In November 2025, I started having severe, debilitating stomach pain. I went to my primary care provider's office. I saw a new doctor who was not my primary care provider. She recommended that I go to the ER if the medication did not help. For the last year and a half, the Family Medicine Center I went to was operating off of the assumption that I was dealing with irritable bowel syndrome (IBS).

The Visit to the ER

Around 1:00 PM EST on Thursday, November 13, 2025, I came to terms with the fact that the IBS medication was not working and the pain was getting worse. My husband drove me to Mass General Brigham (still referred to by many Bostonians as Brigham and Women's Hospital). The triage nurse called my name and by the time I got in the small office, my nausea was peaking. I hadn't eaten in at least 24 hours, so I vomited water into the trash can.

I heaved and cried my way through checking in to the ER. I was escorted to the back and placed on a gurney against the wall in a hallway. I curled into a ball and asked for a heated blanket. There was a patient at each end of my gurney, one by my head and one by my feet. We were separated by makeshift screens.

I was in the ER in the hallway for 18 hours, only broken up by getting my blood drawn, getting a CT scan, rhythmic waves of pain, and the woman in one of the rooms screaming and yelling for more pain medications (turned out she was struggling with substance use disorder).

Honestly, the experience felt ominous. I had been managing this sense of dread for over a month. I already knew something was really wrong. A couple of doctors came over and apologized that I had to wait so long in the hallway. They struggled to find the words to explain what was going on. "Uh, well...it is not confirmed...but your blood tests and CT scan indicate that you, uh, may have, uh, cancer. But it is not confirmed, we still have more tests to do, but right now this is a possibility."

Then all the previous nurses and doctors stopped by my spot in the hallway again to share how sorry they were, how I was in their prayers, and wished me well. They seemed pretty confident in what the outcome would be.

By Friday morning around 7:30 AM I was finally placed in a room in the ER, and received something to drink and eat. A doctor came into the room to check in. She was very straightforward, "you likely have colon cancer." Without missing a beat I responded, "Thank you for just saying it."

The Hospital Stay

By Friday afternoon I was officially moved to floor 16B. I had more blood drawn and was placed on a bowel regimen to try to clear my GI tract. I had not had a bowel movement in a week. I had to spend Saturday and Sunday on a liquid diet and drinking gallons of GoLYTELY so I could have a colonoscopy to figure out the details of my cancer.

I will not get into the gory details beyond what I have already shared. By Monday morning, I was able to get my colonoscopy. The doctors who performed it confirmed that it looked like a cancerous mass. The mass blocked my right colon to the point that they couldn't pass the scope through it.

A gaggle of doctors came into my room to share the news with me. I thanked them for the information and asked a few questions. When will the biopsy results be available? They said a few days.

The biopsy results came back and the gaggle of doctors returned to discuss it with me. By this time, I had already accepted that it was likely cancer. Based on my symptoms, blood results, CT scan, and colonoscopy preliminary observations, there really weren't very many other possibilities. I had already discussed it with my husband and began brainstorming on how to discuss it with our kids and other family members.

The senior doctor shared the news. We discussed next steps. I asked questions about the next steps and they offered me the opportunity to speak with someone at the hospital if I felt like I needed support. I thanked them, but declined.

As the gaggle left the room, one of them separated from the group and came to my bedside. He requested permission to ask me a question. I said, "Of course." In a very confused tone, he asked, "How are you taking this so well? Aren't you scared? What is it that is causing you to react this way?" I was surprised by the question, not because he asked, but because I hadn't thought about it. I have been through several life-threatening situations and several lifetimes of what psychologists call potentially traumatic events.

His curiosity and sincerity were very moving. After a few moments of silence, I shared that one of the costs of living (of really living a full life) is accepting that life is not guaranteed, there will be hard times, and we all will have to transition to be with the ancestors. That reality makes our time and experiences precious...the good, the bad, and the ugly. When I am confronted with the bad and the ugly, I focus on what actions I can take and what I have influence over. In this case, it sounds like I have options for actions I can take. This brings me hope and a place to focus my energy.

He thanked me for answering and left the room.

I was in the hospital until Wednesday, November 19th. It was completely, undeniably official...I was diagnosed with colon cancer and scheduled for an appointment with an oncologist at Dana Farber Cancer Institute.