Gratitude: Day 8

Today I'm grateful for...modern medicine.

People under 60 aren't supposed to get colon cancer. That's why most insurance companies won't start covering colonoscopies until you're 50. So, when a close relative (like a parent or sibling) is diagnosed earlier, it's something you need to pay attention to. My mom was diagnosed with stage 4 colon-liver cancer at 45 and died at age 47. With that knowledge (and my husband's reading a pertinent article), I knew I needed to at least go in and talk with a GI doctor. Thanks to a friend's recommendation, I saw a great doctor. I was nervous that he'd laugh me out of the office and accuse me of having some sort of weird fetish. He didn't. Instead I learned that the standard recommendation for a diagnostic colonoscopy for "high risk individuals" (that's me!) is ten years prior to their relative's cancer diagnosis. That was also me. Aside: If you, dear reader, have had a close relative with cancer, please research the recommendations for you.

We want to have another baby in the near future, and I want to live far into the future, so it only made sense that I follow through on this. As un-stoked as I was about the prospect of being scoped, I was more determined not to have my family go through this colon cancer business twice.

My appointment was this afternoon. The nurse asked me if I was nervous, and I laughed, "Um. Seriously? Yes!" What had me most worked up was the drugs they'd give me. Some sort of craziness that keeps you awake with the discomfort dulled, then a chaser of something to make you forget. I was becoming obsessed with this idea that I'd experience something I'd never remember. As the prep began, I thought, "I'm feeling this IV needle hurt getting inserted. Will I remember this? Or is this the one moment I will experience it?" It seemed even stranger to imagine the actual procedure. What if it was traumatic and I had to suffer through it...and then not remember. It's not that I wanted to remember something awful...it just all gave me Inception creeps, for lack of a better term. Anyhoo...I soon met my anesthesiologist who informed me that I'd be totally out. YES! Man, between epidurals and this news, I am a big, big fan of these doctors.

The even better news, of course, is that my colon looked great. No polyps or anything. I'm so relieved. And so glad I know this is true. I'm also hoping I'm setting a good example for my brothers. As noted in a previous entry, I am terribly fond of them and would like to keep them around for a long, long time.

Final notes:

• The anesthesiologist used "propofol," which, if you've been remotely attuned the news lately, is kind of a celebrity. FYI: my doctor stayed with me.
  
• I lost 3 pounds in 36 hours. Don't ask questions, just be happy for me. :)