This Just In: My Butthole May Need a Stent

Last night, I landed in the ER because my body decided it was done being subtle. Specifically, my rectum. Apparently, it’s now swollen and inflamed to nearly twice its normal size. If you’re wondering how I noticed, let’s just say you become acutely aware when your asshole starts gatekeeping your own waste.

I hadn’t slept. I was cramping all night—those full-body, breath-stealing cramps that make you wonder if this is how it ends. I was so bloated I looked like I’d swallowed a beach ball full of secrets. Couldn’t poop. Couldn’t fart. Just pressure. Pain. Panic. A quietly screaming abdomen.

The ER doctors believe I might need a rectal stent to help open the passage up—yes, you read that correctly—a literal tube placed in my ass so I can pass poop without threatening to black out or rupture something vital. Do I feel sexy? No. Do I feel violated by my own digestive system? A little.

I’ll be following up with my primary soon to confirm next steps. Nothing is official yet, but the mere suggestion of a butt stent is enough to keep me pacing. And googling. And cursing every square inch of my colon.

The worst part? This isn't even shocking anymore. It’s just another chapter in the ever-growing saga of me vs. my body. I went to the ER because something felt wrong. Turns out my instincts were right—my rectum is literally swelling shut like it’s trying to protect me from something, or maybe from everything.

Anyway. That’s where I’m at. More updates to come once my asshole stops acting like a locked vault.

A blog post by Rachel Smak on grief, loss, and lessons from stage 3C rectal cancer