The Diagnosis

6cm moderately differentiated adenocarcoma arising in the hepatic flexure pT4b pN2 M1 (omentum) R0. 13/21 lymph nodes removed positive Dukes stage D. BRAF mutation p.VAL 600 TLU, TP53 mutation, SM84 mutation, RAS wild type MMR Proficient. Enlarged supraclavicular and mediastinal lymph nodes.

I would remain in hospital for the majority of December recovering from surgery for a right hemi colectomy. The process involved removing the tumour along with the majority of my large colon and reattaching it to my small intestines. 

Upon my return home the letters started to arrive from the hospital. All of them starting in bold with the same paragraph written above. The shock of seeing my diagnosis written in bold for the first time was a wholeheartedly unpleasant experience. I felt like I had been sucker punched all over again. It looked so bleak written in black and white. So many words and letters that followed my name, none of which I understood but all of which I could be fairly certain weren’t good. I remember letting out a panicked laugh at the sick irony, this time last year I was bragging to friends that if I passed my exams at the end of the year technically I would be Sophia Sangchi MA MRICS FNARA and that I had nearly as many letters that followed my name as were in them (I know, I am incredibly annoying and it’s a wonder I have any friends at all). 

Fast forward a year and all I wanted was less. Less words, less numbers, less letters after my name. I’d give it all up, all the letters and numbers and words. Please, why can’t I just go back to being Sophia Sangchi? 

Eventually you see it written so many times you become desensitised to the severity of it all, the shock subsided and replaced itself with a reluctant acceptance of my new identity.  Given that it seemed to be written in every letter and every report I considered it important that I at least tried to understand what it all meant. 

Prior to my diagnosis I knew very little about cancer. I knew that it was a disease created by our own body and that our cells went a bit nuts and mutated and divided in a way that meant that our own body couldn’t fight it. I thought chemotherapy was just one drug. I thought if you had bowel cancer you were treated with the same programme as anyone else with bowel cancer because bowel cancer was bowel cancer, just like everyone with breast cancer had the same treatment and skin cancer and so on.  I knew the level of advancement for cancer was measured in stages and stage IV was the worst. That was about it. 

I was also very curious to try to understand why more cancers hadn’t been cured. What is it about this disease that makes it so difficult to treat and why haven’t survival rates seen any great improvement in advanced cancer? I calculated that cancer research to date must have received trillions of pounds in funding and charitable donations so why haven’t we solved this problem? I could just about accept that the disease wasn’t going to leave my body but it would be an easier pill to swallow if I could treat the disease like a chronic illness rather than a death sentence. Why would this not be possible?

One thing that surprises me about a lot of cancer patients is their frustrations with random people or friends suggesting trying a latest fad which may help. You do get them all, lemon rind, mushrooms, honey, green tea, turmeric but for me I’m happy to hear them. Knowledge is power and I want to hear as many theories as possible. I’ll go away and read up on it and if I think there is merit in giving it a go I’ll discuss it with my oncologist and go from there. I won’t ever dismiss anything. 

My early research showed me that one thing was certain, first and foremost I needed to start chemotherapy. 12 rounds to be precise. I discovered that there was only a 30-40% chance of responding due to the types of mutations I had but I couldn’t dwell on that too much. 12 rounds of chemo would take roughly six months which would give me some time to do some more in depth research into what I do next. 

The good news is that at present, after 11 rounds, all scans are showing a complete metabolic response and no evidence of disease. This is a pretty extraordinary position to be in and one I should be very relieved and grateful for. Unfortunately knowing that it will come back seems to be completely overshadowing this victory and I’m finding myself really struggling again mentally. 

Determined not to become the most irritating, sulky person to be around I’ve booked myself a trip off to an Ayurvedic, Chinese and Tibetan medicine retreat in the foothills of the Himalayas on Friday. A dramatic move, yes, and rest assured I’m not going there in search of a miracle cure, more in search of a way to improve my wellbeing both mentally and physically before I tackle the next stage of my treatment. The good news is phones and cameras are banned from the retreat and I’m so looking forward to getting away and fully process what has happened to me over these last eight months and completely switch off from the real world. 

I’ll see you all in a few weeks, hopefully with lots of tales from my adventures.