A Giant Pain in the Ass
Content Warning: This is a highly personal post about a cancer diagnosis.
On Feb 16, 2026 I was 'prepping' for a routine colonoscopy that was scheduled for February 17th at about 1pm. For those of you unaware what is involved in 'prepping' don't google it, but just know that your Gastroenterologist wants the 'end' of your GI tract 'clean'
This also involves a lot of not eating. So you can get hangry. Or at least most people do. I had felt something wasn't quite right for a while. Nothing I could really put my finger on, I just didn't feel right. So when it came time for the prep it turned out I wasn't really hungry anyway. I couldn't really eat the weekend before either, and had been having issues sleeping. I was stressed about what my colonoscopy would show. At least subconsciously I was worried.
On the day of my colonoscopy the staff at the office were all really nice. I even got a "First Colonoscopy" sticker!
I was wheeled into the procedure room, introduced to the doctor and told to look at the wall. The next thing I knew I was being wheeled out to the recovery room. I laid there for a few minutes and then I saw my wife Emily. I was still a bit groggy from the anesthesia but I was so happy to see her. It was the best feeling.
She came next to the bed I was laying on and the doctor came over. He let Emily know that she may want to sit down. She said she preferred to stand. The doctor then told me that during the procedure they found a tumor.
You have cancer
I let the phrase sink in ... "You have cancer" ... "I have cancer".
The doctor was not very comfortable delivering this news. You could tell this wasn't the type of thing he was used to doing. Emily even heard him saying "at the other place I don't have to tell patients this".
I think he tried his best to be positive about the diagnosis, but honestly it was a pretty shitty delivery. He kept saying things like "you're young" (at the time I was 47) ... "you're good looking" ... "you're married"
I didn't really understand why any of that mattered.
I have cancer
He then proceeded to let me know that the tumor had likely been there for years, maybe five. Had asked me if I had any symptoms, was there anything that felt off. How could I have not known something was wrong. I have cancer and it's my fault I didn't know sooner.
He also let me know that I'd need to have an ostomoy bag. For the rest of my life.
I have cancer ... that's all I could hear.
I cried. I cried in front of several people that I had never met before. I cried in front of my wife.
I have cancer. And I don't know anything about it at this point other than it seems like everyone I know with colorectal cancer died from it.
I have cancer.
I'm going to die
... those two phrases kept going through my head
I cried.
As an aside, I told a friend of mine how my cancer diagnosis was delivered to me. This friend has had many cancer battles / scares during their life. I figured when I told them my story they would say it wasn't so bad. Turns out it was. Even they were like, "Holy Shit. That's awful!"
After a few minutes, and once Emily and I were a bit more able to see the world, I was wheeled out to our car. We drove home. We didn't say much. What is there to even say? I have cancer.
We got home and although I could eat again, I wasn't hungry. I was afraid I'd never be hungry again.
That night I couldn't sleep. Or the night after. Or the night after.
The next day I had a follow up with a different GI doctor. He was basically like, "There's no new information. Why are you here?"
But we had questions. What are the next steps. Who should we contact? What do we do? The one question I didn't dare ask, "Am I going to die?"
For the next 16 days I lived in the grayest of gray areas. I could barely sleep, or eat. I lost about 8 pounds.
Emily and I spent time working to make sure that all of our affairs were in order. Are all of the banking apps installed on your phone? Do you have all of the passwords? Does the car title need to be updated? The title for the house? How do we do our finances?
We make a good team in that we each have our 'assignments'. We're pretty autonomous in those assignments. We'd talked about "cross training" on some of them, especially the financial stuff, but there just never seemed to be the time.
And now it felt like we didn't have the time but were going to have to make it. I felt like I was writing transition docs for leaving a job. But in this case I was afraid of the job I might be leaving.
To use any other word than brutal to describe these days wouldn't do justice to the way we felt. And even then it doesn't really begin to cover it.
During that time we told a few people. A very few people. Telling people made it real. Telling people was like delivering a trauma to them. Telling people led to questions. Questions we didn't have the answer for. Brutal.
I had nights where I would cry. Especially if I was alone. I have cancer, but there were things that still needed to happen. Emily had a major work event that she was responsible for. She had coworkers and friends she was able to rely on, but that didn't mean she didn't have to do things. Away from home. Away from me.
