Tomorrow is going to be a wonderful day! I know it will embody a feeling of lightness, a desire to stay near my home, and will be filled with special beverages. Tomorrow is the prep day for my colonoscopy. Maybe I should just have someone scare the you-know-what out of me. Or perhaps I should assume everything will work itself out just fine. Am I cracking you up yet with my hearty dose of "oversharing"? I just hope that I am not the butt of your jokes. Most of my entries begin with a photograph; fortunately this one will not.
Larry and I have always been matter-of-fact regarding health issues. If you dust off your Thesaurus, and check out the antonym for "hypochondriac", you will find a photo of us. Just ask our children and they will tell it to you straight: "growing up, we had to be on death's door before we got noticed." Perhaps our demeanor is a combination of growing up in the midwest, being raised in the Mennonite subculture, and being part of the medical profession. We just don't get excited about a little throwing up, a child's spill from his bike, or an achy case of the flu. Our kids will tell you that our solution to most things is to take some sort of over-the-counter, anti inflammatory medication, drink lots of fluids, and get plenty of rest. If it is swollen or bruised, put ice on it. Honestly, that does work most of the time. One of Larry's favorite sayings seems to sum up how we respond to health issues: "when they hear hoof beats, people might think zebras, but usually its horses." In other words, rarely is the health concern something extraordinary; most times there is a commonplace explanation.
My tennis friend, Carolyn Scruggs, has made me feel so much better about my lackadaisical approach when my kids did not feel well. She said when her girls woke up and complained about being too sick to go to school, she would have them do 20 jumping jacks to get the blood pumping and see if they didn't feel better. Oh Carolyn, I think you are a woman after my own heart! When we brought 2 day old baby Lauren home from the hospital, I needed a few groceries, so I took her to Red Food and did the shopping. I remember a grandmotherly lady peering into the shopping cart and wondering aloud how old that baby was; the meaning was, "why are you out so soon?" I don't like to be fussed over and I felt perfectly capable. And it was Lauren's first tutorial around the grocery store.
Nine years ago, we invited all of Larry's family to Chattanooga for Thanksgiving at our home. We had a crowd of about 45 coming for a few days. As you can imagine, preparation was at a "mad frenzy" level. On Tuesday morning, Larry came down with a stomach bug; his body was getting rid of stuff out the front and the back doors, if you get my drift. We could not afford for him to be sick right then; there was just too much that needed to be done before we shared turkey with the relatives. So nurse Lori arrived from Larry's office, armed with bags of IV fluid, a needle and IV tubing. She got things going in his arm, and we hung the bag of fluids on the bed post. Every few hours I would hang another bag and by evening, Larry was sitting up and eating soup. Sometimes you just don't have time to be sick.
A few years ago, I fell playing tennis (okay, I was backing up for an overhead and the clay surface was slippery from recent rain). I broke the fall with my hand, and jarred my wrist. We finished playing (I'm sure that you will want to know that we won the doubles match), and I knew that I had badly sprained my painful wrist. I got a brace from the drugstore and wore it for some months. I kept wondering why it still hurt, but figured that I was getting older and it was taking my body longer to heal, and if it was broken, surely I would not be able to function. Finally, Larry arranged for me to have it x rayed, just in case. The radiologist came back and said that, yes, indeed, the wrist was broken. I told him that I would deal with it later that day because I was due on the tennis court in half an hour. He laughed at me; he didn't know that I was actually serious.
Three years ago, I scheduled my first colonoscopy. My reasons for agreeing to undergo the scope included: I was fifty years old and that is the standard age recommended for initial screening of the colon, my maternal grandfather had died in his mid sixties of colon cancer, which put me at a slightly higher risk for developing colon cancer as well, and I am married to an oncologist (who has seen a few zebras in his day). In my typical nonchalant way, I scheduled the procedure and assured Larry that there was no need for him to take off from work, just to drive me home afterward. You are sedated during the colonoscopy so that you really couldn't care less what kind of tube they are snaking up your back side, and visualizing all the way to your tonsils. Okay, perhaps they can't see quite that far. Because of the sedation, the instructions clearly state that you cannot drive yourself home. I guilted 17 year old Derek into coming along: "I will drive us there in the morning, you bring a book along and sit in the waiting room the whole time, and then, you will drive us home."
What I hadn't counted on was Dr. Schmidt finding a polyp hiding high up in my colon. A polyp is a growth of abnormal cells that forms on the lining of the colon. Most are benign, but some can develop into colon cancer. The beauty of screening, even when you don't have any symptoms, is that a polyp, if detected, can be snipped out and that is curative. Since I was a little groggy in the recovery room, all this information needed to be conveyed to a family member. Poor Derek! I feel certain that he is scarred for life having to hear all about the health of his mother's colon and her cute, little polyp! This was definitely more than he had signed on for. I owe you one, DJ.
The discovery of a polyp gains you admittance into the "higher risk" club, meaning that more could form; for a few years, I need to have routine colonoscopies to insure that does not happen. Oh joy! So far, everything's been fine. In a few days, I will again undergo the scope. I agree with the pundits who say that the prep is the worst part of the whole ordeal. Practically speaking, in order for the gastroenterologist to visualize the entire colon, it needs to be empty. If you've always pined for a flat stomach, this will certainly help your cause. I personally have found that a wine glass is best for consuming the prescribed beverage, whose purpose is to free the many feet of colon of any substance. A wine glass makes it seems less violent, and adds a certain festive touch. I'm sure that everything will work out fine.
A final note regarding Derek's scarred psyche: a week after my initial scope, I pulled this picture from our medical file. It was taken in 2005 by Dr. Tew, the orthopedic surgeon who laparoscopically repaired the torn meniscus in my knee. I was scheduled to see him again and thought it might be helpful to have the photo along of the inside of my knee. I set the picture beside the telephone so that I wouldn't forget to take it.
Derek walked by the counter where the picture lay, did a double take, and then came wide-eyed into the kitchen, where I was preparing dinner. Horrified, he asked, almost not wanting to know the answer, "that's not a picture of your colonoscopy, is it?" Poor baby; its only the inside of your mother's knee. I think I've done my part in preparing him for life.