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My Colon and I
My Colon and I
One of the joys of being over fifty is realizing that you have a colon, And that, like most other things in life, it can kill you.
When I was younger, what I knew about a colon was that it was a punctuation mark (:). That’s all. When I turned fifty, I found out that it was a part of my bowels, and if I was not careful and if didn’t eat plenty of roughage, I could end up with growths in my colon that could turn malignant and kill me. Some people with colon cancer have to have foot upon foot of their colons removed in order to stop the disease from spreading. So, rather than having colons, I guess you could say that they have semi-colons. (Sorry.)
It really isn’t funny. Colon cancer is a particularly deadly disease that spreads rapidly. So, especially at the age of fifty or older, it is suggested that human beings go and get their colons checked out.) It a medical procedure called a colonoscopy. (Kathy Couric had one done on her on national television a few years to spread awareness of colon cancer and colonoscopies. Her husband died from colon cancer.) What they do is take this tube that is equipped with an air hose, a video camera and a pair of snippers. They take this thing and shove it up your…UH-HUH!!!!
Does it hurt? No. The actual procedure doesn’t hurt at all because you are knocked out cold. The problem is the day before the operation.
Twenty-five hours before D-Day, they put you on a clear, liquid diet. Nothing to eat that you can’t see through. Nothing. Then, later on in the afternoon, you get to drink this glop called Fleet Phospho Soda, which is an industrial strength laxative that flushes out everything in your insides that isn’t nailed down. After drinking this god-awful-tasting stuff, (I mean, would it KILL them to make it taste like fruit punch or something?) you dare not stray too far from a toilet, because you will be needing to sit on it at least a dozen times during the next ten to twelve hours.
Sleep that night is hard. Your stomach is growling from lack of food. Your intestines are churning from WAY too much laxative, and you realize that, when you wake up, you will go to the hospital and have somebody plan and execute a terrorist attack on your body, with your tender anus as Ground Zero!
(What kind of person wants to be a proctologist, anyway? I mean, what little boy or girl, when asked what they want to do when they grow up, says, "I want to spend my entire career examining people’s assholes"? There’s something very wrong there!)
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I went for my second colonoscopy today. My first one was four years ago. Back then, they removed a single, non-cancerous polyp. Because they found a polyp, I have to come back every three to four years for more colonoscopies.
Mary came with me to the hospital this morning. I was admitted at 7:30 a.m. I immediately had to take off all my clothes and put on one of those undignified, drafty johnnies that are WIDE OPEN in the back. They stuck a needle in my arm with a saline drip. (For some reason, hospitals LOVE salty water!) Then, the wheeled me off to the Poop Deck, where the colonoscopy would take place. I watched as the doctor put the La La Juice into my IV drip, and I remember getting sleepy.
The next thing I remember is waking up in recovery with the sweetest nurse hovering over me and smiling down at me.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
"Right as rain," I said weakly.
Then Mary came in and sat next to me. They brought me cranberry juice and a muffin, which I devoured on the spot. (Remember, I hadn’t eaten a THING for over twenty-five hours!)
Next, they took the drip out of my arm and let me get dressed.
Shortly after that, Dr. Roger stopped in and told me that everything looked really good. The procedure lasted about twenty-five minutes, and he found and removed one tiny polyp that he didn’t think would be troublesome at all. He also said that I had a slight case of diviticulitis, which, as he explained it, is a roughening of the texture of the intestine wall. He said that if I eat popcorn or foods with small seeds, the small particles could get caught in these rough spots and cause some discomfort in my abdominal area.
I asked him what caused this condition. He smiled teasingly, knowing me, and said, "Age."
I smiled back and said, "Bastard!"
So, now I’m home, fit as fiddle, and happy that next colonoscopy is three to four years away.
Being male, I hate going to the doctor. It’s not that I hate doctors; I don’t. In fact I LOVE my doctor. My primary doctor, Kristin Gildersleeve, is a friend of mine, and she is the greatest thing since sliced bread. What I hate about going to doctors is what they might find wrong with me.
I mean, if Dr. Roger came up to me after the procedure today and said something like, "Jim, we removed seven polyps from you today, and three of them look a little suspicious", my disposition right this minute would be anything but sunny. I know that if this were the case, my prognosis would be good because the polyps would have been discovered early, thanks to the colonoscopy. I also know that, if I had cancerous polyps, and they went undiscovered, I would be dead in a few years.
I understand all of that. However, it still doesn’t make me look forward to going to the doctor for preventative maintenance.
For some reason, something in my head DOESN’T WANT TO KNOW if something is seriously wrong with me!
I remember thinking as they were wheeling down to the operating room, "These could be the last few moments of normalcy I’ll ever have in my life!"
Strange, huh? I don’t expect you to understand, especially if you’re a woman> (For some reason, women have a much easier time going to the doctor than men do.)
All I know is that I went, I had it done, I’m fine, I’m relieved, and now, I want to get on with life.
Have a great day!
posted on June 16, 2008 10:39 AM ()
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Now I had to when I was about 29, and I didn't like it then. But women must have to go through that 10-12 years earlier than I did.