Nearly two years ago, when I was on vacation on a slow, end of summer road trip through the Mississippi River valley, I received a call from my gastroenterologist that changed my life.
As the doctor was on the line and not his assistant, I knew the minute I picked up the phone that something was amiss: “Ms. Gott, we have to tell you the news from your recent pathology report tested positive for cancer.” I had gone in for my once yearly colonoscopy, something I’ve had to do for the past several years due to the presence of multiple polyps in my colon.
I hadn’t felt very good for months leading up to that call—gut wrenching pain and bloody pencil thin stool was the norm—and a veritable storm had hit my life both emotionally and physically.
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