The Diagnosis
Cancer, Just Like That
“My intention is to offer bite-sized stories as I find my way through this new normal, with hope, clarity, and honesty.”
“There’s a mass on your small intestine, and I’m pretty sure it’s cancer.”
That’s what the ER doctor at Sibley Memorial (Johns Hopkins) in DC told me. After an ten-hour wait in the ER and a CT scan later, at about 5 a.m., my life changed.
I had spent the entire night alone in the waiting room, watching all the weirdness unfold around me. Eventually, I found a chair, leaned my head against a pillar, and tried to rest. I was so tired. (I’ll circle back to how I ended up in DC/Bethesda later.)
The date was April 10th—one I’ll never forget. The ER doctor pulled up a chair, sat down, took a deep breath, and didn’t sugarcoat a thing. My heart sank. He explained my hemoglobin was dangerously low because I was most likely bleeding internally.
Cancer. And bleeding.
My brain tried to process both at once. I asked, “Well, can we stop the bleeding?” He said maybe, but I’d need to be admitted immediately for more tests.
It turned out I had landed in one of the best oncology centers in DC.
The Immediate Aftermath
At 5:30 a.m., I texted my mom and sister: “Pretty sure this is cancer. Y’all need to come here and get me.” Within 48 hours, they were by my side.
I stayed in the hospital for five days—poked up and down my poor arms for daily bloodwork, given fluids, and received my first blood transfusion. The CT scan revealed a large mass in the upper left quadrant of my small intestine. The mass had impacted a vein, causing the bleeding.
A special team was assembled to do a scope and biopsy. It confirmed what they already knew: cancer. Adenocarcinoma. That’s the more “common” type for colorectal cancers, but mine was in the small intestine, which is very rare. And they listed me as stage 4. Great. Just great.
The doctors wanted me to stay and begin treatment there, but I knew I needed to be back in McKinney with my family.
The Journey Back
So, we packed up my brand-new apartment (I had only partially moved in, expecting the big move later that month) and started the three-day drive back to Texas. My mom drove as much as she could during the day and handled all the bags at night while I was helpless—barely able to stand, unable to lift anything, and in increasing pain.
God bless my mom. She endured my misery: the constant cancer pain, my inability to eat, and the hospital pain pills that weren’t nearly enough. My sister flew home since the car was packed to the top.
How I Got to DC in the First Place
Here’s the backstory: after a year of part-time contract work, I finally landed what felt like a dream job at a wealth management firm. Corporate role. New city. Big opportunity.
Yes, I had been having pain off and on, but I chalked it up to ulcers (since that’s what I had been told before—more on that in my symptoms article). I had enough energy and excitement to ignore it. With support from my co-parent and family, it seemed like the perfect time for a new start.
I worked exactly ten days before being diagnosed. Ten days.
I never went back.
My new boss and his wife came to see me in the hospital, devastated. We all were. Thankfully, the apartment complex gave me back my deposit and waived all fees for breaking the lease. Small mercies in the middle of the chaos.
Looking back, that week in DC/Bethesda feels like the moment my old life ended and a new one began—with cancer sitting in the passenger seat. Nothing about this journey has been straightforward, but it has forced me to see things with a different kind of clarity. The truth is, we are not in control. The signs were there all along—I just didn’t recognize them for what they were. In my next article, I’ll share the symptoms I experienced leading up to this diagnosis, because sometimes what seems small or “explainable” might actually be your body begging you to pay attention.
With gratitude for this journey,
KC
