LeCaptain Talks LeCancer

Today I filmed myself answering questions for an interview with a web news channel (more on that to come) and I had to answer the question: Who has been your biggest support throughout all of this? The answer was easy: Kevin, the guy at the McDonald's drive-thru who always puts extra fries at the bottom of the bag for me. Just kidding. If you know my parents, you know that they are A) the best parents and B) way cooler than yours. So it should be no surprise at all how quickly they sprang into action when I told them that what I thought was a UTI was actually cancer. I can't imagine what that feels like, to find out that your child, not to mention your youngest, has cancer. I will likely never have kids of my own so I may never know. And honestly, I hope none of you reading this ever find out.  Before I dive into just how amazing my parents are, I need to acknowledge how fortunate I am to have supportive parents who love me as much as they do. I know this. And I'm grateful....

If you've ever wondered what the worst part about having cancer is, I can tell you. It's not wondering how much time you have left to live. It's not the scanxiety (anxiety about what your scans look like). It's not the chemo. Okay, maybe it's the chemo. The chemo really sucks. I can tell you what the second  worst part about having cancer is: The unsolicited medical advice you receive from absolute random strangers. When you reveal to people that you have cancer (or any disease or illness, really), you are opening the floodgates for people to tell you their woo-woo miracle cures and alternative treatments. For some reason, your simply existing with this illness makes some people assume that you want to hear how their great uncle's dentist's mother's dogwalker cured his cancer. Some of these pieces of advice are seemingly innocent - though no unsolicited advice is ever truly innocent, as the person receiving the advice never asked, and it can honestly be...

 Based on the title of this entry this should go without saying, but I will be talking about the very touchy subjects of weight loss and weight gain, as I have experienced it within the last year. And if you know anything about my candidness in writing thus far, I'm not going to hold back about it. I just want to warn you in case reading about weight isn't your thing, I'll see you in the next one. Love you. 💕 --- My weight has always hovered around 130 pounds, ever since I became an adult. In 2013, I got really engrossed in fitness and counting calories (as I feel a lot of us did when MyFitnessPal became a huge fitness "tool"). I worked out to Jillian Michaels DVDs every single day. Workouts entitled "30 Day Shred" and "Ripped in 30" frequented my television screen every day after I got home from an 8 hour shift at a Greek restaurant, where I would eat basically every meal from. I knew exactly what I was putting into my body to a point where i...

I have been collecting thoughts from my brain hole about what it's like living with cancer, using obscure metaphors that probably only I will understand. To my cancer friends: If you have any metaphors for what it's like living with cancer, please comment them below - I'd love to hear them. Being diagnosed with cancer is like walking into a void. Being diagnosed with cancer is like getting that phone call that tells you you have 7 days to live after watching that video from The Ring but you don't get to know how many days you actually have left you just know you're going to die soon. Being diagnosed with cancer is like getting a death sentence. You're placed on death row without knowing how much time you have to wait. Getting a cancer diagnosis is like being a child again and being forced to learn about whatever your specific diagnosis is. Having cancer is like being an American Ninja Warrior but instead of fighting another Ninja or completing an extremely diffi...

 Webster's Dictionary describes a colostmy as: a surgical operation in which a piece of the colon is diverted to an artificial opening in the abdominal wall so as to bypass a damaged part of the colon. That was the best way of starting this entry that I could think of. Do I regret it? Maybe. But did it spark a better idea for how to write this blog about the most intimate part of my cancer story. Yes. When I googled "colostomy", a plethora of questions came up along with the definition. So, I decided to answer the top questions about colostomies for anyone interested.  But first: My story. When I first got "the call" that I had cancer, my doctor told me that I would likely need a colostomy. That was worse news to me than having cancer and having to go through chemotherapy. I was in the middle of trying to have a hot girl summer, and my doctor just told me he was going to slash me open with a knife and pull my guts out on purpose and then leave them on the outsid...

 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 th...