colonoscopy

We’re getting closer to eight-eight-oh eight. The opening of the summer Olympics and my friend CH’s 50th birthday. Woo hoo.

A friend is visiting with her new beau. He is going through treatment for colon cancer, the cancer that killed my mother over half a century ago. I’m reminded of my reluctant quest for a colonoscopy several years ago. Nagged relentlessly by my family and urged on firmly by my doctor I finally agreed to go see a doctor of the rear. First I insisted on a woman and found one who then joined in with the eternal nagging. She was nice. She seemed concerned. She kept calling me saying I really needed this, the family history indicated it, I should have started having them at age ten…that sort of thing. Once she called me from her car. This doesn’t sound unusual now, but it was eons before every grade schooler had a cell phone – I imagine it was one of those enormous car phones that required hooking into the automobile’s electric system and were mounted permanently and inconveniently directly at the driver’s elbow. Ultimately at that point, being honest with my insurance company made us all think they would not pay. The quest was, thankfully in my eyes, on permanent, in my eyes and again thankfully, on hold.

Years pass, I can’t remember how many. And the family nagging – why didn’t I just lie? – was intolerable. A new doctor was even firmer, and in a quieter way which was that much more irresistible. Another visit to another doctor of arrears, this one a wacky sort of guy. I sat in his office listening to him be thrilled about being a butt doctor. “I love what I do. Love it. I love being a doctor. It just so happens that I examine colons all day.” I think he loved it because he didn’t have to deal with patients – they were all, of course, unconscious and silent. His large dark wooden desk was completely empty. His office looked like a furniture showroom – no signs of anyone actually working in there, just a desk with chairs, a matching dark wood credenza, and some quiet industrial carpeting. So I agreed to the procedure.

His office called the insurance company. I called the insurance company. The insurance company created that well-known situation in which you are actually required to lie. As I hung out on hold waiting to talk with someone I listened to their cheerful loop of medical advice. I must have heard five or six times of the importance of screening for colon cancer. So their recording probably would have green lighted the procedure. But the agent would not. Of course they’ll never, ever (ever) tell you before you do something whether they’ll cover it or not. They’ll only say “probably.” A final decision can only be made after the procedure is completed and the bill submitted. But family history was not enough for a colonoscopy. A sigmoidoscopy, maybe. But let’s not go overboard and explore the whole colon. Nah. The only indicator that could get you an actual colonoscopy was the presence of actual symptoms. So when they said cancer screening, what they really meant was cancer confirmation.

I was about to walk away again. But the butt doctor called me up and with an audible wink asked me if I had any of these symptoms. And he read me a long list. Finally I agreed. Yes, I have this one. (I won’t share here, you’re not my doctor. Nor will I say whether it was actually a lie or not.) And so I came to have my first, and so far only, colonoscopy. I must say – it was awful, I never want to do it again. So don’t bother nagging.