The Other Big C

I have a short list of ways I would prefer not to die. The top two are lung disease and colon cancer. Don’t get me wrong. My hospice experiences have allowed me to know people dying from all types of cancer, and I can say with certainty that none of it is “the good kind.” But colon cancer scares me more than most.

This is why, two months after my 50th birthday, I underwent a procedure that many of you are avoiding: a screening colonoscopy. (One of my family members has just stopped reading. The rest of you should carry on.) If you don’t know much about colonoscopies, you can find out about them here.

Now that I’m firmly ensconced in middle age, I’ve got a couple of goals for how I’d like to get to the finish line. One is that I’d like not to die from something that could’ve been treated if it had been caught early. This is why I tolerate the annual Pap smear, which is still embarrassing, even after all these years. It’s why I grit my teeth for the mammogram. Having these tests done is no guarantee that I won’t get cervical or breast cancer. It just means I’ll know I did the best I could. And I’m fortunate to have access to health insurance so I can get these screenings — ah, but that’s a topic for another day.

All those good reasons aside, I was not in a happy mood about this procedure. The initial consult took an hour, mostly so the doctor could marvel at my lack of medical history, and it cost a $50 copay. The prep required a prescription medication for which the insurance paid almost nothing, so I spent another $100. It was also going to cost two days of my time. I began the prep yesterday morning. The objective is to flush out the colon so that the doctor can check for polyps or other abnormalities, and he’d like to have a clean field. This is achieved by having me consume a clear liquid diet the day before, highlighted by a regimen of medication and about two gallons of sports drinks. No, I am not exaggerating.

Between getting the drinks down on schedule and the innumerable trips to the bathroom, productivity yesterday was nil, unless you count movie-watching and knitting.

Of course, there was a litany of complaints running in my head. I hate the way this stuff tastes. I can’t get anything done on my book. I can’t believe I am really going to allow a camera up in there. I should’ve bought softer toilet paper. Did I mention that I can’t get anything done? Ugh, this is going to be so embarrassing. And I am really, really tired of thinking about my digestive system.

I countered this whining by recalling a hospice patient whose colostomy bag sprang a leak, which made a microscopic camera in my colon seem like a mere blip on the emotional discomfort meter. I compared this procedure with others that are really invasive — like chemo, radiation, and surgery. I remembered one woman who spent her last days barely conscious, moving mindlessly between her couch and the floor, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t exist. I don’t know if her cancer could’ve been stopped if she’d had screening earlier, but with no words at all, she convinced me that there are worse things than a colonoscopy. Cancer is surely the ultimate time-waster.

I went in for the colonoscopy this morning, and it was no big deal. If it was, you know I’d be the first to say so. The nurses and doctors were lovely. I went out like a light with the sedation and didn’t wake up until I was back in the recovery room about 20 minutes later. Half an hour after that, I was dressed and on my way to lunch. I’ve been a little lazy this afternoon but expect to be back to full speed after I eat another full meal or two. According to the doc, my inner workings are in fabulous shape, and I don’t have to do this again for several years.

Let me say it again. The colonoscopy was no big deal. Cancer — now that would be a big deal.