Eleven days after my diagnosis of advanced colon cancer, I have already turned into a different person. This is very hard to make sense of. Two weeks ago, I was as healthy a person as I knew, a bit short of breath when climbing stairs, suffering as if I were at 1400 m when playing football all out, and a bit slower on the bike than in the past, but without any troubles or problems. The stings from my belly that would pierce me occasionally drove me to the doctor, but for the rest of my symptoms, I blamed age.
Now, two weeks later, I’m a sick man, and I feel it. The pain from my colon is almost constant and sometimes insufferable. Sleeping is difficult because I’m only comfortable on my back. Last night, I spent quite a bit of time finding an alternative position, slowly rolling left and right, harvesting pain in the process. I didn’t arrive anywhere happy. Turning itself hurt. I ended up back on my back, sleeping without moving.
Today we went for a hike up to the castle on the right side of the Limmat. The stairs are steep and exposed, up a plate of Jurassic limestone that sticks out from the surrounding hills like a knife edge. After an hour of climbing, we reached the castle and enjoyed ice cream and the view. The walk continued along the hill above Wettingen and took a good three hours to complete. The girl walked all the way. The boy was also quite active. It was a beautiful day, with sadness just below the surface. When will we have another day like this as a happy family?
When I picked my mom up from the train station late tonight, my state had further deteriorated. Maybe it was the exertion of a day of walking. Pain slowed down my departure from home and delayed my arrival at the station. I was walking like a sick man, holding on to the right side of my abdomen to contain the agony and sometimes to walls, pillars or posts on the way for support. My mom couldn’t hide her shock when she saw me stagger down the platform towards her.
On the right side of my abdomen was a large, slightly protruding, ovoid mass, hard to the touch. If that was the tumor, how had it grown like this in less than two weeks? If it was the result of the tumor blocking the passage through my colon, the short-term worst-case scenario outlined by the surgeon during our consultation on Friday, would I die of it tonight? It seemed like a distinct possibility, and my planned hospitalization the next day had something of a rescue to it.
It’s possible that today was the last day of the life that I knew. Worry-free Sundays out with the family, walks and laughter, exploring and discovery, these might be things of the past if things go bad tomorrow. And even if they go well, how will I keep my spirits up in a struggle that seems to allow for one outcome only?
Tomorrow morning before everyone else gets up, I will check myself into the hospital where the operating table will be ready for me. In the afternoon I might wake up and find myself without half a colon, maybe missing other parts as well. Harsh as it sounds, I think this would be a good thing. It would mean that the surgeons considered it helpful to remove the primary tumor. I can’t get rid of this thing soon enough, to feel somewhat normal again. I won’t delude myself into thinking that things are in fact normal. The race has only started. What will it take for me to survive?
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