A Routine Surgery Uncovers a Life-Threatening Secret: My Bowel Cancer Diagnosis at 35
At 35, with a loving husband and two young daughters, aged four and six, life seemed to be on a healthy trajectory. I maintained a good diet, exercised regularly, drank sparingly, and wasn’t overweight. The notion of a serious illness, particularly bowel cancer, seemed unfathomable. Yet, this became my stark reality, a diagnosis that left me reeling and questioning everything I thought I knew about my body.
My journey to this diagnosis wasn’t a direct one. For years, I’d experienced minor bowel symptoms – subtle changes and cramping, particularly around my cycle. These were manageable, not severe enough to warrant significant concern or time off work. They were the kind of issues people tend not to discuss openly, so my family and a few close friends were the only ones aware.
The path forward seemed clear: endometriosis. For two years, I’d felt something wasn’t quite right, experiencing mild cramping and changes in bowel movements that I attributed to this condition, along with adenomyosis. It became my “normal,” easily managed with over-the-counter pain relief and a heat pack. While I wasn’t experiencing extreme pain, fatigue beyond the usual demands of motherhood, or significant weight loss, there was one incident that ultimately proved pivotal.
Rebecca with her husband and their two young daughters. Image: Supplied.
Two and a half years prior, a single instance of blood in my stool, though painless, was enough to send me to the emergency department. After an extensive 18-hour wait, a series of blood tests, and a clear CT scan, I was reassured that all was well. The medical opinion suggested it was likely internal haemorrhoids, a common occurrence after having two babies in quick succession. At 33, cancer wasn’t even on the radar, and a colonoscopy was never suggested.
Following up with my GP, I specifically inquired about a colonoscopy. She echoed the previous sentiment, reiterating that the bleeding was a one-off, my tests were clear, and the small risks associated with a colonoscopy likely outweighed the benefits, especially as it would probably just reveal haemorrhoids.
Months later, intermittent diarrhoea became a new, albeit annoying, symptom, often linked to my menstrual cycle. Again, tests returned “normal” results. I was advised it was likely lactose intolerance or hormonal fluctuations. When I questioned if it could be related to the earlier bleeding episode, I was told no.
I promptly cut out dairy, but to no avail. My symptoms persisted.
Another visit to the doctor revealed slightly elevated results, though still not considered alarming. I requested a referral to a gastroenterologist. He, too, was unconcerned. My symptoms weren’t severe, I wasn’t losing weight, and I was considered too young for bowel cancer – the third medical professional to offer this reassurance. He did, however, offer a colonoscopy “for peace of mind,” but stressed it wasn’t medically necessary. Faced with the prospect of bowel preparation and the procedure itself, especially when professionals were downplaying its urgency, I began to doubt myself. Was I overthinking things? Was it anxiety?
Life remained busy, and my symptoms, while persistent, weren’t escalating dramatically.
Image: Supplied.
Then came a significant turning point: my GP retired, and I was referred to a new doctor. This change proved to be life-saving. During our consultation, I raised the possibility of endometriosis again, having tracked patterns that suggested a link. My new GP agreed and ordered a scan for deep infiltrating endometriosis. While the scan revealed no endometriosis, it did confirm adenomyosis.
Finally, a tangible answer, a sense of relief.
My GP then referred me to an endometriosis specialist. This specialist conducted another scan and this time did find endometriosis, noting my ovary was adhered to my uterus, further confirming adenomyosis. The validation was immense; I wasn’t imagining things.
However, my endometriosis specialist expressed unease regarding my previous bleeding episode. She referred me to a colorectal surgeon with whom she collaborated. Given that endometriosis can sometimes affect the bowel, his involvement in my upcoming surgery was a possibility.
The surgeon proposed an endoscopy and colonoscopy to rule out conditions like Crohn’s disease, coeliac disease, ulcerative colitis, and, crucially, cancer. He estimated the chance of cancer at a minuscule 1 in 1,000. It felt like an insignificant risk. I even inquired about postponing the procedures until November, to which he readily agreed, seeing no immediate urgency.
Little did we know, urgency was precisely what was needed.
