cocktails over the last 4 years had done a number on my weight and I wasn't finding the time or energy to get it back under control. I let myself be sick for about six weeks before doing anything about it.
The first doctor gave me pills for gas and told me if that they didn't help that maybe they'd check for ulcers. He was entirely disinterested and entirely the worst. Shortly after this visit, I left Toronto for a week to go back to my home town of Sarnia. I would be teaching 9 hours a day in a children's musical theatre camp while staying with my parents, it's something I do every year and immensely enjoy. Two days before starting to teach I was watching movies with my mom and I probably left to have a painful bowel movement 25 times. The next day she made me drive myself to the ER to get myself checked out again, though I really felt like I was fine. I had an excellent young doctor that was extremely interested in what was going on. Turns out in about a month and a half I had lost 30 pounds. I hate scales and my weight and knowing anything about it, so I was really shocked. Stuff was fitting differently, but 30 pounds? My blood work returned with high levels of inflammation, which is a sign of IBD. I was scheduled for a colonoscopy for the week following camp. At camp I was so sick everyday all I could eat was a snack sized yogurt and banana. I lost another 10 pounds that week.
I asked my boss back in Toronto for another week off work to deal with some medical issues, offering to attend any meetings by phone and completely all my work out of office. I really figured I'd be back within two days of the procedure. Turns out that was really wrong.
The doctor found a tumor about 5 cm from my asshole. Which is glamorous. At 23 years old, on August 22, I was diagnosed with stage 3 colon/rectal cancer. It's awful.
The life I felt like I had so together has been completely fucked up. I've had to move back home, leave my new job, take a leave from school, withdraw my plans for masters applications, put over 250 kilometers of distance between my boyfriend and I, and start dealing with cancer. At first I figured, I'm young. I'll be back in school and in Toronto by January at the latest. It'll be fine.
Turns out treatment is about a year. September was spent dedicated to the harvesting of my ovaries, as the radiation and chemotherapy and surgeries are expected to leave my completely barren. On the positive side, I now have 20 eggs safely stored away. Eggs that will have to be carried by a surrogate because my uterus is directly in the radiation field and will be riddled with scar tissue making it too dangerous to attempt to carry myself. 2 weeks ago now I started the first round of chemotherapy and radiation. It's fine and awful at the same time. The side effects are different from what television had led me to believe. I have no immune system, painfully dry skin (and everything else... which is sexy), a burned ass, and zero appetite. All in all I've lost 55 pounds since July 1st (estimated beginning of weight loss). Which is concerning, because that's really fast... it's also crazy that my mind fucking loves it. It's the best I've ever looked. Sometime in January or February I will have my first surgery. Here they will take out my tumor, which ideally will be small enough that they can put me back together again. They also might not be able to, so I may end up with a life long colostomy bag. Which is far from what any 23 year old woman wants. Regardless I'll be bag shitting for a few months while things heal. As things heal I'll have some more chemotherapy done (for the road), and eventually another surgery to permanently decide the route of digestion (inside the body or out). I'm really furious all the time.
Mentally? I think I'm actually doing better than most. I'm constantly frustrated, but every day I get out of bed and do what I need to do. Doctors keep telling me their inspired by my maturity and attitude, which is irritating because I don't feel like i get a lot of choice in my attitude. People seem to get depressed just looking at me. I feel incredibly alone- I have not met anyone close to my age experiencing cancer. I feel like I'm in mourning for a life I don't get to have. The course of my future has been drastically altered. I feel betrayed by my body. I feel sexless and as though my femininity is being destroyed at every turn (in two weeks I can expect to begin menopause). I know I'm going to get through this, but I just hate it all so much. I'm experiencing an overwhelming life transition... and it's total bullshit.
