Poop chat

 So here I am laying about on a Tuesday, groaning in pain. I'm two infusions into my treatment this year and trying to figure out the best way to treat the side effects. The worst of it right now is constipation, something I struggled with since having surgery to remove the cancer in my colon way back in December 2024. All through chemotherapy last year, I managed constipation. It was a constant in my life.

Before cancer, I did not have this problem.  I was always an "every morning guy," like clockwork get up, take care of business, start your day. Those were the good days. Ever since I started infusions this year, my normal constipation treatment has been ineffective. "That's okay, because this is the diarrhea chemotherapy, right? I won't have to worry about this for long." 

On Sunday, March 16th, I had pooped exactly twice the entire month and one of those, five days earlier, was twelve hours of diarrhea following an adjustment in laxatives. In the past, I could feel build-up inside me over time. The thing that was different now was that I felt nothing. I would go long stretches without a bowel movement and not feel a thing. 

On Tuesday the seventeenth, I had a harbinger of doom. At the time, I thought it was just another successful pass. Large, hard, rough, uncomfortable but manageable. A few days later, I realized there was more, much more. 

On Friday I decided to do what I affectionately call the colonoscopy cleanse. Pre colonoscopy, my instructed preparation is a couple of days before, eliminate high fiber foods from my diet. The day before switch to a liquid diet and ramp up the laxatives, culminating in drinking two quarts of Miralax over two hours. 

I switched to a liquid diet of broth, tea and water. I took Exlax in the morning and evening followed by a double-dose Saturday morning. I gave myself a nice warm enema, moved around for 15 minutes to stir things up, and released. Normal... nothing of note... but I could feel the monster inside me. It was right there, triggering all my physiological systems of removal, but taunting me. "Nice try loser. You're gonna have to do better than that." 

Forty-five minutes later I left the bathroom victorious, with tears streaming down my face, hands shaking, legs wobbly, head pounding and throat sore from screaming. 

It's been seventy-two hours and I'm still all torn up inside. Every trip to the bathroom is an exercise in pain management but I'm pretty sure that was the last obstruction. God, I hope so. 

The doctors and nurses give me the medication to kill cancer. I have to manage the side effects those medications bring.  This is my fight against cancer. Finding the best way to nurse my body through this. Over the past few weeks, I've completely changed my diet. I've sunk hundreds of dollars on over-the-counter treatments, specialty foods, drinks and supplements. I did the same thing last year until I found the right balance. New year, new chemo, new problems, new treatments. I can't say my life is shit, my life is shit.

Yes, it absolutely clogged the toilet. Yes, I seriously considered reaching in and pulling it out, but it was just a bit out of reach. No, I didn't get a good look at it. I had to snake the pipe to clear it and even then it was a very slow flush. It took regular plunging, the rest of the day to fully open the pipe.

One last thing. When I was a child, I settled on a few basic fears for my future. 

Divorce with young children. I remember learning that the rate of divorce was 50% and thought that my parents divorce (never happened) would destroy my life. I didn't want to do that to anyone. Sorry Rowan. I hope it wasn't too bad for you. 

Colon cancer. I've always liked sitting and I've also enjoyed a satisfying poop. As a child I imagined that colon cancer would completely ruin those simple pleasures. Well, you were half-right, little guy.

Losing my legs and becoming wheelchair bound. Seriously kid. Are you freaking kidding me right now? Thankfully that's the end of the list. Too bad I didn't decide on a fear of heights and just stop there.

Walking the Path I'm On

 It's funny how I think about blogging, I get a few ideas, and I even start writing. Once I have a plan, I immediately rebel against myself and focus on resisting. I've spent my entire life, as far back as I can remember, rebelling against everyone. Parents, teachers, siblings and especially myself. My default mental state is defiance. The only exception is my friends. 

As a small child, I gravitated toward alphas. I would gladly hook my trailer to a new friend with all the ideas for action and support those ideas with my whole heart. It didn't matter if the thing was against the rules, unsafe or even illegal. I was all in.

Now, I was no dummy. I frequently influenced my peers to break the rules in the smartest possible way, to do dangerous things as safely as possible, and most importantly, leave no evidence. 

This is all to say that despite my best efforts blogging, I will not follow any kind of schedule or format or specific idea. Anytime I attempt a plan, I immediately sabotage it. So, no plans. I'm just going to write. I might have a topic to address, I might write a journal entry, I might just complain. Things will likely get dark. However, it's my nature to crack jokes, so I expect to maintain some amount of levity. 

  At this moment (Tuesday, March 3rd 2026, 12:07pm MST) I'm getting my first chemotherapy infusion of 2026. I've been getting CT scans every 2 months since December 2024 and the last detectable cancer was in May 2025... until January. About 6 weeks ago I had a suspicious scan that led to an MRI showing two spots on my liver again. 

So here we are, another spring season, another run of chemotherapy. It's a different cocktail with different side effects, but that's good because I still have neuropathy, headaches and constipation from the last round. The new mix will not have the cold sensitivity or neuropathy, and since I'm off the study drug, no more skin problems. 

The bad news... like real bad news, is that I will once again have "the bag" for 48 hours after my infusion, and that's the one that (allegedly) wrecks my fingers. I finished 10 infusions of FOLFOX out of a possible 12. I couldn't handle the pain in my fingers or having the emotional maturity of a child. If I had stuck it out for those last two infusions, would I still be sitting in clinic, about to journey through hell in an effort to get to heaven? Again? We don't talk about such things. We don't think about such things. 

Those sorts of thoughts will drive a person mad, because there's no answer. You will only find regret at the end of that thought experiment. Instead, you must walk the path you're on, not the one you didn't choose. My path leads to another 3 to 6 months of chemotherapy. I think I'm going to get pretty good at this. There isn't really another option.