February 12, 2024. My cancer diagnosis day. I had a colonoscopy. The prep was way worse than the actual procedure. Because I had gone to a GI, they were looking for issues because I was bloaty and uncomfortable. The colonoscopy prep I was given was the gaviLyte solution on Super Bowl Sunday. It has a lemon-lime taste and to this day, I do not like lemon-lime flavor Gatorade, LMNT, or anything citrus. At the doctor office, right before the procedure, there was some concern before my colonoscopy because I had nothing coming out. No pee. No poop. I didn’t know what else to do. Thankfully, we continued with the colonoscopy. Coming out of the anesthesia, the doctor was making sure I could listen: Liz, can you hear me? Can you focus? What I found aligns with adenocarcinoma. We do not have a biopsy confirmation but the abnormality of the cells are consistent with a malignant tumor. At this point, I don’t even know what adenocarcinoma means or malignant tumor. What is happening? My head is fuzzy. My brain is not up to speed. My body is panicking. I feel a sense of dread. This is not happening. I’m not fully listening. I focus on the doctor. Her eyes are big and brown and concerned and empathetic. I think at one point she touches my thigh in comfort. But we are going to get this cancer ball in motion. We will be getting calls from oncology, radiation and a surgeons office to set up meetings. The nurses are very quiet. My hands are shaking as I get dressed. I look at Chris and wonder if this is a dream. The nurses don’t tell me to have a good day. Instead, they wish me good luck. I am helped to the car where I start crying. My mind is spiraling everywhere. I’m going to die at 40. Am I going to die? Will I see Jude graduate high school? Watch Dylan walk down the aisle at her wedding? See Theo grow to be taller than Chris? Do I get to grow old with Chris? Chris and I had already planned to go to brunch after the colonoscopy. I weakly argued against going but Chris persisted and he drove us to cafe Patachou. My favorite. My eyes are red, I am stunned and shocked and I order two meals for myself. I eat it all. We message our families of the cancer news. We get calls for an appointment the next day for oncology. An appointment Wednesday for a surgeon. And before I am home, my week is booked with appointments. Thus began the journey to perfect health. It is hard not to reminisce one year later. The shock. The fear. The treatments. The journey is not over but it is so, so close to new and better chapters. Lightyears from just one year ago today. It is good to look back and see how far we have come. So thank you, friends. Thank you for supporting me and my family in this difficult stage. Thank you for the meals, the house cleaning, the gifts, the gift cards, the hugs, the words of encouragement. How lucky am I to be so genuinely loved by you.

Liz