ST. LOUIS — More than 150,000 people in the United States received a colon or rectal cancer diagnosis in 2023. March is Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. Today in St. Louis traffic reporter Paul Cook is a survivor of the disease. He talked with an expert about the importance of regular colon screenings when advised.
Paul reflects on that time in his life and the decisions and delays that led to his diagnosis.
In my own words
I’m so grateful I was able to share some of my experience of having colorectal cancer with you on 5 On Your Side. Maybe this more detailed depiction can give you or your loved one more clarity about your situation and the importance of vigilance.
It’s March of 2017, and I’ve been dealing with uncomfortable bathroom symptoms for about six months now. I’m 45.
“It’s possible you could have Crohn's, but I want to cross off a few other things on the list first," my doctor at the time said. "You’re kind of young for a colonoscopy, so I don’t want to put you through that yet. I’m going to order up a gastro barium test.”
I’ve been seeing this doctor for about four months now, he says a version of his statement above almost every time we do another test. This will be number four.
And I always say “OK,” because if I’m being honest, I don’t really want a colonoscopy either. Who does?
My descriptions of my symptoms are why people are reluctant to get these types of illnesses looked at – especially me. I’m about the most self-conscious of potty stuff of any man in the world.
I don’t get the results of the barium for two more months.
The assistant says. “Well, it all looks clear. They found nothing wrong with you.”
“That’s good, but I’m still having some pretty major symptoms here. Could you tell the doc for me?”
The next day the doctor calls and says, "Let's do a colonoscopy."
In the waiting room, they call my name for the 1 p.m. scan. Friday, late in the day, everyone is in a good mood.
The nurse takes me back and gives me the IV.
“Honey, you must be so hungry!" she said. "We’ll get you some cookies and pretzels right after this.”
When I come to, that same nurse is holding my hand. All of their faces are a total flip from before. I’m groggy, munching on my pretzels.
“The doctor needs to see you in a second.”
“OK,” that doesn’t seem abnormal.
He comes through the curtain.
“Well, Paul, we did find something that doesn’t look good," the doctor said.
Peripheral vision gone, sounds around me louder and his voice a bit lower. A bit more slow-motion.
“Looks to be two pretty good-sized tumors near your rectum.”
“OK, cancer,” I say trying to overshoot it.
“We biopsied them, but yes it does look that way. I’ve seen a lot of these.”
“Wow, bummer.”
And right then, something happens to time that is not possible during all of the normal hours of our lives. Your mind speeds up and swirls, but the seconds feel much slower. It hurts, the “c-word” injures you.
My dad pulls the car around and they walk me out to the passenger door. The nurse hugs me. She looks as if this news is going to ruin her weekend. How do they do it?
My dad’s already been told some of this. After I get my seat belt on I look down at the paper they hand me and see it says “Malignant Likely.”
Arriving home after a “you don’t know anything for sure yet” pep talk from dad, it’s a beautiful sunny and 70 afternoon. And my life, what I live for, my two daughters Quinn (14) and Ryan (11) are walking home from school.
All they’ve seen is their dad grouse about his colon cleanse for the past two days. For some reason, they run up to me with arms wide and give me a big hug like I’ve been overseas for the summer working on a fishing boat. My heart drops to my feet. I’m moved in a way I never have been before.
“Are you crying Dad?” my youngest asks.
“No, I just love you guys so much.”
Then the fight begins.