My life at an all time low
The dragon’s taking its toll
Quickly losing my will to live
Asking God to release my soul

Part of me wants to fight on
Part of me wants to die
Part of me wants to trust my fate
Part of me asks why?

Standing at a crossroad
Having a choice to make?
Do I battle on or concede defeat
Which road do I take?
Afraid to close my eyes at night
Afraid of what I’ll find when I awake

I’ve never felt so lost
My life’s been torn apart
Feeling the wrath of the Dragon’s toll
Dealing with a broken heart

The beast’s claws piercing my skin
I don’t really care any more
Victory comes with more loneliness
What am I fighting for?

Standing at a crossroad
Having a choice to make?
Do I battle on or concede defeat
Which road do I take?
Afraid to close my eyes at night
Afraid of what I’ll find when I awake

Oh Lord I’m asking for your help
I don’t know what to do
I need it now, more than ever
The only one I trust is you

I lost the gift you gave me
My confidence is gone
I don’t know if I can try again
I don’t know if I’ll ever belong

…. My heart is weak

My will is gone
Should I fight on?
…. Or pay this dragon’s toll

I only had to look around me during my visits to the Cancer Centre to realize just how fortunate I was compared to so many others. For the most part, I was grateful for the way things were managed, for the people I met, and for the speed in which I progressed during the first half of my recovery. In less than a year I had gone from confirming I had cancer to having my oncologist wish me luck; commenting on how he hoped he’d never see me again.

Looking back it was much uglier than I realized at the time, but sometimes ignorance can be a great ally. I quickly learned to accept that I was no longer in control and needed to depend on the competence of others, which was pretty foreign to me. I found myself becoming numb to the whole ordeal, simply doing what I was told and having to trust the people around me. As they probed, prodded, poked, sliced and diced, I became emotionless and felt like I was in somewhat of an ongoing trance.

I was thrilled when my chemotherapy treatments were finally done, the cancer appeared to be under control, and they removed the catheter from my chest. All I had to do now was have my ileostomy reversed and I could get on with my life. Everyone seemed pleased with the results and confident the worst was over. I had no reason to believe otherwise as all the health professionals I had seen were completely honest and forthcoming with information. What I didn’t realize however, was their definition of getting on with my life and a successful recovery meant there were no signs of cancer and I had a pulse. As far as they were concerned, their work was done at that point.

The surgery to reverse my ileostomy went well and I left the hospital excited about not having to deal with a bag attached to my side. My stomach was swollen and I was in a little discomfort, but it didn’t matter; I was on my way to getting back to normal. I had no way of knowing at the time that this wasn’t the end to my recovery, it was just the beginning. Nothing or no one prepared me for what was to become the biggest challenge I have ever faced.

Part of my colon was surgically removed, radiation had done extensive damage to my insides, and half my internal plumbing was basically inactive for nearly six months. This meant the whole colon area was raw, oversensitive, with no control or muscle memory. As I began to have activity through my bowels, it became by far the most painful and frustrating experience I have ever encountered. The burning and throbbing was not only extremely intense, it was relentless. Some episodes would last for eight to ten hours and I rarely got more than an hour’s sleep at a time. There were occasions where I actually slept on the bathroom floor because I was too exhausted and in too much pain to make it back and forth to my bed. Many times I would go days without eating just to avoid a bowel movement so my system could get a break.

My little friend Oliver

One of the nicer and more timely moments came from my daughters’ little Yorkie named Oliver. He was typically a bundle of energy, but while I wasn’t feeling well he’d walk around gingerly and sleep a few feet away, always careful not to disturb me. One day while I was squirming on the couch trying desperately to get comfortable, Oliver decided he was going to lie beside me. He slowly and persistently worked his way under my blanket and along the back of my legs. I was too weak and sore to stop him, so he kept going until he reached the area where I was feeling pain. He snuggled his little body next to mine and suddenly the pain stopped. I was so relieved that I just lied there motionless, hoping like crazy he wouldn’t leave. It was the first time in weeks I was actually able to sleep for three or four hours, and without the throbbing; Oliver never moved once.

The five weeks following my ileostomy reversal were not only the darkest moments of my recovery; they may have been the darkest moments of my life. The hardest part was that no one knew what to do about it. My doctor referred me to the surgeon, the surgeon just said it was normal, and no other health professional I talked to had any experience or knowledge on the subject. I kept reminding myself that others have been through much worse for much longer, but it didn’t seem to help any more. I was losing my perspective, my will to fight on, and my strength. Never once did I complain about my situation, but at that point and time I deeply regretted the decision to go through with my cancer treatment; I was finally at my breaking point. I got on my knees, looked up, and said “I’m begging you; either end my life or give me strength, because I don’t know if I can do this any longer”. Little did I know the strength I needed would show up shortly afterwards in a small gift I almost refused to accept.

To be continued….