Part 3: When the Bottom Falls Out

July 15th Anniversary: The Day Everything Changed

 

Three years ago today, my world imploded with four words: "The cancer has spread."

The Moment

I was sitting in that hospital bed, still recovering from surgery, when my surgeon delivered the news that transformed my diagnosis from manageable to terrifying. Stage 4. The cancer had traveled beyond my colon to my distant lymph system, with tumors around my spine that were inoperable and aggressive.

The room started spinning. The carefully constructed optimism I'd built over the previous days crumbled in an instant. This wasn't just cancer – this was the kind of cancer that killed people.

The Breakdown

I cried so hard I thought I might split my surgical site open. The physical pain of sobbing with fresh abdominal incisions was nothing compared to the emotional devastation. The statistics started flooding my mind: Stage 4 colon cancer, five-year survival rate around 14%. I was 43 years old.

The fear was all-consuming. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't imagine a future where I survived this.

The Strategic Pause

In that moment of complete overwhelm, I made a decision that probably saved my life: I asked for sleeping medicine. Not to escape reality forever, but to let my racing mind rest so I could think clearly and make a plan.

This wasn't giving up – it was strategic self-care. Sometimes the most courageous thing you can do when you receive devastating news is to pause, rest, and let your system process before you try to figure out what comes next.

The Science of Pause

Research shows that our brains can't make optimal decisions when flooded with stress hormones. The fight-or-flight response that kicks in during trauma actually impairs our ability to think strategically.

By asking for medication to help me sleep, I was:

• Allowing my nervous system to reset

• Giving my brain time to process the new information

• Creating space for rational thought to emerge

• Preserving energy for the battle ahead

The Dark Before the Dawn

That night was one of the darkest of my life. I grieved the future I thought I was going to have. I felt the full weight of my mortality. I allowed myself to feel scared, devastated, and overwhelmed.

But I also made a promise to myself: I wasn't going down without a fight.

 

The Planning Phase

The next morning, with a clearer head and a rested body, I began to think strategically. If only 14% of people with my diagnosis survived, I needed to figure out what those 14% were doing differently. This became the foundation of everything that followed:

• Building a team of 11 healers

• Gathering 13 types of data

• Using every available toolbox for healing

• Preparing my body like I was training for a marathon

• Tracking leading indicators, not just lagging ones

• Being willing to fail fast and pivot when needed

Lessons for Dark Moments

If you're in your own dark moment right now, please know:

It's Okay to Fall Apart: Sometimes we need to completely break down before we can build something stronger. Don't judge yourself for the tears, the fear, or the despair.

Rest is Revolutionary: In a culture that demands immediate action, sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is rest. Sleep when your mind won't stop racing. Ask for help when you need it.

Process Before Planning: Don't try to figure everything out in the first 24 hours. Let yourself feel the full weight of bad news before you start strategizing.

You're Stronger Than You Know: Even in your darkest hour, even when you feel completely broken, there's a strength in you that you haven't met yet.

The Promise

Three years later, I'm cancer-free and living my best life. But it started in that hospital bed on July 15th, when I felt the full devastation of Stage 4 and chose to rest so I could plan.

If you're facing your own devastating news, remember: This might be your darkest hour, but it's not your final hour. Tomorrow, we plan. Tonight, we rest.

You're going to get through this. And someday, you might even be grateful for how it changed you. I know I am.

May you Live Long and Lucky