The Waiting Game.

I pulled the official letter from our post office box early one morning a few weeks ago. It was solely addressed to me.

I was a little shocked upon opening and reading the concerning news, yet subconsciously I’d been awaiting the inevitable day my body would begin to protest.

It can’t continue to work its magic forever!

I drove sombrely home contemplating and digesting the words that could possibly be the start of a journey I’d ironically previously walked with my beautiful sister in law, Kim.

I couldn’t bring myself to share the contents of my letter for a week, not even with my family. I needed to get my own head around the somewhat distressing message first.

I’ve been extremely lucky throughout my fifty-four years of life. I’ve never experienced a broken bone or major illness. All previous, mandatory health tests I’ve undertaken, I’ve passed with flying colours. The only physical intrusions I’ve ever encountered were annual needle pricks in my arm to check my blood was behaving as it should.

Easy peasy!

This was my attitude upon taking the biennial Faecal Occult Blood Test not long ago. Everything was fine as far as I was concerned. I hadn’t experienced any issues relating to my digestive tract and I honestly didn’t think twice about the results, expecting them to be negative as per usual.

However, this time they returned positive.

I followed up with my doctor almost immediately, who referred me on to have a colonoscopy as soon as possible. I’m now anticipating the dreaded day in around two weeks.

The waiting game is not much fun and my thoughts, although realistic, are bouncing around from one end of my mind to the other, conjuring up all sorts of very real, ugly scenarios.

I realise there are many possible reasons as to why microscopic blood was found in my stool. I’m wrapping my head around the worst-case scenario, which could prove to be a colon cancer diagnosis.

Hey, if I expect the worst, I may be pleasantly surprised and relieved!

So how do I feel about the C word? I detest it, that’s how!

My father was diagnosed with small cell cancer many years ago and struggled through numerous complications for eight torturous months, until we laid him to rest.

Many friends have also trudged their way through this despicable disease, but none more so than my sister in law, who fought for six years with every ounce of strength and determination she could muster, until she took her final breath late last November.

I accompanied Kim through the many, tiresome chemo sessions over the years. I nursed her when her body failed and as I held her hand, watched her fade away right before my eyes. It was gut wrenching and never had I felt so utterly powerless.

As Kim slipped away, I felt a quiet relief for her, while drowning within my heartbreaking loss. She didn’t deserve any of it and departed this world much too soon, leaving behind a husband and two, young adult sons, one of whom is autistic.

Kim was only fifty- three years old. She and I were the same age.

Kim lead an extremely clean lifestyle. She was into all sorts of healthy food alternatives and natural therapies, committed to gifting herself wholistic health and well-being to be an ongoing pillar of strength for her family.

Still she suffered bowel cancer, which slowly spread throughout her body to eventually claim her life force.

I’ve known many seemingly vibrant, fit, healthy folk, who succumbed to disease, shocking their loved ones. Some passed suddenly without a hint of warning while jogging, even running a marathon. One simply took a shower. Or what about babies and children who suffer through illnesses and consequently die. Where’s the logic in that?!

Others like me, who could do a whole lot better addressing their health, soldier on relishing in all life has to offer.

For these reasons I truly believe, regardless of how we endeavour to live our lives, when our time is up, it’s up.

With this in mind, I decided long ago to enjoy life to the best of my ability, even the detrimental habits I tend to pursue, preferring quality over quantity. Right or wrong, this is my attitude and so far it’s served me well. Definitely on an emotional level, and up until now my physicality too has withstood regular, everyday harm, rising, and coming to the party time and time again.

However, I have always quietly anticipated the day my physical self-claims defeat, unable to repeatedly heal.

I’ve disrespected my body in many ways, commencing as a young, primary school aged child. The roller coaster of binge eating and starving myself for two decades surely placed tremendous strain on my entire being, especially my faithful heart.

I would have been the perfect bulimia candidate, but thankfully failed miserably trying to uphold a vomiting habit, certainly not through lack of trying. Throw into the equation other unfavourable behaviours for nearly forty years and I’d say I’m a slow-ticking time bomb waiting silently to ignite.

I’m nauseous seeing these words written in black and white. Oh, how they bring it home! How dare I treat myself this way! Don’t I hold any self-regard?!

Mind you, I’ve always been extremely active, participating in many sporting activities over the years. Working outdoors changed my lifestyle dramatically for the better too. I learned to eat regularly and to finally satisfy my hunger, which is something I hadn’t deciphered for as long as I can remember.

Funny how no one ever picked up on my problematic relationship with food. Neither family members, nor flatmates or even partners noticed. I must have ingeniously disguised it well.

I once attempted to disclose my closely guarded secret to a dear friend. The words excruciatingly scraped over my tongue like sandpaper. The overwhelming shame I felt was indescribable, but I managed to bare my all. The reaction I received was laughter! My friend thought I was joking and couldn’t for the life of her take me seriously, immediately changing the subject.

I tried.

Back to the C word. We all know cancer doesn’t discriminate. There’s no rhyme or reason as to why or whom it clings onto for dear life. Some people survive, some remain in remission for a long while, some pass after short periods. Even animals succumb to this loathsome disease.

I remember when my beautiful, rescue horse was diagnosed with cancer around his eye area. The vet surgically removed his inner eyelid believing the tumour had successfully vanished, and it seemed it had until Beau’s eye started newly weeping a year later.

I called the vet again and gently dabbed Beau’s inflamed, sore eye, attempting to soothe it. Suddenly a drop of the cancerous fluid flicked into my own eye. I wondered then if this would somehow have a detrimental impact on my body.

This also reminds me of the many times I accompanied Kim to Peter MacCallum hospital for chemo sessions. I tend to drink a lot of water and regularly visited the chemo ward toilets, as typically chemo administration lasted for hours. One fine day a nurse on shift insisted I not use the patient toilets, as they’re toxic.

Too little, too late!

Again, I wondered if this would somehow affect me.

At the end of the day, I need to wait for my colonoscopy results.

If I really do have cancer, I’ll be thankful I bothered to take the FOB test, instead of shoving it in the corner for a rainy day.

These simple, straightforward, quick FOB tests are not to be sneezed at. They are sent in the mail to the over fifty’s generation every two years to predominantly determine early stages of cancer. Early enough to hopefully eradicate the unwelcome, frightening intruder if positively diagnosed.

If it turns out I am cancer free, will I take it as a warning and change my ways? Surely yes!

I’d need my head read if I didn’t, however, I dare say the damage I’ve already administered is irreversible. How could it not be after all these years?

My gut feeling isn’t leaning towards cancer, but something is obviously not right. For now, it’s an uncomfortable waiting game and only time will tell.

I’m just thankful I diligently took the test when it arrived in the mail. Whatever may happen now remains a mystery.