It doesn't matter how tough we are, trauma always leaves a scar. It follows us home, it changes us and over the past year I've picked up an additional scar… or six.

A year ago today, I went in for emergency surgery, being told I was 95% likely to end up with a colostomy bag. A Colostomy Bag at the grand old age of 29.  As mortifying as that was, at the time I genuinely didn’t care. I was in so much pain. I had been in agony for almost two months whilst every doctor I saw compared me to a set of statistics and ruled a diagnosis of constipation and was dismissed. Now, some would say I’m full of shit but I knew this diagnosis wasn’t right. I had to suffer through eight visits to medical professionals, losing 15kg, tearing my oesophagus through sickness before I was taken seriously.

My wonderful surgeon performed a right hemicolectomy where he removed a 13cm section of my bowel and thankfully was so skilled I didn’t have the dreaded C-Bag. He did however remove a 4cm mass which turned out to be the most dreaded C. The BIG C. 
Cancer.
Colon Cancer.

I like to think of myself as extraordinary 😝 but here are some statistics I never wanted to learn or be associated with:

• Less than 5% of those diagnosed with colon cancer are under the age of 50
• Somewhere less than 1% are under 30.
• A stage III colon cancer has about a 40 percent chance of cure and a patient with a stage IV tumour has only a 10 percent chance of a cure. Terrifying.
• Bowel cancer is the third and fourth most common cancer in the USA and UK respectively.

After receiving the news from my matter of fact, zero bed side manner surgeon (we all know that was probably a benefit for me) I was sent to an oncologist who diagnosed me with cancer of the colon, stage T4bN1M0 – Stage 3.

T4b = The tumour had grown into or had attached to other organs or structures. 
N1 = There were tumour cells found in 2 to 3 regional lymph nodes.
M0 = The disease had not spread to a distant part of the body.

M0, the best combination of letters and numbers you can ever see when talking the Big C.

As a precaution, the oncologist recommended I had 12 sessions of chemotherapy. I had to prepare for the onslaught of a bi-weekly cycle of poison and a big birthday, all whilst trying to find a new job. No preparation possible really.

My treatment was called FOLFOX which is three different chemotherapies:
FOL= Folinic Acid,
F = Fluorouracil,
OX = Oxaliplatin
and it was going to be administered through a portacath in the chest. More surgery. I had to sit in the chemo unit for an entire day, every two weeks receiving the two therapies and then wear a pump for two days for the third therapy.

I physically coped quite well with the chemo, never losing my mermaid hair.  In some ways, I blocked out the numb fingers, toes and face, and the hit by a truck feeling, even sitting for interviews, trying to answer questions whilst suddenly melting into a hot-flush. A hot flush…boiling from the inside.

I progressed through chemo and in late May I visited the unit for routine blood tests and another CT scan. I received the results on the phone whilst in the second week in my new role.

“…The CT had demonstrated a new lesion on the liver adjacent to the gall bladder. In addition, a cyst on the right ovary and an increase in free intraperitoneal fluid within the pelvis were a cause for concern…”

Those words pushed me towards being a M1 and a Stage 4 patient – metastasis in other organs.

I would need to fly back home for more radioactive scans and MRIs, which then resulted in another surgery. The surgeon was expecting to remove my gallbladder and biopsy the legion on my liver and ovary but upon viewing he said nothing could be found and my internals looked “unremarkable” given all the recent trauma. I feel I’m a pro at this surgery malarkey now, I had the surgery on the Friday evening, bust a stitch cheering a Lion’s game Saturday morning, discharged early Saturday afternoon and was back in the office on Monday. I had a very stressful week waiting until the following Friday for the cytology results, which would indicate if there were any abnormal cells within my abdomen. They pump you full of saline, jiggle you about and then suck it all back out again.

In practical terms, my surgery, a year ago today, was likely curative but Friday 14^th July will forever be my Cancer Free day.  Last month I had my 3-month scan check-up; where the “CT and PET scans show no evidence of recurrent disease,” – aka all clear!!!

That’s a slice of my past year, the first year of my cancer story. Urgh. 105 days since medically declared cancer free. I have to “strive for five” (Five years cancer free) 1721 days to go.

