Lorraine
Cath
Claire
Kate 
 
 

Lorraine Stringer

Click here to view a video of Lorraine's story
 

Cath Henderson

I didn't expect this. The year before had been horrendous, family deaths, Hubby's hip replacement failing, medical misadventure they said, and his many hospital trips.
I remember thinking on New year's eve, next year can only get better. Wow was I wrong.

I knew the frequency of my bowel motions had increased, slowly, over time.
I was going for my checkup and Hubby said ask about this.
The doctor did the finger trick, said it is probably a virus, but to be sure I should have a colongraphy.

I had this 11am the following Thursday. Meanwhile I had looked up my symptoms on the internet and decided I had irritable bowel syndrome. 3pm, the doctor rings me at work, come in now !

I just knew then, CANCER !

Hubby and I went straight there, to be told - probably cancer, and probably curable I
My only symptom was looser, and more frequent bowel looser motions, no blood, pain, loss of weight, nothing.

Telling my daughters was the hardest. I was their Mother, I was supposed to be there for them, not me leaning on them. One was expecting her first child, I should be supporting her, not the other way round. However they shone in their strength and support.

After the tears, the why me, the death thoughts, I decided to beat this, my first grandchild was due soon, he needed a Nana. The worst thing is the fear of the unknown, the loss of control of your body, your life is suddenly in the hands of complete strangers !

I have the various tests, then 6 weeks later the operation. I was positive it would be a success, I just wanted this cancer gone. I was asked to attend the birth of my first grandchild 7 weeks later. I so wanted to be there, I just had to be well.

I was told I would probably not need one, but I woke with an ileostomy stoma & bag.
I had not checked out stomas. I did not expect this but after days of hating it, I realised that I was ALIVE, and if this helped save my life, so be. The stoma was removed by an operation 18 months later, such a short time really.

My hubby was a tower of strength, my rock, throughout. I discovered the best way for me to cope with the uncertain, the tests, the wait etc was to not think about them. Even in the waiting rooms, I refused to think about it.

There are positives, brought a caravan, entered real estate, something I now had the courage to do.

Having cancer does this, gives you the push, the oomph to get on and do things.
People asked - how do you cope with cancer - but what choice do you have ? none, you have it, so be positive, and get on with life.

Don't get me wrong, there were many bad days, and I'm still having problems, but I'm here, and alive.

 

Claire Wilson

It was around February 2010 that I became conscious of my symptoms.  I was living with my partner, Yoshi in the States studying towards a MA in Geography.  I remember going on a mountain bike ride and experiencing periodic severe lower abdominal pain.  As time progressed this pain would become more frequent.  Most nights when I lay down I could feel a hard lump in the lower, right hand side of my abdomen.  I was consistently getting bouts of diarrhea.  I put these symptoms down to the stress of trying to get a thesis done, and a few too many carne asada burritos. 

I visited my GP around this time for a cervical smear test and I mentioned these symptoms.  She couldn’t feel the mass because it was semi mobile and, at that very moment, had floated away from her touch.  However she ordered an ultrasound and blood tests.  The blood tests revealed I was anemic, a classic symptom of bowel cancer, and I was advised to take iron pills.  The ultrasound detected lesions on my liver, so an MRI was ordered.  From the MRI the lesions were diagnosed as hemangiomas, or non-threatening ‘birth marks’ often found on livers.  I was advised to get a colonoscopy.  However, I decided that going to Central America was a much more enticing option.  I had just graduated and I wanted to do some traveling with Yoshi before I headed back to New Zealand, while he undertook research for his sabbatical.

Upon returning to New Zealand the pain was becoming more frequent and severe.  I was also rapidly losing quite a lot of weight unintentionally.  I visited my GP who explored the possibility of coeliac disease.  The tests came back negative.  I visited another GP and became uncharacteristically hysterical about the pain I was experiencing.  Another ultrasound was ordered with the results prompting my GP to urge me to go to Southland hospital.  This was followed by a biopsy, a colonoscopy and then surgery to remove the primary tumour in October last year. 

I am 29 years old and I have advanced colorectal cancer.  The diagnosis in America of hemangiomas was incorrect and I have metastases in my liver, lymphatic system and lungs.  This cancer is aggressive.  I have had six rounds of chemotherapy, three on the CAPOX regime and three on a combination of FOLFIRI and a monoclonal antibody called Avastin, the latter of which is funded by my US insurer.  Unfortunately my tumour marker count and liver function tests are all trending in the wrong direction.  Next week I am going to try a different combination with FOLFIRI and Cetuximab, another type of monoclonal antibody.