My Aunt had the same cancer diagnosis I do and she was helpful and caring and loving and kind and all of the things you need from a family member. But she didn't know the future. She didn't know if I was going to die. And so when the words, "You're going to be fine" came from her, they were nice, but hollow. I have cancer. I might die. I am scared.
On March 5th I met with a surgeon. Before meeting with the surgeon I needed to have an Abdominal CT scan done. It was completed about a week before I met with the surgeon. I had the results 2 days before meeting with the surgeon. I couldn't look at them. I didn't want to look at them.
The day of the surgery consult came. He was going to tell me the next steps. From what I heard surgery was likely to be my next step. My wife and I went to the appointment, she's been going to all of my appointments with me.
The staff were so nice and friendly and helpful. I started in one exam room and was moved to another exam room. My first thought was, "Oh no, was I in the 'you're going to be fine room' and got moved to the 'You're going to die' room? But the nurse let me know the reason for the move. A simple reason. No big deal. Except it was. It was the biggest deal. But she took the time to let me know the why of the move.
I went through the exam. Emily came back so the surgeon could talk to us.
All of the fear, and horrible anticipation. What ever he said next we were going to work through it. We were going to figure it out.
At the end of all of this, "we" might end up being just "she".
And the doctor said ...
It's actually not bad. We seem to have caught it early. We'll want to do chemo and radiation before reevaluating surgery.
I cried. This time I cried because it was the first hope I'd had in almost 3 weeks. I cried because my birthday was in 2 days and I had friends I was going to hang out with and it will be an actual happy party and not a pre wake party.
Since the surgeon I've seen a few more doctors. An oncologist and a radiation oncologist. Each appointment was mostly what one might expect. A brief conversation about potential side effects of the treatment. Which are pretty horrific if you think about them for too long. I try not to.
My treatment will be 5 days a week for 5 1/2 weeks of radiation and chemotherapy. Reevaluation of the tumor for potential surgery 6 - 12 weeks after that.
I'm sleeping better, but still not great. I eating better, but still not a ton.
And then ... for a few weeks ... nothing. Paper work is getting processed and I'm waiting for an MRI. The important part about the MRI is that it will tell me what stage and grade my tumor is. Once that's completed and the results are read then all of the doctors will have what they need to allow me to officially begin my treatment.
That being said, I have a tentative start date for my treatment. Unless my MRI shows something unexpected, I'll start my radiation and chemotherapy treatments on April 13. Officially. Fifty Five days from when I was told I had cancer to start of treatment. I'm not sure if this is a long time or not. It felt like a long time. A really long fucking time.
As part of the treatment you go in for a prep session. During this session they fit you for the device that blasts your tumor with radiation. In my case they also gave me 3 tattoos. One on either side and one right below my belly button.
I always thought my first tattoo would be of something way cooler 🤷🏻♂️
Before my diagnosis I had some plans for this year. I was going to go to PyCon US, PyOhio, and DjangoCon US. I even toyed with the idea of going to North Bay Python.
I won't be able to do any of these. Although my treatment will be done by late May, I'm not sure I can commit to much travel. I'm not sure how I'll be feeling.
Also, anywhere from 6 - 12 weeks after the end of my treatment I get re-evaluated for surgery. If the tumor is gone and the various docs feel like there's no risk, then surgery might not be required. If there is a risk, then surgery will be required.
The outcome of the surgery will be a colostomy bag that is either temporary (about 6 months) or permanent.
I'm less than 2 months into my cancer journey and there's still so much I don't know. Still so much that just can't be known. And honestly that's the hardest part.
My prognosis is good. My family and I are optimistic. But there's still so much we can't know. We hope that this will be a 'blip' and that by 2027 or 2028 we can go back to what ever normal is. But we just can't know.
One of the things I've really focused on over the last 2 months is trying to find the good things. I saw someone post on Mastodon (sorry, I can't find the original toot) about finding what they called glimmers. Those small things that make you happy.
I try to do that every day. A song I haven't heard in a long time. A friendly face while I'm out and about. A text from a person I haven't heard from in a while. Going for a swim. These are all things that I was taking for granted. I will likely end up taking them for granted again. But for now, I am really trying to be more appreciative of them. I'm trying to be more present.
Anyway, for those of you out there in that are 45+ and haven't gotten a colonoscopy. You should. We seem to have caught this early in the process. My prognosis is good. If someone hadn't told me I had cancer I would mostly have no idea.