Rectal Cancer: The Least Sexy Cancer We Need To Talk About
It was a crisp October day when I walked out of the elevator onto the ninth floor of the oncology department for my third infusion. The chill in the air wasn’t kind to my chemo-induced, newly cold-sensitive body—my lips were frozen, and I could barely feel my fingers. As my nurse guided me to the treatment area, I couldn’t help but notice the display board brimming with pink ribbons and new artwork celebrating Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
The nurses wore pink ribbons and pink shirts with slogans reminding breast cancer patients they weren’t alone. It was impossible to miss their solidarity—warm and comforting. But I wasn’t there for breast cancer; I was there to get my biweekly dose of 5FU and oxaliplatin for my rectal cancer, which is often overlooked.
Why Is Rectal Cancer Known as “The Least Sexy Cancer”?
In her memoir - Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I’ve Loved, Kate Bowler described rectal cancer as “the least sexy cancer.” This phrase resonated deeply with me because it perfectly encapsulates the stigma and invisibility surrounding this disease.
Many cancers have strong, visible awareness campaigns. Breast cancer has “Race for the Cure” and NFL players wearing pink ribbons. Prostate cancer gets attention through “No Shave November,” testicular cancer uses clever slogans like “Check Your Balls.” These campaigns have done an incredible job of raising awareness, saving lives, and building supportive communities.
But rectal cancer often exists in the shadows—awkward, stigmatized, and rarely discussed. Despite being the second leading cause of cancer-related deaths in the U.S., it doesn’t receive the same level of attention. Colonoscopy, a life-saving procedure that can detect rectal cancer early, is often treated as a joke in sitcoms and stand-up comedy rather than a serious public health message.
A Silent Killer in the Shadows
Rectal cancer is often grouped with colon cancer under the umbrella of colorectal cancer (CRC), but it is more aggressive. Dignity Health dubs it a “silent killer” because early symptoms are easily missed or dismissed. Fatigue and constipation were my only warning signs, which I had attributed to marathon training and diet changes. Three months later, I had a blackout in the shower and spent the next four days getting fed through an IV tube.
At the time of my diagnosis, I didn’t know what rectal cancer was. I hadn’t seen posters warning that changes in bowel habits or passing more gas might signal something serious. No mainstream ads told me that rectal bleeding wasn’t the only red flag for CRC. And while blood in stool is a common symptom, to this day, I haven’t experienced it—despite living with tus cancer for nearly two years.
Living With Rectal Cancer
Cancer doesn’t just change your body; it upends your sense of normalcy. A few weeks before my diagnosis, I stopped hiking because I feared nature might call—and not the easy kind. A month before my diagnosis, I was running a half marathon, and I slowed to a walk because I thought my rectum would burst or I’d have an accident.
After my diagnosis, everyday interactions became fraught with embarrassment. When my husband’s friends wanted to visit, I declined—I wasn’t ready to fart freely in front of them. After chemotherapy and surgery, I lived with a temporary ileostomy. This meant my small intestine was rerouted to a stoma on my abdomen, and an external bag collected waste. Living with it was a real challenge; any leak meant not only embarrassment but severe acidic burns on my skin due to the nature of the output. It is an art to change the bag, seal it safely, and empty it without much hassle.
Even after the ileostomy was reversed, life didn’t return to “normal.” With a smaller rectum post-surgery, I empty my bowels far more frequently than most. Coffee, snacks, and greasy food are luxuries I can no longer enjoy; I time and portion my meals strategically. Living with rectal cancer and its aftermath is a constant negotiation with your body. And yet, the silence around these struggles only adds to the isolation.
Breaking the Stigma
The silence around rectal cancer creates a sense of isolation for those of us living with it. Social media isn’t always kind, but I’ve found support in online communities like Reddit, where people share their experiences openly and without judgment.
It’s time for rectal cancer to be included in broader public health conversations. We need awareness campaigns that normalize prevention and screening, just as mammograms and PSA tests have been normalized. Imagine seeing slogans like “Screen Your Gut, Save Your Butt” on billboards and social media. Imagine marathons and fundraisers dedicated to rectal cancer, bringing it out of the shadows.
The Time to Act Is Now
Rectal cancer may never have the same visibility as other cancers, but it deserves to be acknowledged and understood. With the rise of CRC in young adults, we must encourage colonoscopies based on symptoms, not just age. By breaking the stigma and raising awareness, we can save lives and provide much-needed support to those living with this disease.
Let’s work together to ensure that no one facing rectal cancer feels invisible.