November arrived. The planned surgery was expected to take around four hours. I sent my husband to pick up our daughters from school, feeling a mix of apprehension and the usual pre-surgery nerves. I remember confiding in the surgical team about my fears of what they might uncover.
Image: Supplied.
Waking up in recovery, I immediately sensed something was amiss. The procedure had only taken 45 minutes, far shorter than anticipated, and I wasn’t experiencing the expected level of pain. The surgeons were gathered at the foot of my bed, their expressions a story in themselves.
“We couldn’t proceed with the surgery as planned,” they informed me. “We discovered a 3cm tumour on your transverse colon.”
Cancer. Transverse colon. The terms were foreign and terrifying.
A phone was placed in my hand. I called my husband, who was en route to collect our children. My voice trembled as I delivered the devastating news: “I have bowel cancer.” We had gone in for endometriosis.
The ensuing weekend was an abyss of fear and uncertainty. CT scans, blood tests, an iron infusion, and the agonizing wait to determine if the cancer had spread. My mind was consumed by the thought of my daughters, wondering how much they would remember of me if I wasn’t there.
On Wednesday, the surgeon delivered a glimmer of hope: “I have good news. It hasn’t spread. There is no evidence of metastatic disease.” Relief washed over me, so profound I felt my legs buckle.
Ten days later, I underwent major surgery. Forty centimetres of my bowel were removed, the tumour itself the size of a golf ball. The stage – 2 or 3 – remained uncertain pending further analysis.
Five days after that, the pathology results arrived. Stage 2A. Low-risk features. No chemotherapy required.
The odds of recurrence were now estimated at 5–10 per cent. While this is a significant figure, it pales in comparison to the 0.1 per cent chance I was initially told I had of developing bowel cancer in the first place. I am choosing to focus on the 90–95 per cent probability that the surgery has eradicated the disease.
The doctors who had previously reassured me were not negligent. They were adhering to established guidelines for someone my age presenting with mild symptoms and predominantly normal test results. However, the landscape of bowel cancer is shifting. It is increasingly prevalent in younger individuals, particularly women, often presenting with symptoms that can be easily mistaken for pregnancy-related issues, endometriosis, or IBS.
We are frequently told these symptoms are hormonal, post-pregnancy, due to food intolerances, or anxiety. Sometimes, this is indeed the case. But sometimes, it is not.
I still experience some symptoms, which suggests my original issues were likely caused by endometriosis. The cancer was an unfortunate, coincidental discovery. The fact that we weren’t actively looking for it makes the entire experience feel profoundly surreal.
Now, my focus is on proactively minimising the risk of recurrence. My diet is meticulously healthy, with a strict avoidance of processed meats and ultra-processed foods. I’ve reduced my alcohol intake to virtually nothing and am exercising more consistently than ever before, aiming to give my body the optimal conditions for recovery. Beyond physical health, I’m consciously slowing down, cherishing time with my family, embracing opportunities for travel, and resisting the urge to postpone joy for a hypothetical “someday.”
And, I am committed to raising awareness about this critical issue.
Image: Supplied.
Many people speculate about the causes of bowel cancer. I’m awaiting a consultation with a geneticist to explore any potential hereditary factors in my case. What I do understand is the lengthy development process: it typically takes 10–15 years for the bowel lining to transform from normal tissue to a polyp and then to cancer. This means the disease had been developing within me for a considerable period.
Whether it was genetics, environmental factors, or diet, the truth is that the causes are not always clear-cut.
My diagnosis involved an emergency visit, consultations with a gastroenterologist and two GPs, two CT scans, and two surgeons. It’s a journey many might have abandoned along the way. Had I stopped, I wouldn’t be here to tell my story.
In a strange twist of fate, endometriosis, the condition I initially sought answers for, may have inadvertently saved my life. My doctors, too, played an indispensable role.
I consider myself the luckiest unlucky person. Unlucky to have faced bowel cancer at 35, but incredibly fortunate to have had the support and persistence of those who discovered it before it was too late.
A 1 in 1,000 statistic can seem insignificant. But I am not a statistic. This is my life. And sometimes, a seemingly tiny chance can have monumental consequences.