On a personal level I don’t identify with the battle analogy that is often associated with cancer.  I feel more like I’m on a slow moving train wreck with the cancer driving, me riding shotgun, and my friends and family all standing on the platform.  However I still maintain some hope.  My oncologist, Chris Jackson is working hard to put the brakes on.  I feel very fortunate to have an oncologist who is so supportive, knowledgeable and approachable.  My family, friends and wider community have provided me constant support throughout this whole ordeal, and I feel quite humbled with the amount of generosity and love I have received.

However, from a public stand point I feel like I am part of this ‘war on cancer’, particularly bowel cancer.  I want to tell my story because, if caught early, bowel cancer is often treatable.  Despite it’s prevalence in New Zealand, it doesn’t receive the attention it needs.  Southland and Otago have the highest incidence of bowel cancer in the developed world.  Bowel cancer kills three times more people yearly than the national average road toll.  Its mortality rate is only surpassed, barely, by lung cancer.  Despite my age, the symptoms I experienced were classically textbook.  Not only must the public and primary health care providers become more aware of the early warning symptoms of bowel cancer, but the government must respond with resources for colonoscopies after a referral is made.  A best practice model is a two-week waiting period between a referral and a colonoscopy, but at this point many people with similar symptoms to mine are waiting up to six months for a colonoscopy.  Six months could be the difference between the removal of a polyp or primary tumour and the cancer spreading to other parts of the body. 

I am going to die from a potentially treatable cancer.  I hope my story highlights the symptoms of bowel cancer so other families and communities may avoid the painful journey I am currently undergoing.

 
Kate

I was 34 years old when I was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. Ironically, I have done everything 'right'. I have eaten well, stayed a healthy weight and exercised regularly! The doctor told me it was bad luck…and there was no simple answer to explain why I had this disease. I had felt abdominal pain for around 6 months before diagnosis.

The first occurrence of pain unfortunately coincided with a bout of food poisoning. The pain was therefore easily explained away as there was a feasible explanation. However, the pain continued off and on over the next 6 months and I was sure I could feel a lump in my tummy. I was put on a course of Buscopan to help with the cramping as there was no other explanation apart from colitis after the food poisoning.

Early in 2008, I went to work one morning with strong abdominal pain and a feeling of dread. I knew in my heart something was very wrong. I left work and went straight to the GP. I was embarrassed to be back in her clinic ….this was the 3rd time I was back for abdominal pain with no obvious cause. The GP couldn't find anything obvious, so she sent me for a blood test and advised me to book in for an ultrasound.

At my age, I could have been waiting for a considerable time for this through the public system but luckily I had private health insurance and was able to make an appointment early the next week. The next day, after spending the previous night with severe waves of cramping pain I admitted myself to Auckland City Hospital ED. Even a cocktail of strong anti-inflammatories, pain killers and anti-spasmodics didn't touch the pain and I was convinced I had a burst appendix. After a day in ED, numerous tests and a doctor telling me she felt I had 'anxiety', they sent me home. My blood test came back with mild inflammation.

I had a private ultrasound 3 days later…..they found a mass in my transverse colon just to the right of my tummy button. No surprise to me, I had felt a mass there for several months.

Within 2 days I had a colonoscopy and I was in surgery by the end of the week. My surgeon removed the mass in my transverse colon. Even though it was an unusual presentation, and it didn't "look" like cancer, the surgeon suspected it was. I remember that as being by far the worst time. Not knowing whether I had cancer or not, and facing major surgery was extremely tough. The surgery went well and I did not require a stoma. So well in fact that the surgeon was full of hope and told my family it didn't look sinister. Two weeks later after much hopefulness, I had the worst phone call of my life. It was cancer and some lymph nodes were affected. I needed 6 months of chemotherapy.

Unbelievably my first appointment with the oncologist was the turning point in my journey. He gave me hope that there was a good chance things would be OK. He told me that this is a curable cancer and that many people survive. I could never have imagined that I would walk out of that office on a cold winter night with a smile on my face for the first time in weeks. I was going to be OK. It was like I had been given permission to have hope again and THAT is the MOST important part of cancer recovery. Having hope.