The Bitch in the Test

Yesterday morning I left the house cursing like a cartoon character. The string of profanity coming out of my mouth was G%R&A&*^%$#!!@$!!!--and kind of like James Joyce was writing bad words—the nastiest things all strung together with no punctuation…

At work I was better outwardly but inwardly I was a mess of cranky, scared, sad and, well, just disconnected. Luckily it was Friday and luckily I had a lot of basic tasks to do. Head down and uncomfortable I worked the day away.

But still. Yuck.

John’s son came for dinner so I thought maybe it was the stepfamily stuff. It’s always hovering there in the polite way we talk and how carefully we choose our topics when together. We don’t use these words: wedding, marriage, divorce, Mom, sex or affair, and I’m the only one who will say the word cancer out loud.

And I did. That was it. After dinner John and I talked about plans for the weekend and he reminded me that Sunday plans were out because he’d be doing “The Prep” and it hit me:

His big test. The in-hospital colonoscopy, performed by our favorite surgeon is Monday morning at 7am. Oh. Dam. Oh Dam. All that cranky, out-of-sorts misery is about cancer and chemo and The Test racing toward us.

But we are a different couple three years later. And I am a different woman. I said, “Sit and talk to me.” So we bundled on the bed and talked. I said, “What if..” and he said, “It will go like this…”. And I said, “I’m going to be hard on you this time….” And he said, “I’ll listen this time…” and we laughed. And laughed. We played the “If Cancer Comes Back” Game. We talked about our voodoo beliefs and the deals with God we’ve each been making. I was happy to hear the words “beach” and “diamonds”.

Looking forward to making love tonight because Sunday is not an option. The Prep is a mess in every way with its pills and solutions and salves and timers. But the real prep began last night laughing about what used to be and what could come and how we’ll do it together.

Colonoscopy Done

All done and happily at home. Still a tad woozy from the magnificent drugs. (No wonder Michael Jackson had his own.) Results were fine. Doctor was great. Karma: It was John’s doctor.

Here’s my lesson though: One of my real fears was that I might have colon cancer as a kind of punishment for this relationship. Ok, I know that I say I believe in a loving God, but at times like this I must really have a mean Old Testament God lurking somewhere inside my belief system.

Other cancer caregivers have you had these kinds of fears about your health?

For the rest of today I just say thank you to that and all other gods and look forward to a lovely chicken breast and baked potato for supper.

Tonight at 8pm Obama speaks to Congress on healthcare. That too is part of Love and Cancer. Let’s listen in at 8PM.

Colonoscopy Mine

It’s 6:30. Normally dinner time but tonight I am drowning in 64 ounces of peach flavored Vitamin Water and Miralax. Yes I am doing it. I am –finally—having my colonoscopy tomorrow. So it’s prep time: Four Ducolax and a big bottle of Miralax with the once a favorite now doomed to bad associations, peach flavored water.

I’m more than halfway there but I made a terrible mental calculation. When I read that I needed to drink 8 ounces every fifteen minutes my brain told me that was four glasses. Yes, you see why I am a writer and not a scientist? Do the math I did not do—it's way more than four glasses.

Ok, I’m back now…uh huh, the stuff is working. I put the new Vogue in the bathroom and –I’ll be wanting to change this—“Gourmet Rhapsody”—the new novel by Muriel Barbery—she wrote the amazing book “The Elegance of the Hedgehog” but the new book is about the food critic from Hedgehog and yes about food. Food! Foood! Oh God food! I swear I’ll never drink peach Vitamin Water again and will I ever want to eat food again. Be right back….

So yes I am doing this thing that I have put off. And no the issue is not this prep and it’s not the procedure. Look up my bum all you want. (Truth: I will shave my legs tonight and use self-tanner—so what if I’m unconscious—I’m naked and I’m vain.)

No, the real issue is what happens after the procedure. In an instant I can be back in that miserable little curtained partition with John—now almost two years ago—and the doctor’s words, “you have a problem.” I really do like that he did not say “we..” He was clear about that; he said “YOU have a problem.” Then he used the words “growth” “cancer” and “surgeon”. The rest is history and the rest is on this blog—(if you joined us late go back to the early entries.) John had no symptoms and no problems. We were planning to go out to lunch but instead we went to a surgeon and went home to make a million medical phone calls.

The other issue is this: I’ve seen colon cancer up close and I’ve seen the surgery aftermath up close and I’ve seen the chemo up close and as wonderful as John has been through all I of it—it was pretty shitty.

