My Medical Week

Did you ever hear the joke about the gal who did breast smushing and a colonoscopy in the same week?

Me neither.

In January lots of guilt about delayed check-ups descended on my mind. Called the office of my awesome gyno, a no-nonsense, old school, brusque, brilliant, caring-under-the-tough-exterior doctor who will retire before going concierge. At least we hope. I also got the name of the doctor she refers to for colonoscopy, called the office and got in for March 12. “Do you want 6:15 check in or 6:30?” An extra 15 minutes? Yes please! Anyway this is January and March is far away.

Meantime in February the gyno personally calls when she gets results (PAP smear fine). Then I set up an appointment to the imaging center through which I have to do a call center for which I have to enter my name, birthdate and reason for calling before I talk to someone, and eventually get an appointment for early March. We have an imaging center inside our local Four Seasons spa (yes really), but my doctor likes this one better.

Well off I go to this new location, park in the wrong place, walk around the whole building trying to find the entrance, you know, pre-medical nervousness. Inside the staff is super nice, it’s organized and nothing like their hit-and-miss call center (some of them are rude, some of them cannot spell, etc.).

Gentlemen, you do not have a vast medical waiting area devoted to your same sex in various stages of worry having come for perhaps a follow up or to hear really bad news. No one waiting in a breast imaging center is cheerful, or even chats. I change, store my clothes, submit to the smushing and leave. I have to say the tech was a little too nice on the smushing. Guys, soft tissue is firmly placed between those two planks and a lever is turned and turned and turned and then. Turned again. Below the machine.

I get a nice call from my doctor. Oh they did not like the mammo too much on one side so can you come back? This was last Thursday. I want to go in as quick as I can and the appointment will be two days before the colon look-see, the same day as a travel event at the French Consulate that we really need to attend.

Meantime I have a nice dinner and drinks with friends, our birthday group, and get lots of tut tuts that I am so behind on the colon poke, but also great advice on what to do, broth to buy, etc. Also some kudos for somehow getting in to this doc. “She’s hard to book.” All too soon it is Monday, countdown to re-imaging and John has a meeting in L.A. that cannot be moved no way, no how, so I Uber to the doctor. My driver is one our local Grandpas who makes cash this way and chats about property values. He is really nosy about the facility. Me: “Oh you know, MRI’S.” Let him think I have a bad hip.

Back to the locker room, back to the machine, same tech. Now we get Defcon 1 smush, and there will be an ultra sound as well. When that is done, the doctor comes in right away. Well he is one happy fella and I know I am fine. A cyst that will resolve itself. “Sorry about the extra smushing”. Me: “Good to know that’s a medical term.”

John picks me up. A couple hours pass and it’s the French Consulate event, which is chic and classy, yet cute and in the backyard so the consul’s large golden retriever and incredibly large pure gray cat (let’s say 35 pounds) are wandering among the guests. I feel relief for a couple hours before dread of Thursday. Dad died of colon cancer so that’s why everyone is mad at me for delaying. I have a tendency to think I am eternally 40!

I swing by CVS and pick up the glop you have to drink in 2 doses, at 5 p.m. and 9 p.m. while eating nothing but broth and (theoretically) popsicles and Jello, both of which I detest. I guess everyone but me has done it, but in case you haven’t, this is called prep. You read the paper explaining this is how they can best see what is in your colon if it is clean. By clean they mean as though you were just born, and by prep they mean if the KGB or the Mafia, in their glory days, got their hands on a traitor.

By 1 a.m. I am, as they say, running clear. I have visited the toilet, conservatively, 20 times? Not sure? Counting was too depressing. Gee I just wonder why people ever delay or never do this test. It’s a real mystery.

As I fall asleep I realize March 12 of 2008 was when I was already in Texas, at the hospital, with my two sisters, where dad was dying, having been diagnosed on March 10. He was to pass away March 14. He had, by the way, plenty of colon exams. I gather the machines are a lot better.

I sort of sleep and am awake when the alarm goes off. My clothes are laid out and I just have to brush my teeth without swallowing any water. There can be nothing in my stomach. Like in “The Verdict”, no nurse is changing my 1 to a 9, and I will not be a vegetable because I had anesthesia poorly administered. It’s pleasant thoughts like this that accompany you as you go for testing. John drops me off, I have my i.d. carefully checked (do people try to steal colonoscopies? I pity them), and wait just a bit before, as I just did on Tuesday, I take all my clothes off, put on a gown and wait.

This time I sign a bunch more papers and learn my i.v. nurse lives a block from us and we discuss good local walks. I then get a quick hello from the doctor, a tall, kind-faced mom type with a great manner. I rest a bit and the anesthesiologist comes in and quips, “Oh good, you are already asleep.” We go over the various allergies again and then I lie on my side…. and then I am awake, the doctor is there, showing me images, polyps are removed and, considering my age, the colon is in very good order.

Because I was medically weighed on Tuesday and again on Thursday, I can with complete certainty say I lost 5 pounds. I mention this to the doctor who drops, “Oh yeah the actresses do this before the awards shows.”

This is a dedication to beauty I will never embrace. It’s good to be fine and, based on my colon doc’s recommendation, will not be enduring for another three years. Mammo in a year. Smush harder the first time please!