Packed up and came to New York so that Dennis could have his colonoscopy. This involved fasting the day before and then drinking four quarts of an odious beverage. By the last glass, he was drinking over the sink, gagging it down, ready to drop over dead from misery. This morning he took a cab over to the physician’s office and I met him there at eleven to take him home, figuring he’d be woozy from drugs and not fit for the streets of New York. Instead, he was in a great mood, and could not say enough about the drugs they gave him. Then he looked down and said, “Hey. I don’t remember putting my shirt back on.”
When it was time for the doctor to go over the results of the screening, I barreled into the room as well. The doctor told us that everything looked fine. And he said, “Typically, the recommendation is for adults over fifty to be screened every five years.” He then explained that previously, he’d worked at a famously aggressive cancer hospital so he preferred people begin getting screened at age forty.
I realized he was speaking in complete sentences, something Dennis does, too. And man, the guy was smart, smart, smart. I had the exact same feeling I get when I go into a music store and see a display of Taylor or Martin guitars on the wall (which I can’t play): I WANT THAT. So I asked him, “Can I make an appointment?” And he said I could. So in two weeks, I go back for colonoscopy.
I used to think I didn’t ever need to be screened for colon cancer because nobody in my family has ever had it. But then I learned that 80% of those diagnosed with colon cancer have no family history of the disease. And don’t forget, Katie Couric’s husband died at age 42. Just reading about somebody who died young of colon cancer can increase your odds of getting the disease. Just reading my blog here means now, you have to be tested.
So if I have to go through this, so do you. I have no symptoms, no reason to believe anything should be wrong. But it’s a sneaky cancer and if they catch it early, they can repair you and send you back out in the world. So GO GET A COLONOSCOPY and then we can compare notes. My friend, Lori, told me, “The best part is the ten seconds of pure joy you experience before you are out. I live for those ten seconds.” Lori would have a colonoscopy each day if they’d let her, just to get the drugs.
Yes, it’s humiliating. It’s not like going to the dentist or having Botox. But just spend two minutes reading about what happens to you if you catch the disease late-stage. That’ll get you to take off your pants and bend over.
