By the time Paige Seifert rang the bell on her twelfth round of chemotherapy, the 25-year-old thought she had finally cleared the hardest part of a brutal year. Instead, within days, she was back in a hospital gown, facing a fresh emergency that doctors warned could be just as dangerous as the cancer she had been fighting. Her story is not just about a rare diagnosis at a young age, but about how quickly life can flip from celebration to crisis and what it takes to keep moving anyway.

Paige, an avid skier who had always seen herself as the healthy one in the room, went from shrugging off stomach issues to navigating colon cancer treatment and then a sudden, life-threatening complication in what felt like a single long blur. The way she pushed through that six month stretch, leaning on family, movement, and a stubborn sense of humor, offers a close-up look at what “survival” really looks like for a young adult with a serious disease.

From “healthy 24-year-old” to a colonoscopy that changed everything

Before cancer entered the chat, Paige Seifert was the kind of 24-year-old who built her schedule around the mountains. She was an avid skier, the friend who was always up for another run, not someone who expected to spend her mid-twenties memorizing lab results. When she first started dealing with gastrointestinal problems and saw blood in her stool, she knew something was off, but her age worked against her. She was, on paper, young and healthy, and that label slowed everything down.

Paige has described the path to answers as a drawn out maze of referrals and waitlists. She has said that the process of getting from those first symptoms to a colonoscopy stretched into roughly a six month ordeal, in part because, as she put it, referrals take forever when you are 24 and look fine on the outside. By the time she finally had the colonoscopy that revealed colorectal cancer, the shock was layered on top of months of being told, implicitly or explicitly, that someone her age was unlikely to have a serious problem. That disconnect between how she felt and how her risk was perceived is a thread that runs through her entire experience, from the first appointment to the day she learned she would need a temporary ileostomy after surgery, a detail she has tied directly to that delayed but decisive colonoscopy.

Chemo, surgery, and the grind of a six month treatment sprint

Once the diagnosis landed, Paige’s life snapped into a new kind of structure, one measured in infusion cycles and scan results instead of ski days and weekend plans. The treatment plan was aggressive: twelve rounds of chemotherapy, followed by surgery to remove the tumor and manage the damage it had already done. For someone who had prided herself on being active, the physical toll of chemo was its own shock, a forced slowdown that collided with her instinct to keep moving.

She has talked about that stretch as a six month sprint, not because it felt fast, but because there was no real pause. Every time one hurdle cleared, another appeared, from managing side effects to wrapping her head around the idea of living with a temporary ileostomy after surgeons removed the affected section of her colon. Through it all, she leaned hard on the people around her and on her own identity as an athlete. Paige has said that staying physically active, even in small ways, helped her feel like herself and gave her a sense of control in a process that otherwise belonged to doctors and lab reports. That mindset carried her all the way to the day she finished her twelfth infusion and finally heard the words she had been waiting for: chemo was done, the tumor had been removed, and she could start thinking about life after surgery.

The bell-ringing high, then a sudden crash back into crisis

Finishing twelve rounds of chemo is supposed to be a milestone, and Paige treated it like one. She rang the bell, took the photos, and let herself believe that the worst was finally behind her. For a week, she got to live in that space, the rare window when a cancer patient can exhale and start to imagine a future that is not built around appointments. Then her body reminded her that the story was not over.

Within days of that final infusion, Paige was back to noticing blood in her stool, the same red flag that had kicked off her diagnosis in the first place. This time, she did not have the luxury of assuming it was nothing. She already knew her own pattern, and she knew that ignoring it had not gone well the first time. When she went back to doctors, they discovered a new, life-threatening emergency that demanded immediate attention. The details of that complication were different from the original tumor, but the stakes were just as high, and the emotional whiplash of going from celebration to crisis in a single week was its own kind of trauma. Paige has been clear that she recognized the danger quickly because she had already learned, the hard way, to take gastrointestinal symptoms seriously, especially when they involved blood.

What Paige’s story says about young adults and colorectal cancer

Paige’s experience is deeply personal, but it also fits into a larger, unsettling pattern. Colorectal cancer has traditionally been seen as a disease of older adults, yet more people in their twenties and thirties are being diagnosed, often after months of being reassured that they are too young for something serious. Paige was 24 when her symptoms started, and her age shaped nearly every step of her journey, from the slow referral process to the surprise in exam rooms when the colonoscopy results came back.

Her story underlines a few blunt points. First, gastrointestinal symptoms like blood in the stool, unexplained changes in bowel habits, or persistent abdominal pain are not “too embarrassing” to bring up, and they are not automatically minor just because the patient is young. Second, the lag between first symptom and proper testing can be dangerous, especially when it stretches into months. Paige has been open about how long it took to get from that first sign to a colonoscopy and how that delay fed into the need for more intensive treatment, including the temporary ileostomy that followed her tumor removal. When she talks about that six month process and the way referrals dragged on because she was 24 and otherwise healthy, she is not just venting about bureaucracy. She is pointing to a gap in how the system responds when someone young shows up with classic red flag symptoms.

Life after the emergency, and the quiet work of recovery

Surviving cancer treatment and a follow up emergency is not the same as being “back to normal,” and Paige has been honest about that too. The physical recovery from surgery, chemo, and a life-threatening complication is slow, uneven work. There are scars, both visible and not, and there is the constant background noise of follow up scans and bloodwork. For someone who once measured health in how fast she could ski, learning to celebrate smaller wins, like walking a little farther or making it through a day without overwhelming fatigue, has been part of the adjustment.

 

More from Cultivated Comfort:

Website |  + posts

As a mom of three busy boys, I know how chaotic life can get — but I’ve learned that it’s possible to create a beautiful, cozy home even with kids running around. That’s why I started Cultivated Comfort — to share practical tips, simple systems, and a little encouragement for parents like me who want to make their home feel warm, inviting, and effortlessly stylish. Whether it’s managing toy chaos, streamlining everyday routines, or finding little moments of calm, I’m here to help you simplify your space and create a sense of comfort.

But home is just part of the story. I’m also passionate about seeing the world and creating beautiful meals to share with the people I love. Through Cultivated Comfort, I share my journey of balancing motherhood with building a home that feels rich and peaceful — and finding joy in exploring new places and flavors along the way.

Similar Posts