I’m sharing this publicly because knowledge reduces fear — and because survivorship has chapters that don’t often get named.
Woot! It’s benign.
This post has been composed in my head a few times. I wrestled with do I share—and if so, what… when… even who?
I’ve chosen to share because I have done so before, and because knowledge builds resilience.
More than three years ago, I learned that radiation treatment for cervical cancer had altered my bladder. Over time, bladder issues became common. Combined with type II diabetes, that often meant UTIs. I listened to the doctors, made changes, and things improved.
But in the last nine months, they worsened again. I had already cut way back on coffee. My weight was down thanks to Noom. Nothing obvious explained the change.
Then, on a day that should have been a delightful visit, I noticed blood. If you’ve had cancer, blood where it doesn’t belong gets your attention fast. I called my doctor. A referral to a urologist followed.
I was booked for a scope. Watching the inside of my bladder on the screen, the urologist explained what we were seeing—and it was clear he was concerned. I was told that earlier radiation, while lifesaving, can sometimes cause long-term changes that need careful watching years later. This is part of the long tail of cancer survivorship that doesn’t always get talked about.
There were areas of concern that needed to be removed and examined.
On Monday, December 1, I had a bladder tumour resection (TURBT). Physically, I felt relatively okay afterward—the usual effects of general anesthesia and procedural pain.
Then came the familiar waiting-for-biopsy-results time. Immediate family knew. My follow-up appointment wasn’t until January, and I understood that depending on results, there could be more waiting—staging, treatment decisions, and next steps.
Cancer teaches you how to live well with contingencies.
So I made plans—but only ones with generous cancellation policies.
The symptoms themselves were humbling and disruptive, affecting daily life far more than I expected. Survivorship isn’t always tidy.
And now—here we are.
It’s benign.
Benign doesn’t mean nothing happened. It means that vigilance, research, and follow-up did exactly what they’re meant to do.
Immense relief. Deep gratitude. Blissful joy. And a renewed appreciation for listening to my body, for Canadian medical care, and for the resilience that sits at my core.
Thank you to those who knew, who checked in, and who held space—whether you realized it or not.
The journey continues. I’ll learn more about what the future holds when another scope is done in three months. It may be that procedures like this become part of my routine healthcare moving forward. Who knows?
Having cancer enter your life path means that things don’t always go as expected. You may be cured of the original cancer, yet still live with the long-term effects of treatment. Or you may find that cancer becomes a chronic condition—managed as doctors draw on an ever-expanding toolkit of research and care.
I know that for many, hearing the word cancer brings thoughts of worst-case scenarios—friends who died quickly, or who endured brutal treatments years ago.
I’m sharing to remind you that cancer research works.
That life can go on.
Woot! It’s benign.
This post has been composed in my head a few times. I wrestled with do I share—and if so, what… when… even who?
I’ve chosen to share because I have done so before, and because knowledge builds resilience.
More than three years ago, I learned that radiation treatment for cervical cancer had altered my bladder. Over time, bladder issues became common. Combined with type II diabetes, that often meant UTIs. I listened to the doctors, made changes, and things improved.
But in the last nine months, they worsened again. I had already cut way back on coffee. My weight was down thanks to Noom. Nothing obvious explained the change.
Then, on a day that should have been a delightful visit, I noticed blood. If you’ve had cancer, blood where it doesn’t belong gets your attention fast. I called my doctor. A referral to a urologist followed.
I was booked for a scope. Watching the inside of my bladder on the screen, the urologist explained what we were seeing—and it was clear he was concerned. I was told that earlier radiation, while lifesaving, can sometimes cause long-term changes that need careful watching years later. This is part of the long tail of cancer survivorship that doesn’t always get talked about.
There were areas of concern that needed to be removed and examined.
On Monday, December 1, I had a bladder tumour resection (TURBT). Physically, I felt relatively okay afterward—the usual effects of general anesthesia and procedural pain.
Then came the familiar waiting-for-biopsy-results time. Immediate family knew. My follow-up appointment wasn’t until January, and I understood that depending on results, there could be more waiting—staging, treatment decisions, and next steps.
Cancer teaches you how to live well with contingencies.
So I made plans—but only ones with generous cancellation policies.
The symptoms themselves were humbling and disruptive, affecting daily life far more than I expected. Survivorship isn’t always tidy.
And now—here we are.
It’s benign.
Benign doesn’t mean nothing happened. It means that vigilance, research, and follow-up did exactly what they’re meant to do.
Immense relief. Deep gratitude. Blissful joy. And a renewed appreciation for listening to my body, for Canadian medical care, and for the resilience that sits at my core.
Thank you to those who knew, who checked in, and who held space—whether you realized it or not.
The journey continues. I’ll learn more about what the future holds when another scope is done in three months. It may be that procedures like this become part of my routine healthcare moving forward. Who knows?
Having cancer enter your life path means that things don’t always go as expected. You may be cured of the original cancer, yet still live with the long-term effects of treatment. Or you may find that cancer becomes a chronic condition—managed as doctors draw on an ever-expanding toolkit of research and care.
I know that for many, hearing the word cancer brings thoughts of worst-case scenarios—friends who died quickly, or who endured brutal treatments years ago.
I’m sharing to remind you that cancer research works.
That life can go on.
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