c. 2020 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-20)
“I see the Sword of Damocles
Is right above your head
They’re trying a new treatment
To get you out of bed
But radiation kills both bad and good
It can not differentiate
So to cure you, they must kill you
The Sword of Damocles hangs above your head.”
- Lou Reed
Seven years ago, I wrote a column for the local newspaper that detailed my family relationship with cancer. A subject filled with equal measures of fear and frustration. I spoke about the journey of my father, and a cousin from Gallipolis. Their battles with this disease required much sacrifice and courage. Both men had inspired me in life. Each also provided a genetic marker that indicated the path of my own future.
Later, I would mourn each of them after these personal conflicts were over.
For myself, cancer provided a sobering view of the road ahead. But more directly, it focused my thoughts on receiving a colonoscopy. Something that had first been recommended by a doctor when I was only 45. A procedure she reckoned was necessary due to my family history. A second physician encouraged this test when I was 50. A third expressed amazement that I had never been examined, a few years later. At every juncture, the same fate interrupted these professional recommendations. My insurance provider refused to cover the cost. Because, statistics indicated that a fellow with no obvious symptoms did not need such an examination.
In 2013, I spoke to a claims administrator with the insurer for the company where I was a salaried manager. When I proclaimed my vulnerability to this dreaded affliction, she laughed over the phone line. “Not allowable!” I was stunned by her candor. “Unless you are bleeding, we will not pay. And don’t bother lying about it!”
My hands and face were very cold after making that call.
Strangely, losing my job in 2016 redirected the path that had been set for so many years. With health issues forcing an early retirement, I moved to disability, and Medicare. Suddenly, the voice of my doctor boomed with intensity. I did not have to plead with a faceless representative on the telephone. The colonoscopy was approved and scheduled. Some 14 years after first being recommended.
Ironically this procedure, scheduled for the month of April, was canceled due to the Coronavirus pandemic. I imagined fate laughing, like the representative encountered so many years ago.
“Not yet! You won’t get it today!”
My physician was subdued when receiving this information. But she repeated concerns over the paper trail left by my father and cousin. I pondered while reading news of COVID-19 spreading across Asia, Europe, South America, and even Australia. In memory, I thanked my late parents for teaching good habits of personal hygiene to everyone in the household.
Eventually, restrictions eased enough to permit my cancer check. Yet at a different hospital than originally chosen. The change was actually more convenient for family members, and myself. I felt elated that at last, this procedure would take place.
Silently, I reflected on my father’s experience. He had waited too long for this invasive peek, and ended up with a colostomy. Something that drastically affected the rest of his mortal existence. I bowed with humility, considering that the Sword of Damocles was now over my own head.
Cancer literally held my life in thrall.
When the day for this hospital visit arrived, I was physically and emotionally emptied. Due to the chemical concoction Suprep, and the cleansing release of cares and inhibitions made possible through prayer. I let go of everything. Somehow, I knew that my father would be watching from eternity.
My brother-in-law unwittingly provided a welcome diversion by jabbering away during the ride to Geauga Hospital. He took a route that was inexplicably convoluted. While weaving a bit in the darkness of early morning. Driving slow enough to be passed by everyone else. Gesturing at the wheel. Offering comments that had little relation to the situation at hand. My sister blushed with embarrassment.
But his behavior took my mind off the sword.
Inside, all infirmities were nakedly obvious. A nurse went wide-eyed at my canes, leaned against a chair by the bed. “Both of those are yours?” she said, quizzically. Of course, the pair did not match. Just like those used by my late father. When I nodded, she applied a hospital label to each one as a precaution.
I was instructed to use medical socks, but could only put one on my right foot. My debilitated left hip made the other an impossible stretch to achieve. Everyone was busy in the ward. So I ended up going for my procedure with toes covered on the right, and free on the left. It made me laugh out loud. All the nervous energy in my head dissipated. I was ready to receive judgment. The team exuded a cheerful confidence that put me at ease. I was instructed to lie on my left side. Numbness crept forward to embrace my senses.
Then, I was eating pizza.
I was at home with a dimple mug full of Miller Lite and a pepperoni pie. Glad to have completed the experience quickly. Classic Rock played in the background. I was incredibly hungry.
A voice filled my ears. “Mr. Ice? Are you waking up, Mr. Ice?”
I was still on my side in the hospital bed. My eyes blinked with disbelief.
“I am still here?”
The nurse smiled. “Yes, Mr. Ice. The doctor has finished now.”
I looked at a clock across the room. It was over two-and-a-half hours from the time I had arrived. The imaginary flavor of pizza vanished from my taste buds.
“Still… here.” I repeated.
I was groggy as the gastroenterologist who performed my cancer check arrived. He sounded satisfied, yet concerned. “You had 21 polyps in the colon. I was able to remove them all. The largest one of these would have developed cancer if left untreated, within 24 months. I want to you to have another colonoscopy in one year.”
I was stunned. Both from the anesthetic, and his report.
“If you have and kids, tell them that they need to be checked,” he advised.
I nodded in agreement.
On the way home, we stopped for breakfast at McDonald’s. I desperately needed coffee and some kind of food. My brother-in-law was happy. My sister folded her hands in a prayer of gratitude.
I had been spared by the sword of Damocles. But now, I wanted to take it home, and cut a slice of pizza.
Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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