In the summer of 2012 I was training for a half ironman set for that October, in Mesa, AZ. This was how I spent most of my time; training for triathlon, renovating my 75 year old log home, gardening, visiting with friends, and working my 9-to-5.
After 15 years of triathlon training I had learned, with fairly decent acuity, how my body worked. And this year, something wasn’t working right. For nearly two years, I had been discussing with my general practitioner my bowel habits. They had been acting different from my usual. I had suffered long stretches of time between BM’s with frequent cases of diarrhea. In early July of 2012 I knew something was seriously off. I was in terrible pain in my upper abdomen. After several weeks, my Mom convinced me to go to the ER.
Initially, the doctors there thought I had an inflamed gallbladder (Cholecystitis). The ER physician told me outright, I was way too young to be thinking it was cancer. I was 46 years old and in all honesty in peak physical condition. It was the last thing on my mind as well.
They ultimately admitted me with a plan to operate. However, my pancreatic enzymes kept increasing and the doctors were puzzled. After seven days and a significant weight loss, I began to vomit feces. Now I really knew something was seriously wrong. The last thing I remember, a nasal gastro tube was being shoved up my nose to help with the vomiting.
The story from here on out is essentially what was relayed to me. I have no memory of the few weeks after this episode.
As it turns out vomiting poop on a nurse is just the thing that gets you diagnostics beyond a mere ultra sound. A CT scan demonstrated a mass in my transverse colon, right at the splenic flexure. It also showed multiple nodules on my liver and throughout the peritoneum. I was diagnosed as stage 4 colon cancer at 46. And I was dying. It was July 31, 2012.
The doctors attempted to insert a stent into my bowel in order to open the lumen of the colon to allow fecal matter to move.
I was delirious, in excruciating pain, and I could barely breathe. But I was discharged home with a referral to an oncologist.
My parents picked me up and determined that I would stay with them until arrangements could be made for care at my home. But the following night, I collapsed on the bathroom floor and an ambulance had to be called. The stent had ruptured my bowel and I was now in septic shock.
I was too ill to make the drive to the hospital that originally discharged me. I was instead taken to the General Campus of The Ottawa Hospital.
The ER team there worked to stabilize my vitals just enough to get me to surgery. My Mom and Dad were told I had a 50/50 chance of surviving the procedure. In a marathon operation, the surgeon and her team essentially swabbed the decks to get rid of the contents of my bowel that had leaked into the gut, they repaired the ruptured intestine, and created an ileostomy to allow me to have BMs. 24 inches of my small intestine were removed. I was taken to ICU where I lay in a coma for several days.
As I began to wake up, I recall a doctor, my new oncologist, telling my family just how big of a mess I was in. I was considered inoperable at this point, I would need 6 months of chemotherapy, and if I was lucky, I had a 6% chance of making it two years. Having only just been extubated, I managed to croaked out F#%ck that!
And so began my search for a surgeon brave enough to take on my case. That surgeon was found at the Princess Margaret Cancer Centre in Toronto, ON. He carefully reviewed all the files I couriered to him and called me in to meet. My Mom & I flew to his clinic at PMCC and waited for what felt like an agonizingly long time. Then finally in walked a man who bore a striking resemblance to Back to the Future’s Doc. His first words, which I will never forget, were “I think we can do this”. He went on to explain the particulars and then surgical dates were set. It would be a series of procedures and operations, the first of which was scheduled for April 28, 2013.
Hope was finally here.
As a stage 4 patient you hope and pray, against all odds, for an outright cure. This was not to be my story.
I’ve have had several surgeries since this time:
- Oophorectomy for metastasis and ostomy reversal (Jan, 2014)
- Resection liver margin, hepatic artery node (May, 2015)
- Distal pancreatectomy, resection liver margin (July, 2016)
- SBRT radiation (April, 2019)
- Periceliac/periaortic LND (Dec 13, 2021)
- SBRT radiation lumbar spine (Nov, 2024)
Plus, a few more rounds of chemo. I am currently on FOLFIRI indefinitely, but I’m still here. I am still hopeful.
There are still options out there worthy of consideration. There is a dendritic cell therapy that I am pursuing in Mexico. There are many fine cancer centres in the USA worth exploring. And then there is Europe, particularly Germany, who seems to blend holism very nicely with their patient care.
I became an unwitting student at Cancer University. I’ve learned more about this GD disease than most ever want to. In these 12+ years I have learned the importance of nutrition, strength training, and guarding one’s mental health. I have gained license and certifications in holistic nutrition and acupuncture. I am studying health sciences at Queens (albeit very slowly). But perhaps most importantly I have learned to live my life in the in between spaces, when I am not focused on surgery or treatments. On the days I feel good I love being out in nature or spending time with my horse. On the days I don’t feel great I enjoy time with my tribe, the people who help to fill my life with joy and who want to be present for me.
These are things that matter most to me. Finding joy in every day and living the heck out of life in the in between spaces.
A bit about Trish
Trish Massart is a writer and speaker, a licensed holistic nutritionist and certified personal trainer, and a perpetual student of health sciences. She is also a cancer survivor, diagnosed with stage four colon cancer in July 2012. When not advocating for lower colonoscopy ages, she enjoys caring for other people’s animals, in addition to her own pets—Imogen (cat) and Beatrice (horse).
