Bottoms Up! Post-Anal Cancer Life One Year Later

It’s been just over one year since I found out I had a tumor living in my pelvis. One year since hearing those dreaded words from the doctor: “You have cancer.” 

One year since the whirlwind of doctors appointments, tests, scans, and starting cancer treatments—30 days of radiation, daily oral chemotherapy pills, and two transfusions of chemo. 

It may be one year since I found out I had cancer, but it’s been 10 1/2 months since the last day of my cancer treatments, the most painful month of my entire life, and the slow recovery of getting my mobility and brain back. 

Post for Anal Cancer Treatments

It is hard to prepare anyone for going through cancer treatments because cancer is so different for everyone who has it. But there were a few things that I knew going in, and a few things that took me by surprise. I have written about the many things I learned during my anal cancer treatments; I had heard that the first two weeks after treatment would be the hardest, but nothing could have prepared me for how I would actually feel when the time came.

I really thought that, after a month, I would have been moving around more. It took closer to three months— to simply be able to walk around the block and that was after a focused effort to eat healthy (for energy) and slow movement every day. 

Even now, one year later, I have to stretch and do mobility exercises daily. I have to eat healthy and move around because my digestive system is not what it used to be. 

I even took a class at my local gym and couldn’t keep up with women who were 30 years older than me.

The brain fog lifted after a few months, but when I talk, it’s sometimes harder for words to come to me. (This doesn’t happen when I write, only when I speak.)

And post-cancer menopause is definitely no joke. The term “hot flash” is exactly what you think it would be: this internal heat takes over every part of your body for a minute or so, and then it goes away as quickly as it came. I can be in the middle of talking and need to walk away to find a cool spot or lie down. 

I’m pretty sure there are other side effects, but I honestly can’t tell what stems from post-cancer life versus menopause versus random anxiety about raising a family in the COVID pandemic. 

Immune System Support Post Cancer

I sometimes have to remind myself that while my focus is on being healthy and happy with my family, that doesn’t mean that those things are always easy to obtain. I am still going to crave chocolate or have too many beers (which now unfortunately means that I literally can only have two beers without being hungover. Two and a half, and the next day I feel like absolute crap). 

Image of a tweet from @ilanamuhlsteinrd

This also goes for anything sugary. I’m mourning the fact that I can’t eat sugar like I used to. But, my brain knows that that’s a good thing because sugar is not good for anyone. I am still sad about it because as bad as sugar is, it tastes even better…

I’m now at the point where having even a little bit of cake means that I crave it for the next few days and get headaches when I don’t consume more sugar.  Damn sugar hangovers are almost worse than alcohol hangovers.

Jumping Back into Everyday Life Post Cancer

I’ve written a few articles about my post-cancer life on this website, Cancer Wellness Magazine and the East Bay Express, and even talked about it on TV on Good Day Sacramento, along with a few podcasts. Having to step back from my work meant that I was able to publish Randall the Blue Spider Goes Surfing, and watch it go to a #1 Best Seller on Amazon -- and that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for being forced to say goodbye to clients and gigs because of cancer and the coronavirus. 

I am truly grateful for that opportunity, and for the chance to ascertain what’s really important in my life.

I found out the tumor was gone one week before the children’s book came out. That is now three months of not dreading the possibility that the cancer treatments hadn’t worked and I would have to have surgery to take the tumor out. I still worry on a daily basis, especially because the coronavirus hasn’t gone away.

I’m also having trouble trying to figure out how to talk to people about my cancer.

Because we’ve been in lockdown for the past year and a half, I’m just now learning to talk about my cancer with strangers. I have this visceral urge to tell everyone. I want to explain why it sometimes takes me a bit to get from one place to another, or why I started crying in the middle of an exercise class (hot flashes). 

Regardless, I am a year out from hearing the life-altering words “you have cancer,” and I am making sure to talk about it, to normalize discussion of anal cancer, to advocate for listening to your own body (even if test results are telling a different story, push your doctors if you feel something is off).

The post cancer journey is a slow and arduous one. It's hard knowing that I may not return to my pre-cancer "normal" in some ways. But all you or I can do is approach every day in turn—and with diligence, focus, and people by your side, things become a little less tough than they otherwise would be. Sometimes, that's all you need.