Julie's cancer Journey

Julie’s cancer Journey

The last five months have been a steep learning curve – about myself, about cancer. Serious illness changes you and I began to see things differently. I had been somewhat intolerant about disease. I looked after myself and I figured people who suffered chronic, degenerative diseases like cancer probably did not. Now I know that’s not necessarily true and I am more compassionate about other people’s illnesses and how they manage. Living with life-threatening disease makes you re-examine your life priorities. I have found that my major life events have brought me new friends and acquaintances. The cancer is no exception and one of my new friends is Nadine Williams, who encouraged me to write this blog.

Once the cancer was revealed, I had a CT scan the same day and the next day the colo-rectal surgeon was at my bedside, biopsy pathology results in hand. The scan showed no spreading of cancer and my liver looked “clean”, but the biopsy was “inconclusive’’. He explained the probe couldn’t go deep enough into the tumour to pick up cancerous cells, but he was sure it was cancer. He explained his “Anterior Resection” surgery, which cuts out the cancerous section of the colon then staples up the ends. I was booked in for the surgery in a week’s time.

I felt that I was losing control it was happening so fast, but I was determined to understand and make choices. I consulted several sources and chose to have surgery. I told everyone, including work colleagues and I heard many bowel cancer success stories..

Recovery was an appalling ordeal. However, I didn’t wake up with a colostomy bag and my bowel started to function, albeit bizarrely, after a few days. Beautiful things happened too in hospital…those daily jokes with hospital staff, flower deliveries, visits from friends and family and many phone calls .

I was still in hospital when the surgeon delivered the distressing histology report. They had removed 16 lymph nodes and 3 of these were found to have microscopic amounts of cancer cells. In my weakened state, I was devastated. Earlier that morning, I had overheard through the thin hospital walls, a different surgeon delivering a happier outcome to another patient. I had hoped for the same news.

Just like that I became a cancer patient and an oncologist promptly visited to explain the chemotherapy treatment for my situation. The statistics showed roughly a 50 per cent chance of cancer recurring in five years if I had no further treatment, and about 25 per cent chance if I had chemotherapy. I chose chemotherapy because I felt I should do everything to avoid a recurrence.

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