How It All Began

 Friends, family, esteemed colleagues -

Hi. 

If you're here and reading this, you either know me personally, or you found me on TikTok. Either way, you're welcome here and I'm grateful for you.

The reason I'm writing this blog is because I tend to express myself better in writing than I do in words. If you're here from TikTok, then you're familiar with the fact that most of my videos use the sounds and words of other creators, and very seldom do I actually talk about my own experience. Or at least it's been a while since I've really done so.

I thought that telling the story of how I found out I have Stage IV colon cancer would be a good place to start. So if you know the story, I hope this retelling is at the very least entertaining for you. If you don't know the story, buckle up, because it's a lot.

*Warning: Dark humor and medical trauma ahead*

*Also a lot of talk about poop and bodily functions*

Once upon a time, there was me. Molly. It was the summer of 2021, a year into a raging pandemic, vaccines were becoming widely available, and I was enjoying my life in a new apartment in Chicago, Illinois. Things were looking up and life was good.

One morning in early June, I woke up and used the restroom, as one is wont to do. I noticed a burning when I peed, which was not normal for me (nor should it be for anyone). I told myself I would keep an eye on it (not literally, gross) and contact a virtual doctor if it didn't clear up in a day or so.

You can probably guess that it didn't clear up. This story doesn't involve a lot of positive outcomes, so if there are any instances where something could go one of two ways, you can almost always count on it going the worse route. (It's not lost on me that my cat's name is Murphy, i.e. Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.)

I contacted a virtual doctor, thanks to the fact that I work for a company that specializes in tele-health services. I described my symptoms to the doctor which at the time only included painful urination. There was no blood in the urine as apparently is the case for most urinary tract infections, nevertheless, the doctor diagnosed me with a UTI and prescribed me an antibiotic as well as a painkiller for the burning. He told me that if my symptoms did not go away after 5 days, that I should contact a gynecologist.

I continued to live my life as usual: Commuting to the office to work downtown a few days a week, going to Hollywood Beach with friends to soak up the sun, I even went on a few dates.

4 days later, the UTI hadn't cleared up, so I made an appointment on ZocDoc with an OBGYN in my area for the following day, Day 5. 

I met with Dr. Trandai the next afternoon. I told her that I had a UTI and that it hadn't gone away even after 5 days of antibiotics. I believe I described my symptoms in typical Molly fashion - weird as all get out. She told me I seem like a lot of fun.

She gave me an exam and confirmed that I did indeed have a UTI. So she prescribed another antibiotic - this time 10 days' worth - and a stronger painkiller. 

More office days and beach weekends later, my family went on vacation for a week at a cottage in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. At this point, I was able to pee just fine (with the painkillers) but I wasn't pooping, and now I had pain in my abdomen. Every time I was able to poop, which was never much, we would celebrate. (My family is weird.) 

I slept on the couch that week, since my sister has 2 small children and my parents took the master bedroom. One night I was unable to sleep, so my dad, bless him, read me a "bedtime story," which was just facts about Woodstock he read from his Notes app. That is a core memory for me now.

My brother-in-law and I went kayaking that week. I learned earlier that summer that I loved kayaking and paddle boarding, and was hoping that I would get to do much more of it, since I lived right on Lake Michigan. Unfortunately, kayaking with my brother-in-law that week was the last time I would get to for full calendar year. It was the last time I got to do anything truly physical for quite a while.

The last day of my new antibiotics regimen, Day 10, the burning had cleared, but the pain in my abdomen remained, and I noticed a hardening in the lower left side of my stomach as well. I took note of it, but wrote it off as constipation, as I had been told that antibiotics, especially when taken for long periods of time (say, 15 days) can back you up like crazy. So I decided to wait a few days and hopefully it would clear up. (Remember Murphy's Law.)

I went to a housewarming party one night, and had one singular margarita, over the span of 4 hours. By the time I left, it was around midnight. I walked home, since I lived maybe 10 minutes away. On the walk home, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my rear. It literally felt like someone had run up behind me and shoved an ice pick way up my b-hole. (These metaphors are why my gyno said I seem fun.) It stopped me in my tracks. I picked up my pace and kept toward home, hoping the pain would subside. (Murphy's Law.)

I walked into my apartment and set down my keys, and immediately felt another ice pick stab that made my knees buckle. I ran to the bathroom, and the moment my skin met the toilet seat I experienced the most painful bowel movement I have ever experienced. I hadn't pooped in a while, and I thought maybe it was all leaving my body in this moment and that maybe I would begin to feel better now. (Murphy's Law.)

