Blog 1: I Thought I Was Constipated. I Had Cancer.

It Started Like Nothing.

On July 6, 2023, I woke up feeling off. Nothing dramatic — just a strange bathroom visit and a tiredness that wouldn't quit. I noticed my stool looked different. Long. Skinny. Dark. I kept feeling the urge to go but nothing would happen. I drink over 80 ounces of water a day. I eat well. I walk 20,000 steps. I was 44 years old and I thought I was the picture of health.

So I pushed it aside.

By July 8th, sharp cramps were doubling me over. They'd come out of nowhere, last a few seconds, then vanish like they were never there. I was so exhausted I tried to clean my house and couldn't finish. I had to go lie down.

By July 9th, I could barely get out of bed.

I asked my cousin to take me to the emergency room.

The First Time They Sent Me Home.

After hours of waiting, a doctor came in and told me I was constipated. They gave me a laxative prescription, recommended I use a fleet enema, and sent me home. I took the laxative. I threw it up. I tried the enema — water went in and came right back out. No bowel movement. My stomach started swelling until it looked like I was nine months pregnant.

Three days passed. Nothing changed. I saw my Primary care doctor they wanted me to do MiraLAX and Gatorade until the stool runs clear. That did not happen. I got really sick and everything came back up.

On July 15th, my husband took me back to that hospital and told them I needed to be seen immediately.

The Moment the Room Changed.

This time, things moved fast. Too fast. A doctor came rushing in yelling for an NG tube. He shoved it in my nose — I was gagging, choking, blood coming up. The tube was too large. His hands were too rough. Then a nurse stepped in. Calm. Quiet. Steady. She got a smaller tube, had me sip water, and as I swallowed, she gently guided it down. She was everything that frantic doctor was not. I will never forget her.

The diagnosis was a bowel obstruction. I was being admitted. I was told — almost matter-of-factly — that it was a good thing I came back when I did. This could have killed me.

I was moved to a room and did nothing but roll side to side in pain. The pain meds barely touched it. I felt like I was disappearing. I have an entire writing on my hospital, doctor visit experience before the bowel obstruction was discovered that goes into a very detailed breakdown I may post that later as its own blog later.

July 17th.

I was scheduled for a GI procedure. I was exhausted, in agony, and still waiting because the doctor was 45 minutes late. A nurse, she was so sweet and caring washed my face, wet my lips with the towel because they were so dry. She comforted me. When she picked up that phone and demanded they address the delay, I saw in her eyes something I desperately needed: someone who genuinely cared.

When the anesthesiologist finally arrived, whatever he gave me was mercy. As they rolled me back, the pain left my body. I was out for what felt like five minutes.

When I came back, the GI doctor looked me in the eyes:

"I'm sorry. You have cancer. You're going into emergency surgery."

Wait. What?

I was still half under anesthesia when they rushed my husband and daughter in to kiss me goodbye before they wheeled me away.

In the back of my foggy mind, one word kept circling.

Cancer.

I had no symptoms that prepared me for this. No warning that took me to a doctor thinking, something is seriously wrong. I was just living. I was a wife. A mother. A provider. A woman trying to get through the week, love my husband, raise my children, show up for my family, and make it to the weekend.

That's all I was doing.

And then, suddenly, I was a cancer patient.

There is a before. And there is an after. And the line between them is drawn in a hospital hallway I never expected to be in.

If you are reading this and something feels off in your body — push. Push until someone listens. Don't let a doctor send you home with laxatives when your gut is screaming that something is wrong. I am alive today because I went back. Because I insisted.

Your instincts are not an inconvenience. They are information. Trust them.

—Von Unfiltered

Stage 3 (2023) · Stage 4 (2025) · Remission (2026)