‘We need to talk.”

Growing up, I don’t remember hearing those words. We didn’t talk about how we were feeling. We didn’t talk about anything personal, and we certainly never talked about bathroom issues.

The one thing we did talk a lot about was the weather. I grew up on a 400-acre dairy farm and schedules often revolved around the weather. It was a family farm, so I grew up milking cows — up to 100 as we expanded — and doing whatever needed to be done to keep the cows producing. There were no sick days. It was just how it was.

So I learned to work really hard, to do whatever it takes to keep thing going, to be healthy, or at least to show up even on the days I didn’t feel my best. Mostly, I learned to not talk about how I was feeling.

Fast forward through the years. I’ve always been a private person, preferring to work behind the scenes and stay out of the spotlight. I’ve had to learn to talk about how I’m feeling and to handle difficult emotional situations. I won’t claim to be graceful doing it, but I have learned not to avoid it. That said, confiding and sharing personal details had always been kept for a few close friends. That all changed 18 months ago when I was diagnosed with rectal cancer.

I suddenly had to talk about one of the most intimate and off-limits parts of my body, over and over, at endless doctors appointments and as I told family, friends and coworkers the news. It did get easier. At first, I typically only shared that I had cancer. Some people asked what kind, and when I’d tell them, I was relieved when I didn’t get an “oh, yuck” reaction. Then I realized that many who didn’t ask just assumed I had breast cancer because I’m a woman and, well, I must have breast cancer. It’s the one everyone knows about.

Friday is Dress in Blue Day, an annual effort to increase awareness of colorectal cancer, which is defined as cancer in the colon or rectum. Colorectal cancer is the second leading cause of cancer death and the third most commonly diagnosed cancer in the United States.
I want to tell my story because I want to start the conversation about colorectal cancer. I’m one of the lucky ones who had an early diagnosis and can tell the story.

I’m 46 now, and not the typical case. I didn’t have any of the main risk factors. I’m not over 50 (the average age at diagnosis is 72), had not had colorectal polyps removed, didn’t have a family history of colorectal cancer, wasn’t sedentary or overweight and didn’t have a diet high in animal fat (in fact, I’d been a vegetarian for more than 10 years).

I started seeing some blood in my stool a few years ago. It was occasional, so I ignored it for a while, thinking I must have strained too hard or had a hemorrhoid, or something. I finally told my doctor and she said that it was probably nothing. But, I was 43 and concerned, so she ordered a colonoscopy. The gastroenterologist who performed the procedure said I was fine, and to come back in 10 years. He said that because I was a runner, blood in my stool was not unusual and a lot of runners experience it.

Of course, I wasn’t about to ask my runner friends whether they had experienced it, but I should have. I know now that the blood was not normal and should have been seen as a warning. A year later, there was more blood, more often. I told my doctor that I was concerned, but my doctor was not. Luckily, a friend convinced me to change doctors.

For more than two years, I tried to convince myself that everything was OK. After all, it wasn’t something I ever talked about with anyone else. I mean, blood in my poop? Talk about it? Really?

Changing doctors saved my life. My new primary care physician didn’t think my symptoms sounded normal at all. She sent me to another gastroenterologist who said a colonoscopy was necessary to rule out the worst-case scenario and understand the cause of the blood.

I went for my colonoscopy in the morning and by that afternoon, still foggy with anesthesia, I learned I had cancer. My gastroenterologist had found a tumor the size of a golf ball.

It took a few weeks for the news to sink in. After all, I thought I was healthy. I had just run a half marathon. I was active and felt fine. Rectal cancer is difficult to diagnose exactly for that reason. Most people don’t show symptoms until it’s too late. I did have symptoms, but they were dismissed as simply a “thing that happens to runners.”

In the weeks and months that followed my diagnosis, I asked questions and researched and listened and tried to comprehend my options. I was fortunate to have a primary care doctor who set up appointments, followed up on test results and checked up on me regularly. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it all without her.

By talking about my disease, I learned about others who had had colorectal cancer. They shared what they knew and offered support. I was poked and scanned and radiated. I reacted to chemotherapy in unusual ways. And through it all, my parents talked with me about it, my friends talked with me about it, and a body part that had been off-limits to discuss in any way for the first 45 years of my life became part of most every conversation.

In daily radiation treatments last January, I met others with cancer of all types. I was scared. Some of us wouldn’t survive. I admired the courage they showed and wondered when they cried. Friends, coworkers, friends of friends and people I barely knew sent cards and words of encouragement. I learned how important having friends really is. I felt loved and knew if I needed help, I could ask.

I still have a few challenges and another surgery before all this is behind me (yes, pun intended) but I am cancer-free and determined to stay so. I want the same for you. So:

— If you are 50 or older, get a colonoscopy now. I’ve had two and the worst part is not being able to eat the day before. Really. You are asleep for the procedure if you want to be. And numb. It’s not a big deal and it’s the only way to be sure you’re cancer-free. If you’re still hesitating, get over it. Your butt is no more special than anyone else’s. I’ve learned that when I’m in a doctor’s office, I’m the only one uncomfortable talking about things. To them, it’s just another body part and I’m just another patient.

— If you are under 50 and notice blood or anything abnormal about your bowel movements, get to a doctor. If your doctor is not concerned, find a new doctor.

— Trust yourself to know your body even better than a doctor might. Get a second opinion sooner than later.

— If you are diagnosed, make sure you have doctors who are on your team. From your primary care physician to your oncologist, make sure you have people who understand you, will listen to your concerns, and communicate in a way that works for you.
My next big challenge is to convince my brother to get to a doctor. He, not so surprisingly, doesn’t want to talk about it.

Join me Friday. Wear blue to raise awareness of colorectal cancer.

Heather McKernan is publisher of the Monadnock Ledger-
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