Two weeks ago I had my first colonoscopy. This is routine for anyone who has reached the ripe old age of … well … you know (if you have had one). I was not unfamiliar with the process as I took my mom for this procedure on more than one occasion. She used to go to a Dr. Ruderman in Orlando. I remembered the times she would laugh about him being her “roto-Ruderman” and we would have a laugh. Classic.
He said I had one large polyp. He removed it, cauterized the spot, and then sent off to pathology. I vaguely remember that conversation as I was coming off the anesthesia. There seemed to be some uncertainty as to the next steps.
So apparently it takes a couple of weeks to get the pathology results. And then you have to wait for the doctor to read it. And in the meantime, I’m leaving messages on his nurse’s voice mail and catastraphizing about having another form of cancer. I try not to stay there, but the holidays and cold weather have brought on a few more blue days than I prefer.
Finally, I received a call from the nurse (after many attempts on my part and a full mailbox on hers). The polyp was a pre-cancerous tubulovillous adenoma. Apparently these are the most likely to grow into cancer, but they didn’t find any cancer, so that is good news. The type of polyp determines how often you go back for another colonoscopy. Routine is five years, but I will probably go more often.
Tim and I decided not to wait around until the doctor called me back, so I scheduled an appointment to get the low down. I go in tomorrow morning.
Until then, I stand on the following promise:
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. ~ Matthew 6:34 (NIV)