My life has been about skating. Not in the literal sense of strapping a pair of sharp blades to my feet and gliding around an ice rink, or lacing up a pair of shoes with wheels. The skating I’ve done has been figurative. I’ve skated through life pretty much unscathed by any horrible realities that some people must face. There has never been a day of hunger or homelessness, no marching into battle. Compared to many other people, including members of my own family who faced deprivations in their younger lives, I have had an easy life.
Having an easy life meant that I have attempted to avoid stress as much as possible. Not always an easy task, but for the most part it worked out. Still, there comes a time when everyone must become an adult and do what needs to be done, no matter how repellent it may be. I’m not talking about paying taxes or voting Republican.
I’m talking about getting a colonoscopy.
No one wants to get a colonoscopy, and when I say no one, I specifically mean me. I had, and still have, zero desire to be probed in that particular region. But my age, fifty-one, and family history, as well as the sight of blood where it did not belong, indicated that it was past time to get my colon checked.
Can’t have a colonoscopy without a gastroenterologist, so I set out to find one. And how does anybody find anything these days? On the Internet. First I needed to find doctors who accepted my insurance. Okay, done. I pulled up a list of gastro doctors affiliated with the hospital in my area that I wanted to use. The list had photos. None of the physicians looked like they might attempt to harvest my organs and sell them on the black market. They all looked like nice people. Their educational backgrounds were shown, and no diplomas appeared to be gained from the back of a comic book. They all had work experience that showed mine would not be their first go round with a colon. So how do I choose?
Ah, some doctors actually had videos! How about this modern world we live in? I’m not talking MTV-type videos, but rather something that had the doctors discussing themselves and their practice. Again, they all seemed like good people. Now, here’s the thing. I can be a tad argumentative at times. I didn’t want to get into any difficulties with the person who would be sticking a tube up my keester. That much I knew. But there was one doctor who had a video in which she seemed very approachable. And she was a woman. I tend to argue less with women, despite what my wife may tell you. This is because I believe “man smart, woman smarter”. (Now, I’m not saying I lose all skepticism around women, but at the very least I tend to express myself a little more pleasantly than with a man.) So I chose Dr. Ami B. She presented herself in her video as an intelligent, friendly and compassionate person. Dr. B. turned out to be that way in real life as well.
After meeting Dr. B. the date for the colonoscopy was set. It was mid-January, cold but not as arctic as it sometimes gets in a Chicago winter. My wife Jayne and I arrived at the hospital in the late morning. I was escorted to a waiting area with a bed and a TV hanging on a swinging arm from the ceiling. I don’t really watch all that much TV, and that certainly wasn’t why I was there, but every time I enter a room I look for a TV. Yes, there’s something wrong with me.
I changed into a lovely hospital gown and was given those hospital sock thingys to wear, the ones that are sticky on the bottom so people like me don’t slide and fall and create more havoc than is necessary. The socks were warm, which was a nice touch. Warm blankets, another nice touch, were put over me as I lay in bed. I was warm and comfy. One nurse asked me difficult questions like my name and if I knew why I was in the hospital while another nurse attempted to find a vein in which to insert the IV. Apparently my veins were being mischievous and were avoiding the needle. Eventually, one was found. All this did not hurt me. It’s the idea of someone rooting around under my flesh with a sharp instrument that gives me the creeps. Needless to say I did not watch the nurse do the rooting.
After some waiting I was wheeled into the operating room. At least I guess it was an operating room, even though I wasn’t really having an operation. A procedure room? Whatever, it wasn’t a broom closet. It was clean and sterile looking. The anesthesiologist arrived. He told me I would start to feel sleepy soon. I was also having an endoscopy, a procedure where they put a tube down your throat to look at the upper workings of your GI system. A nurse put a device over my mouth to keep me from biting down on the tube. The anesthesiologist asked me if I felt sleepy. I said no. I also thought that I might make some clever remark as to how this thing in my mouth made me feel like Hannibal Lecter being transported in “Silence of the Lambs”. It was too late. I was asleep.
The next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery area. I was groggy. I was offered water. I said yes. The nurse then mentioned some light snacks I could have and when cookies were mentioned I immediately said yes. The nurse brought me some Lorna Doone’s. I ripped open the package like a starving raccoon. As I was gobbling the cookies in my groggy state Dr. B. came by.