That seems like an appropriate place to end. More to come.

The Good News

Yesterday was John’s colonoscopy. We were at the hospital before 7am and he was done by 10. I was pleased that I was finally able to pray for acceptance no matter what the outcome might be and was able to pray to be present for him –and not just think about myself—though that was hard. The fear fantasies and scenarios of how this might unfold had me stuck in a pretty selfish place.

I left him in his room and got a beeper in the waiting room. It seemed like time flew and the beeper summed me to the recovery room. When I walked into an empty room I panicked fearful that they were planning to talk to us in private and I know what that means. But then he was rolled in—pretty drugged and dozy—and the nurses started reading from his chart. She had to say “No sign of cancer” three times before it registered that she was telling me this. I started to cry. I had not realized that I had been holding so tight. “No sign of cancer”.

For the rest of the day I kept saying to him, “So you’re going to live.” And he said, “and live with you.”

That was sweet.

The Prep

Everyone will tell you that “the prep” is the worst part of a colonoscopy. And they are right. John’s next one is Wednesday and he’s getting ready. And so am I.
While he is buying juice and Ducolax and limes (*see hint below) and beginning his fast, I am calling friends, writing lists and making deals with God.

His prep is physical and brutal. He has the emotions to manage as well. We don’t know what the odds are this time. I return over and over in my imagination to a year ago when his routine colonoscopy turned into cancer and spun us in circles.

My prep involves lists of questions, packing for a day of hospital waiting rooms, trying to stay positive and hopeful and dissolving into fear.

We survived this year of surgery, chemo, caregiving and living on hold. We’ve had a few months of peace and taking the tiniest steps toward having a future. But now the fear has returned. In a few more days we’ll know. I want to stop time and speed it up and yes, I alternate deal making with surrender. I ask for favors I don’t deserve from God and every family member we have on the other side.

Limes: I’m told this is the Katie Couric tip: when drinking the lousy flavored colon prep drink you should suck on a lime before and after each big swallow. The nasty flavor will never reach your taste buds and so you’ll not experience the aversion or the gagging that can come when you get to the last bottle.

Colonoscopy

Yesterday it hit me. The nervousness I feel is because April is almost at an end and May is almost here. May has seemed far off until now. And May scares me because we both have colonoscopies in May. First John’s and then mine. I’m scared of them both. I run through scenarios: If his is bad do I go ahead with mine? If his is OK and I go for mine what if I’m not OK? If his is OK do I skip mine to give us a year of no trauma? If his is bad and then mine is bad too do we end up in hospice together? So much for one day at a time.

My Colonoscopy

Two months ago at my annual physical my doctor asked again if I remembered my last colonoscopy. I’ve been stalling her for years but this time she didn’t play. “Since we’re not sure”, she said, “we’ll get you in for a screening colonoscopy now and go from there.” I left her office with the referral, and that afternoon the gastroenterology practice called to schedule the visit.

I called them back twice in January and also in February to change the date. On the last call the receptionist said, “This is for a work related problem?” And I knew that people probably change this appointment all the time and I wasn’t going to get to change it again. So I made the date.

The appointment after all wasn’t for the colonoscopy but just for the visit where they do a pretend physical (all your clothes are on) and sign you up for the big day.

I went last week and the PA who saw me was very nice. I explained that I had been to their office before—This was the scene of the crime in our love and cancer life—the very same office where I accompanied John a year ago for his routine colonoscopy which became: surgeon, CAT scan, cancer, surgery, hospital, ambulating, pain, gas, agony, chemo, hair loss, blood tests, neuropathy, scars, fatigue, fear, 5-FU, home infusion, visiting nurses, crazy schedules, waiting rooms, tears, casseroles, vitamins, walking, Babar on the couch wearing a chemo pump to match John’s, and more love and sex than either of us would have ever predicted. I swear that last part is what got him through this year and I know that is what helped me survive as well.

So when the Gastro-PA asked me if I had a doctor that I preferred I said, “Doctor Samuels”, the man who did John’s colonoscopy. I decided to not be superstitious, and I am comforted in a small way when I recall how he managed his facial expressions as he met us in the curtained room and began with a small smile and the words, “”Well, we have a problem.”

So my colonoscopy is scheduled for May. I was able to buy them off that much time. But it is time. If my routine visit becomes something resembling John’s I don’t know what I’ll do. Having seen colon cancer and its treatment up close I can’t say I’d go through it. Save the lectures and the platitudes. Let’s just hope I don’t have to argue with you in May.