I had abdominal pain so bad it hurt to lay down flat. It hurt to breathe fully. That night I slept in my La-Z-Boy chair and told myself that if the pain hadn't subsided by morning that I would go to the Emergency Room. 

Amazingly, the pain was gone by the time I woke up in the early, early morning. 

Days passed, and the pain in my abdomen was worsening. It hurt to sit in certain positions. It felt like a bad runner's cramp in my groin. 

I made another appointment with the gynecologist. When I explained my symptoms to her, she told me that she was unable to help me, since her specialty is gynecology, not GI. She literally told me to Google "GI doctors near me" and sent me on my way. ($50 well spent.)

I decided to call a virtual doctor again. I spoke to a doctor - a new one this time - who said that because he couldn't physically examine me, that he recommended I go to Urgent Care and get checked out. 

I made an appointment at the nearest Physicians Immediate Care (the same one I had gone to 6 years prior when I was treated for strep throat) and was seen later that same day. The doctor listened to my story, and examined the area where the pain was. She said something was definitely there, and it felt wrong, so she recommended I go to the ER. 

I took a cab to the nearest hospital, and waited almost no time in the ER waiting room for a nurse to call my name. They brought me back to a bed where I waited for a doctor to come talk to me. I watched The Purge while I waited. A very normal thing to watch in the hospital.

I got a CT scan to check out what was going on. When the doctor came back in with the results, he talked to me very somberly, so much so it almost made me uncomfortable. He told me that the scans showed a 14cm mass, and lesions on my liver. He said I should go see a gynecologic oncologist (say that 10 times fast) and gave me a recommendation for one associated with the hospital. They discharged me.

It was July 3rd, so there were no doctor's offices open to schedule an appointment. On July 4th, I went to a party and tried not to think about the ticking time bomb that was living inside of me that I had just learned about. My friends expressed their concerns for me and shared their well wishes, and told me that if I needed anything at all, to let them know. I was grateful for that.

I wasn't able to get a hold of any doctor's offices until July 6th. I went against the ER doctor's recommendations and decided to call Northwestern Memorial Hospital and was able to make an appointment for July 19th - 2 weeks later.

So for 2 weeks I got to sit and wonder what was happening inside of my body. I started to post about my experiences on TikTok, some of which went viral. I got lots of well wishes and way too much unsolicited medical advice. This was the beginning of the community I cultivated on that silly little app that was meant for people much younger than me. 

Two weeks later, I saw Dr. Tanner. I told him my story. He told me that he had looked at the scans from the other hospital, and asked if I wanted him to be completely honest, to which I said yes of course. He told me that it could be an ovarian cyst, or it could be cancer. He didn't want to rule out that possibility. He then gave me a number to call the next day to schedule an MRI, and to tell them that Dr. Tanner said "ASAP." 

The next morning I was able to make an appointment for an MRI the following morning. Early. 

Dr. Tanner called me and told me that the bloodwork they had taken yielded interesting results. He said that my ovarian tumor markers were negative, but the colon cancer markers were a little high. 

The MRI was the worst experience of my life. At this point, the pain was worsening still, and it was painful to lie flat on my back. Add to that being strapped into a tiny, noisy tube, and you've got a claustrophobe's worst nightmare.

That same evening, my doctor called. He said it was cancer, he just couldn't tell what kind. They couldn't tell where the tumor was originating from, and that I needed to get more bloodwork done. 

I FaceTimed my parents after I hung up with Dr. Tanner. I told them the bad news. We shed a few tears but they were hopeful for me, as parents always are. I ended the call and immediately burst into uncontrollable tears. I cried so loud I felt bad for my neighbors. I texted my friend Grace through sobs of despair and told her I had cancer. It was the first time I had typed out the words, "I have cancer". Not two seconds after hitting SEND did I see Grace's name pop up on my phone, calling me. I answered the call and just wailed into the receiver. We cried together without saying anything for a minute, until I was able to calm down and form sentences. 

By the end of the call, we were making jokes. I told her, "Grace. I have ass cancer. It's not even a sexy cancer. It's ASS cancer." We laughed. The dark humor had begun.

As if my body had also just gotten the news and said, "Cancer, you say? I'll give you cancer," the next day, the pain intensified times ten. It hurt to stand up straight. I had to take a bus to the hospital for more bloodwork, and each bump the bus hit was excruciating. I had to walk at a turtle's pace because it hurt to go any faster.

