UPDATE: Our healthcare system is driven by profit and insurance is astronomical. There are still ways to get assistance.
https://www.stopcoloncancernow.com/costs-of-acolonoscopy/uninsured
You can also call the Colorectal Cancer Alliance at (877) 422-2030
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Tim.
A creative video editor. Personable, funny, easy to be around.
A robust bike racer. Not allergic to hard work.
Who knew the value of flowers for no reason.
The kind of guy who reads something once, and he knows it by heart.
An opinionated Irishman who enjoyed his beer. The sexiest long gray hair.
Tim.
In October of 2020 he started to feel sick.
He was dead in May of 2021.
His only colonoscopy at 59 was too little, too late. The tumor was so big they couldn’t get the scope past it. It was a wintry February day as I drove us home. On the way, he looked straight ahead and said, “Look, they’re pretty sure this is cancer. So I’ll understand if you want to go our separate ways. It’s going to be a long process”. I yanked the steering wheel towards the side of the road, put the car in park and looked sternly at him. “WHAT? You think you’re going to break up with me because you’re sick? Think again, buddy. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to do this together, and beat it, and have the life we’ve been waiting for!” I was so sure.
So, over the next 90 days, I rode the cold, soul-sucking, and unpredictable ride of cancer. My friend, who is also a doctor, got us in the next day to see a surgeon who scheduled the surgery immediately. I asked him if we had been a year earlier, would this be as bad as it appeared to be. He looked me like I had three heads for asking such a question and told me, of course not. A year sooner would have made a major difference for a successful outcome.
We met with every specialist in every department. I asked a million questions. I learned about the different kinds of colostomy bags and how to change one. Visiting nurses came to our apartment, encouraged me and soothed him. I took copious notes, marking dates, times, procedures, and people. I managed appointments and medications. Whatever he wanted, he got. Lemon Ginger tea. Ramen noodles. Chocolate Croissants from Panera. Anything.
I thought if I worked harder, I can save him. I couldn’t.
BUT… maybe I can save you.
It is highly recommended that you get a colonoscopy when you turn 45 years of age. OK, now at this point, you might be rolling your eyes. Or maybe shrugging your shoulders.
Do. Not. Do. That. DO NOT!
Because this is where I get preachy. Do you have people in your life you really love? Because if they are important to you, then why would you put them through something so hellish, so overwhelming, so painful that could possibly have been avoided? Yes, if this sounds like guilt and shame, you’re right. It is. I’m trying to save your fucking life.
You are not the center of the universe here. Living is a privilege. It is your responsibility to take care of the only life you will ever have. So don’t be selfish. Make the damned time. You can spare the people who love you a lifetime of misery if you pay attention and take control of your health.
I had a receptionist in the dentist office recently tell me she was 60 and never had a colonoscopy. I was incredulous. WHY?
“The prep is so gross”, she whined. Excuse me?
I almost pulled her through the glass into the waiting room. Look, lady. You wanna know what’s gross? Watching someone you care about being eaten alive by cancer. She made me so mad. I think I startled her. I fucking hope so.
I now know too much about cancer. I didn’t need or want to know all this. I can tell you about being a patient advocate. About hospitals, surgery, colostomies, chemotherapy, doctors, nurses, wills, hospice.
And Paperwork. So. Much. Paperwork.
I begged him to get a colonoscopy, to get a physical, to get his PSA level checked. He was always too busy… I‘ll get to it, he said.
When it was over, I typed up a five and a half page letter/review of the services and care we received. With a background in healthcare marketing, I knew how to make them listen. My letter was professional but painfully honest. Details and observations in every department. Names of excellent providers… and some not so great. Interestingly, the most compassionate care we received was from a quiet, red headed nursing student named Mary. She knew he was dying and I was freaking out… her calm will never be forgotten.
So… what’s it gonna be? This should be a no-brainer.
Just get it done. Please.
This. 20 years ago I lost my brilliant husband in 4 weeks like this. Took me back to the moment where they couldn’t get around the tumor upon scoping. 4weeks became another lifetime. He was just 50, I was 49, and our 2 kids have never gotten over it. Thanks for your ferocity, it’s needed to wake up. You are a Buddha.
Susan. I am so sorry for your loss. My wife of 40 years has been after me to have the scope and I have been putting it off. One of my good friends is a gastroenterologist and he has been hounding me too. As hard headed as I am, your story has compelled me to get the damn procedure scheduled. Thanks for speaking up. We may not agree on a lot of things but I appreciate your sincerity. Take care!!