Jokes aside, colonoscopy is a lifesaver

Two days before former White House spokesman Tony Snow died of colon cancer, I went in for my first screening.

Snow was only 53 when he died July 12. He’d been diagnosed in 2005, and his colon was removed. He underwent six months of chemotherapy, but the cancer returned in March of 2007. It had spread to his liver.

Snow had a family history of colorectal cancer. The disease took his mother when Snow was only 17.

None of that played a part in my finally making an appointment with the gastroenterologist. But it sure underscored the importance of what I’d gone through two days earlier.

I’d pushed the recommended date for the baseline colonoscopy by a year – OK, make that two years – rationalizing that there’s no history of colon disease in my family. Shoot, our clan recently was selected to participate in a longevity study being conducted by the University of Pittsburgh. My people just don’t die young, at least not from disease.

Avoiding a procedure that could save one’s life is admittedly strange behavior for a woman who faithfully gets her annual pap smear and mammogram and obsesses over the cholesterol counts that are part of the mini-physicals Carter BloodCare performs every time I give blood – about four times a year.

But something about the screening process was decidedly off-putting. Humor writer Dave Barry captured that “something” in the way that only he can.

“Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner,” Barry wrote in his colonoscopy journal.

“I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn’t really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, ‘HE’S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!’ ”

In the weeks preceding my appointment, people who call themselves friends were more than happy to e-mail Barry’s play-by-play. Heck, I passed it along to others. It was hilarious.

We make jokes about things that scare us, especially if they include the word “rectal.” But colorectal cancer is not a laughing matter. More than 50,000 Americans die annually from one of the most common yet preventable cancers.

Colorectal cancer is largely symptomless in its early stage. The good news is that it’s a slow-growing cancer, which is why the baseline screening at age 50 is so important. If there’s a history of cancer in the family, that first screening should be sooner.

If you have any of the following symptoms, tell your doctor:

• A persistent change in bowel habits.

• Bloody stools or bleeding from the rectum.

• Abdominal pain.

• Unexplained weight loss.

• Fatigue or anemia.

• Persistent nausea and/or loss of appetite.

The screening itself is literally nothing to worry about. You don’t remember anything after the delightful cocktail of “happy drugs,” as my nurse called them, are administered. I reportedly had a lucid conversation in the recovery area with my doctor, who showed me pictures of my squeaky clean and thankfully polyp-free colon. I allegedly drank a can of grape juice from a non-bendable straw, which became the topic of discussion with the nurse.

I can only trust my friend and chauffer for the day that these things occurred. My memory of the world post-happy drugs starts on the drive home, when I apologized to Sherrie for being anti-social. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Everyone says the worst part of the process is the preparation. It’s not something I’d want to do on a regular basis, but it wasn’t near as torturous as people made it sound.

My nurse did say that people’s systems react differently to the bowel cleaner one must drink either the night or the morning before the scoping. I was fortunate; the liter of slightly salty orange-flavored liquid wasn’t tough to down in the prescribed time, and the aftermath was much less … um, explosive than what others warned of.

A few hours of a growling stomach and confinement in one’s bathroom is a small price to pay for the peace of mind you receive from having the screening.

If you or someone you love has hit that magic 50th birthday, don’t delay. Make the appointment. Then e-mail me and I’ll send you Dave Barry’s column. The laughs will do you good.