At this point the pain was so bad that I was unable to even bend down to feed my cat.

Later that week, my parents came to Chicago and stayed with me in my apartment. They slept in my bed because I had been sleeping on the couch for days because the couch offered an easier way to stand up from the lying down position than my bed did. We didn't do much all week besides watch Parks & Recreation, because there wasn't much else I could do.

I had a biopsy the following week. My parents rented a room for the week in a hotel next to Northwestern Memorial. We were going to stay there after my biopsy until the results came back and we received next steps. 

The day of the biopsy, a few new symptoms arose: A bubbly, gurgling feeling in one side of my gut, followed a loud POP on the opposite side. It felt like someone was microwaving popcorn in my stomach. The second symptom: dark brown blood. From you-know-where. And it wasn't my time of the month.

I messaged my doctor these new symptoms. As we were sitting in the hospital, eating burgers and fries (I hadn't eaten all day because of the biopsy), I received a response from Dr. Tanner's office, telling me to go to the ER. So we packed a bag and walked back across the street and waited for hours in the Emergency Room waiting area. 

Once I was finally admitted, they inserted an NG tube - a tube that goes in through your nostril and down into your stomach. This was easily the most traumatic thing that's ever physically happened to me. I have the worst gag reflex, so having a tube in my nose, going down the back of my throat, caused me to constantly gag. It was the worst feeling. 

The next day they told me I didn't need the NG tube. They took out the tube and gave me an enema. A fine exchange.

They put a stent in my colon to hopefully get things moving down there, since I hadn't pooped since the night I felt the ice pick pain. 

The plan was to discharge me after I was able to make bowel movements, and head home to Green Bay and stay with my parents while I started chemotherapy, which would shrink the tumor and then they would remove it.

But the BM's never came. The lower half of my body was beginning to blow up like a marshmallow. My feet were so swollen I didn't recognize them. My stomach and hips were so swollen they felt like Memory Foam(TM). They kept telling me it was because I wasn't moving around much, and recommended I get up and walk around more. 

Days and nights passed, and every time a team of doctors and their teams visited me in my albeit very nice, private hospital room, I would drop hints that I wished they would just surgically remove the tumor instead of waiting for chemo to shrink it. They told me over and over that that's not how they usually do things.

Until one day, finally, the GI surgeon told me that because I was in such bad shape and was basically immobile, that they couldn't wait to perform the surgery, and that they had scheduled it for later that week. I cried happy tears. Finally, I felt like someone had heard me. I just had to make it 4 days.

But then Dr. Tanner visited my room and told me that we couldn't wait 4 days, and that we would be doing the surgery tomorrow. My parents and I were thrilled.

The surgery required another NG tube. I begged them no. I pleaded with them to forego the god forsaken tube that had caused me so much trauma the week before. They said they needed to do it, there was no way around it, but that the doctor who would be inserting it this time was really good at it.

I will never forget the doctor who held my hand as they put in the tube. She was visibly pregnant, and wore a head scarf. She was so kind and I will never forget how she went out of her way to make me feel comforted.

The next morning when the surgical team made their rounds, one of the doctors informed me that when I awoke from the surgery, apparently I had asked to see a picture of the tumor they removed in my post-anesthesia state. I laughed because I did not remember this moment. So of course I asked him to see the picture. It was huge. The tumor was placed next to a syringe for size comparison, and it was massive. It was 20cm by the time it was removed, 6cm larger than when it was first discovered a month ago. Along with removing the tumor, they removed my left ovary and my sigmoid colon.

Nobody tells you how many tubes are involved in being hospitalized. When I woke up from the surgery, I had a catheter in my urethra and a tube in my b-hole. You can only imagine what it was like trying to walk around with all that mess going on down there. 

Not to mention the brand-spanking-new colostomy bag I woke up with. I won't touch on this too much right now, as I feel that it deserves its own post. Just know that it is weird waking up to find your poo comes out the front now, after 33 years of the opposite.

A few days, sleepless nights, and many episodes of Sex & The City on E! Network later, the swelling had gone down, the colostomy was performing as intended, I was eating solid foods, and the surgical incision was healing nicely. I was wheeled down to my parents' car by the attending nurse, and made the 4-hour trek home to Green Bay.

And that is the full story of my cancer diagnosis. 

Let me know in the comments if you have any questions. Also, if you have any topics you want me to talk about, drop those in the comments as well. I'm an open book about this.