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By Alice Sherman
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Last year, in July 2023, I had been taking heavy-duty iron pills due to anemia. One day, I experienced severe, paralyzing pain in my midsection. I went to my primary doctor, who couldn't find anything but suggested a CAT scan to see what we couldn't.
The CAT scan revealed a "thickening" in my ascending colon. My doctor immediately ordered a colonoscopy. I was 86 at the time and skeptical, but she insisted. So, in early August, I had the colonoscopy.
Two days later, the doctor called and told me he had made an appointment with a surgeon. When I mentioned the surgeon's name to my primary doctor, she got upset, saying she didn't like him personally but acknowledged his excellence as a surgeon.
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The surgeon was indeed fantastic, explaining the procedure with great care. He'd make a small incision in my stomach, pull out the colon, cut and clean it, then sew it back. It sounded simple enough, and I would be in the hospital for three or four days. No one told me why I needed the procedure, but as usual, I just went along with the program.
Everything went as planned, and I was released once my bowels were functioning properly. The surgeon then urged me to see an oncologist. I did, and two weeks later, the oncologist revealed I had Stage 3 colon cancer.
I was stunned. I felt perfectly fine—how could I be dying? The thought of cancer without chemo, radiation, or pills was bewildering. It took almost two weeks to get a PET scan, which showed no cancer remnants. The surgeon had removed 17 lymph nodes, two of which were diseased. My primary doctor was ecstatic about the results, though I didn't fully grasp their significance. I felt incredibly lucky to conquer Stage 3 cancer without any further treatment.
Despite my reluctance to take pills, the oncologist prescribed a mild chemo pill as a precaution. At 87, I have a strong heart, clear lungs, and a good diet. I avoid pills because each one can lead to a chain reaction of side effects. My older daughter, an expert in Radiology IT, advised against the chemo pills, citing severe side effects. When I told the oncologist, she agreed with my decision but will continue to monitor me.
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Meanwhile, my younger daughter attended a Flats Festival in San Francisco, celebrating women who had undergone breast cancer surgery. I thought of other survivors and sent my congratulations for their fight, promising to remember them in my prayers for a good quality of life.
A year later, I am doing well. I see the oncologist and cardiologist regularly and visit other specialists as needed. Every night, I thank God for a wonderful day and pray for my family, friends, and other survivors.
Alice Sherman is a cancer survivor. She lives in St. Petersburg, Florida.
All views expressed are the author's own.
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