My life without an anus: how a cancer diagnosis at 30 changed my life
Being open and less awkward about butt stuff is key to colorectal health
My name is Kassandra, and I want to tell you about my butt.
Although my keister is the main character in this story, it was a blood clot in my arm that started the cascade of events that would change my life forever.
I share my story in Butt Seriously, a documentary from The Nature of Things that's about all things butts. Or, in my case, a lack of one.
At first, the doctors weren't very concerned about the blood clot. I was prescribed "clot buster" pills and needed three blood tests a week to monitor whether they were working.
The tests were disruptive: I was working full-time in the fast-paced fashion world and had recently moved in with my boyfriend in Montreal. But I soon started losing weight, becoming short of breath and feeling fatigued around the clock. At a follow-up appointment, we discovered that my red blood cell count was very low, classifying me as anemic. The hematologist who'd done the test was stunned that I was able to get out of bed, let alone walk to the clinic. I was sent home with a prescription for iron supplements.
Shortly after, my stomach problems started. I felt bloated and heavy, and like I couldn't digest meals well. My appetite disappeared and I was only eating plain foods that wouldn't irritate my insides.
The dreaded C-word
My 30th birthday was a bust. I was pale, down 20 pounds and could barely walk two blocks without feeling winded. I was being held hostage by my bowels, which couldn't decide if I should have another bout of liquid stool or if I needed to sit on the toilet with an outrageous feeling of urgency to go but no result.
The only way to discover what was going on would be a colonoscopy, but I decided that wasn't going to happen before a long-planned trip to Europe. After months of feeling like garbage and dealing with stressors from work, home and hospital, I needed a getaway.
But by the time I got back, I was having a lot of pain in my butt cheek. I could barely sit. I had also started seeing blood in the toilet and the urgency to poop was increasing, but when I tried to go, not much was happening.
Forced to the emergency department by my BFF, I was seen very quickly and had several doctors probing my booty. My dignity was long gone. They put an instrument with a camera up my butt and afterward, the doctors' hunch was confirmed. It was a case of "If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, chances are it's a duck."
It was the first time the medical team used the dreaded C-word: "You have cancer."
My anus would have to be removed and tossed in the biohazard bin along with the cancer
It was a madhouse of scans, tests and waiting for answers before the surgical team said I was going in for emergency exploratory surgery to get a better idea of what we were dealing with. And oh, they said, there was a "fifty-fifty chance you wake up with a bag."
A bag?
They explained that a part of my colon would be diverted through a hole in my abdomen, allowing stool to pass and be collected … in a colostomy bag.
I didn't have time to object, ask questions or process the information. And just my luck, I woke up with a new bag — and it sure wasn't a Chanel.
I started chemotherapy and radiation treatment to shrink the tumours before a final surgery to remove any leftover cancerous cells. The likelihood of the colostomy being permanent was high — simply put, my anus would almost certainly have to be removed and tossed in the biohazard bin along with the cancer.
My life without an anus
Life after the surgery was a big adjustment, but the reality was that I felt exceptionally better!
I started gaining weight right away and the colour came back to my face. How could I not like my new "front butt" when I was immediately able to eat all my favourite things again without having to run to the toilet in pain?
The nurses cautioned me about certain foods that are known to cause gas or blockages, but those are the same issues anyone would have, with or without a colostomy. With help from the specialized nurses who became a real lifeline and inspiration for me, I was able to adjust to my new, improved butthole-on-my-stomach, also known as a stoma.
They showed me all the supplies I would need and encouraged me to try out different brands that would look and feel better. Could the colostomy bag be the next big fashion accessory?
High-waisted jeans and peplum tops were in fashion at the time, so camouflaging my midsection was easy — no one would know I had a colostomy bag unless I told them. Social media groups and videos provided a lot of insight and tips, and really helped with my confidence. It wasn't long before I was in a bikini showing off my handmade bag covers. I was far from being alone in this transition, and that made accepting and talking about it feel much more normal.
Time passed quickly, and before I knew it the treatments were done, the surgery had been successful, and the physical and emotional wounds were healing. I seized the opportunity to take advantage of my good health and make up for lost time. With the support of my inner circle, and motivated by the great care of my medical team and the drive to contribute, I went back to school.
Today I'm a registered nurse clinician who can formally tell you to love your butt and watch out for any signs and symptoms, or changes in your bowel habits.
Most importantly, don't be shy! Don't hold it in! Please talk about your butt with your health-care providers — we really want to know. It could very likely save your life.
