Age 50 is wonderful, challenging and a major turning point for many of us. And it is also the year of the colonoscopy.
Statistics show that colon cancer is the second leading cause of death in the United States. However, this is the first year there has been an actual decrease in the number of people dieing from colon cancer, as colonoscopies are increasing.
So when sadly I heard from an old friend that her husband had been recently diagnosed with stage four-colon cancer – I finally dialed the clinic number.
The number had been on a small piece of paper buried in my appointment book for more than a year. I was so frightened by the “prep”, that one would think I was scheduling a major surgery, where full recovery would take anywhere from six to twelve months.
The colonoscopy preparation and procedure actually take only twenty-four hours – far from an extended hospital stay followed by visiting nurses.
Their first appointment was three weeks away – far enough to write it in my calendar, and ignore for as long as I could. Until a few days ago when I started buying enough yogurt, chicken broth and ginger ale for a small community to have colonoscopies.
I kept my schedule open prior to my afternoon appointment. So as my kids were rushing out the door for school, eating leftover Chinese food, I stood at the sink drinking glasses of a cherry flavored medicine (3 liters total), that bordered on unpleasant – closer to horrible.
When I explained the procedure to my daughter, she appropriately answered, “Gross”. I told myself that the quicker I finished the present glass, the quicker I could fold the laundry, lie down, or vacuum – all of which were better than the present ghastly predicament. I’m not usually in bathrobe and socks at 10:00 AM on a weekday morning.
Even our golden retriever seemed to be asking, “What’s up, are we going to daycare or not?” When the phone rang, I was curious who would be calling – expecting someone home at this hour?
A friendly young woman named Carolyn, introduced herself as a wine representative, asking if I was interested in broadening my palate. My palate was in need of something, but I didn’t think Carolyn could help. I politely answered, “We really aren’t big wine people,” and hung up. I didn’t know wine representatives called people.
When I arrived for my procedure with my very clean colon, I was strangely relieved. It was the same way I felt taking my licensing exam, it was the preparation that was the worst.
But this time, I could peacefully sleep, which isn’t exactly the case with licensure. The smiling nurse wished me goodnight and I awoke to my husband holding my hand – appreciating his quiet comfort.
I left with photos of my terminal ileum and colon – all appearing normal. In my younger years, those ultrasound photos were always reassuring, because they were a celebration of my children growing within.
And now at 51, it still remains a celebration – as it provides the continued hope to have many years of health and well-being. And the truth is, the reality of cancer is much more frightening than three liters of cherry fluid.
Priscilla Dann-Courtney of Boulder is a clinical psychologist.