She said that she removed some polyps but there was also a hard mass that could be cancerous. Wait, what? Did she say cancer?
Having an easy life meant that I have attempted to avoid stress as much as possible. Not always an easy task, but for the most part it worked out. Still, there comes a time when everyone must become an adult and do what needs to be done, no matter how repellent it may be. I’m not talking about paying taxes or voting Republican.
I’m talking about getting a colonoscopy.
No one wants to get a colonoscopy, and when I say no one, I specifically mean me. I had, and still have, zero desire to be probed in that particular region. But my age, fifty-one, and family history, as well as the sight of blood where it did not belong, indicated that it was past time to get my colon checked.
Can’t have a colonoscopy without a gastroenterologist, so I set out to find one. And how does anybody find anything these days? On the Internet. First I needed to find doctors who accepted my insurance. Okay, done. I pulled up a list of gastro doctors affiliated with the hospital in my area that I wanted to use. The list had photos. None of the physicians looked like they might attempt to harvest my organs and sell them on the black market. They all looked like nice people. Their educational backgrounds were shown, and no diplomas appeared to be gained from the back of a comic book. They all had work experience that showed mine would not be their first go round with a colon. So how do I choose?
Ah, some doctors actually had videos! How about this modern world we live in? I’m not talking MTV-type videos, but rather something that had the doctors discussing themselves and their practice. Again, they all seemed like good people. Now, here’s the thing. I can be a tad argumentative at times. I didn’t want to get into any difficulties with the person who would be sticking a tube up my keester. That much I knew. But there was one doctor who had a video in which she seemed very approachable. And she was a woman. I tend to argue less with women, despite what my wife may tell you. This is because I believe “man smart, woman smarter”. (Now, I’m not saying I lose all skepticism around women, but at the very least I tend to express myself a little more pleasantly than with a man.) So I chose Dr. Ami B. She presented herself in her video as an intelligent, friendly and compassionate person. Dr. B. turned out to be that way in real life as well.
After meeting Dr. B. the date for the colonoscopy was set. It was mid-January, cold but not as arctic as it sometimes gets in a Chicago winter. My wife Jayne and I arrived at the hospital in the late morning. I was escorted to a waiting area with a bed and a TV hanging on a swinging arm from the ceiling. I don’t really watch all that much TV, and that certainly wasn’t why I was there, but every time I enter a room I look for a TV. Yes, there’s something wrong with me.
I changed into a lovely hospital gown and was given those hospital sock thingys to wear, the ones that are sticky on the bottom so people like me don’t slide and fall and create more havoc than is necessary. The socks were warm, which was a nice touch. Warm blankets, another nice touch, were put over me as I lay in bed. I was warm and comfy. One nurse asked me difficult questions like my name and if I knew why I was in the hospital while another nurse attempted to find a vein in which to insert the IV. Apparently my veins were being mischievous and were avoiding the needle. Eventually, one was found. All this did not hurt me. It’s the idea of someone rooting around under my flesh with a sharp instrument that gives me the creeps. Needless to say I did not watch the nurse do the rooting.
After some waiting I was wheeled into the operating room. At least I guess it was an operating room, even though I wasn’t really having an operation. A procedure room? Whatever, it wasn’t a broom closet. It was clean and sterile looking. The anesthesiologist arrived. He told me I would start to feel sleepy soon. I was also having an endoscopy, a procedure where they put a tube down your throat to look at the upper workings of your GI system. A nurse put a device over my mouth to keep me from biting down on the tube. The anesthesiologist asked me if I felt sleepy. I said no. I also thought that I might make some clever remark as to how this thing in my mouth made me feel like Hannibal Lecter being transported in “Silence of the Lambs”. It was too late. I was asleep.
The next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery area. I was groggy. I was offered water. I said yes. The nurse then mentioned some light snacks I could have and when cookies were mentioned I immediately said yes. The nurse brought me some Lorna Doone’s. I ripped open the package like a starving raccoon. As I was gobbling the cookies in my groggy state Dr. B. came by.
She said that she removed some polyps but there was also a hard mass that could be cancerous. Wait, what? Did she say cancer?