Whilst 2016 was naff for many, it was life changing for me but it will always amaze me the way humour can be found in some of life’s darkest moments. Some of my favourites include;

• the girls almost tipping me out of the wheelchair on our way to a rugby international. Let’s do it again!
• mid examination jokes with the gynaecologist about his desired new role at facebook
• my mamma mistaking my ovary egg count for a breakfast menu
• being on a morphine high in Edinburgh unable to find my way to the car and just doing laps of the airport because I wouldn’t stay in recovery after surgery last month
• first sober trip to infernos – thanks girls…I think…. 😝
• Catheters 😜😜😜😜😜😜

My primary reason for sharing is because young people are given the same fob off and are continually compared to a set of statistics – on both sides of the Atlantic. One Google search and you’ll realise my story is not rare, many young people are routinely, repetitively dismissed and it doesn’t need to be that way. I believe my treatment would have been far less aggressive if I was assessed as the patient in-front, rather than against “the most-likely” diagnosis for a young person.

A young person can look well, have normal observations, be articulate, even joke about stalking Usain Bolt at the Olympics whilst her cared for body betrays her with a tumour and an agonising obstruction.

I thought I would feel less cancer patient once chemotherapy was completed and I was deep into my new adventure, that I’d get ‘back to normal,’ but then reality hit. Sometimes I struggle with the fact that I have a very high risk of reoccurrence. My freedom to travel and change up my life has been restricted – although not as much as my oncologist would like - I’m sure he hates me!

So, instead of ‘finding my way back,’ I’m striving to #makeadifference and want to do all that I can to help change it.

It, being the delayed/mistreatment of people under 50, with more research into young people, their symptoms and bowel cancer.  I have joined the #never2young campaign from Bowel Cancer 🇬🇧/Colon Cancer Alliance🇺🇸 who campaign for improved clinical guidance and medical practice on bowel cancer in younger people. 

Early symptoms are:

• Bleeding from your bottom and/or blood in your poo
  
• A change in bowel habit lasting three weeks or more
• Unexplained weight loss
• Extreme tiredness for no obvious reason
• A pain or lump in your tummy
  but to hell with those – my initial complaint was back ache! Just keep pushing if you know something is wrong.

In order to raise some money for some much-needed research I will be undertaking two challenges.

1. Next month I will be shuffling the NY marathon on Sunday 5th November. It won't be fast, it most certainly won't be pretty but I'll get it done and ask for your sponsorship, to help this untrained Cancer Slayer get around the 26.2 miles. It'll help more than you know. 
2. Once I have some more training in the legs and lungs I will be running the London Marathon in April 2018 dressed as a 💩. I have also applied to the Guinness World Records to see if I can run the fastest marathon dressed as a 💩. I hasten a guess that I am probably good for this record, as no one has ever thought running as a giant crap was a particularly cool idea, but hey I’ll put the training in and go as fast as I can.
   I can’t be a slow poo!

I hope this raises a smile and encourages a donation – if only to see my embarrassment!

A special thank you to Laura and Annabella for sitting with me through the awful chemotherapy sessions, I simply couldn't have done it without you. Words will never be enough and we will unite in Miami one day. And a big shout out to Grace for giving her big sister a shower more times than one ever should!

There are many others who carried me through with laughter, tears, messages, jokes, keeping it real, even when I had lost my mind and I hope I have thanked you already but if not I say THANK YOU now. You know who you are and you are my heroes. 

#dontcallitacomeback 

 💜Thank you to old friends and new, you are bringing me ‘back’ to the life I love 💜

Phew. 

 #makechange #makeadifference #bowelcancer #cockoffcancer #cancer #cancerresearch #never2young #stage3 #stopbowelcancer #thebigC #cancerslayer #cancerfree #cancersucks #thingscancermademesay #striveforfive #bowelcancerawareness #fuckcancer #warriorwomanproject #poopsuit #bowelcanceruk#coloncanceralliance #charity #standuptocancer #run #running #26.2 #marathon #nymarathon #sponsorship #londonmarathon #virginmoneylondonmarathon

#mostofalldontprocrastinate.