Coming to Terms With Colon Cancer
Colon cancer is a malignant growth that starts in the lining of the large intestine. Most tumors begin as polyps -- tiny, abnormal bumps. Some are precancerous, and the longer they last and the larger they grow, the greater the danger they could turn into cancer. As the cancerous mass enlarges, it can press against the colon walls and burst through layers of tissue -- invading other organs via the bloodstream or lymphatic system. That's metastatic colon cancer.In 1997, over 130,000 Americans, including me, were diagnosed with colorectal cancer. Some 56,700 people died from it.
My surgeon told me he'd removed a reasonably large tumor from part of my large intestine. He'd also removed about a foot and a half of the colon itself and stitched the raw ends back together. (I started signing my e-mails with a tiny punctuation mark: ; That's "semicolon." Get it?)
The doctor said the tumor had started to burst through the wall of the colon -- not good. Cancer cells could have spread through my blood or lymphatic system. So the tumor, plus samples of other colon tissue and neighboring lymph nodes, were sent to the pathology lab for analysis. We'd have the results a week later.
Within a day or two nearly everyone I knew checked in. A tape editor from the 20/20 office wrote, "Get well soon -- work's not the same without you. P.S. Keep your eye out for a cute doctor for me."
Then my cancer became an item in Liz Smith's column. "She has a clean bill of health now," the report concluded, "and will be back at work in a few weeks. Her friends are rejoicing." (I developed new respect for Liz's sources when she turned out to be right on target, as usual.)
The news from the lab a week after my surgery was excellent. There was no lymph node involvement, no signs of metastasis. I had passed a big test.
I was soon allowed to eat soft food, then real food, and finally to go home. I then chose to switch to a cancer hospital -- Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, the same place my husband had been treated. There I faced another choice: whether or not to have chemotherapy.
Dr. David Kelsen told me that, in addition to penetrating the bowel wall, the tumor had also partially obstructed my intestine. The pain I felt probably saved my life -- colon cancer is often referred to as a silent killer. Without the pain, I wouldn't have reacted and the tumor would have had a chance to occupy other organs.
I was, in a word, lucky.
"The chances of cure are good," Dr. Kelsen said. "But there may be a 30 to 35 percent risk of recurrence. So we do system-wide treatment."
I would start chemo in three weeks.


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