Last Sunday night, I was relaxing in the living room when I heard our boys' bedroom door open and the sound of footfalls on the steps. I got up and met my son Matty as he came halfway down.
"Hey there," I exclaimed, "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"I wanted to tell you something," Matty replied as he settled down on one of them middle steps.
I could see he was fighting back tears, so I sat down on the step just below him and held his hand.
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"What's wrong baby?" I asked.
"Sometimes," he began slowly, "Sometimes I get sad sometimes that I never got to meet Grampa Tom."
My father died in October 1990, when I was just 20 years old, a year before I met my wife-to-be and many years before Matty and his brother came into this world. When we talk about him with the boys, we refer to him as 'Grampa Tom.'
My father's cause of death? Stupidity.
You're going to think that's a very harsh thing to say, so allow me my explanation before your condemnation.
Growing up, one thing I distinctly recall was my father rarely going to see a doctor. It wasn't that he never got sick -- he just never went. There was a certain degree of irony to this as his doctor was none other than his own Uncle. From what I understand from my mother, dad's uncle warned him once about his smoking, and apparently dad didn't want to hear about it, so he stopped going.
Now I know what you're thinking, particularly you smokers: "Oh here we go. His dad died of lung cancer, so this is going to be an anti-smoking rant."
Actually, Dad had colon cancer.
In fall of 1989, Dad started to experience abdominal pains, bouts of diarrhea and constipation, weakness and fatigue. But rather than go to his uncle -- or any other doctor, for that matter -- he continued to dismiss his symptoms. My mother asked him several times to get himself checked, but he continued to dismiss her as well. Speaking about it sometime later, Mom and I both concluded that Dad may have been reluctant to go, given that the problems he was experiencing would have resulted in certain necessary examinations he (and many men) might have considered embarrassing.
So Dad continued to ignore the problem until the pain was so great that in February of 1990 he was rushed to a New York City hospital. Emergency surgery was done to remove a tumor that was blocking the passing of stool in his colon. The tumor, of course, turned out to be malignant. The surgeon said afterwards that it was definitely the kind of thing that should have been addressed much sooner.
Dad was fitted with a colostomy bag, and set up for a regiment of radiation/chemo. However, the cancer had already spread, and by October he was gone.
There is no doubt in my mind that had Dad gone when he first started feeling uncomfortable, we might have had more time together. Studies indicate that 74 percent of Stage 1 colon cancer survivors can live another five years -- and a smaller percentage of that number live even longer.
Five more years with my Dad. He would have met my wife-to-be. Maybe even been there for our wedding. But he missed both those events and many others because he was too embarrassed to have a doctor shove a tube up his rear end.
Sorry, but I'm not going to sugar coat this, because there's alot of men out there that are afraid to have colonoscopies (and prostate exams) because they involve medical devices and doctors' hands probing and prodding. And I'm telling you right now that if you're feeling weird or embarrassed about it -- suck it up.
A year or so after I got married, my doctor told me that because of Dad, I should start getting screened earlier than most men. Typically, your first colonoscopy isn't recommended until your mid-forties (or later depending on your Doctor). But there I was, 27 years old, being wheeled into the room to have my first one. Doctors also suggest the average male have one every five years or so. I get one about every three. And frankly, if I was told to have one every year, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
If you've never had one done, a quick overview is that a tube with a camera is inserted into your rectum. The doctor proceeds to snake it through your intestines, looking for any abnormalities. Sometimes they will use a small device attached to the tube to remove a colon polyp for biopsy.
All this happens while you are fully sedated. That's right, you're taking a lovely little nap which you awake from about an hour later in the recovery room. Then you go home (with someone driving of course).
To be honest, the worst part of a colonoscopy is the prep the day before. Your colon needs to be clear of body waste so the camera can get a clear look at things. So after taking certain medicines, you're running to the bathroom for most of the day until you're cleaned out.
Unpleasant? Yes. Worth every minute? Damn right.
Back to Sunday night. I hugged my son and expressed my sadness that he never met his Grampa Tom either (I too had the misfortune of not knowing one of my grandfathers, so I could relate). But I told Matty I would be happy to continue sharing as many stories with him about Grampa Tom -- and that way he and his brother get to know their grandfather.
Realistically, the likelihood that my dad would have lived long enough to see grandchildren is slim. But his stubbornness to take better care of himself and his reluctance to have himself examined may have cheated us out of more time together. And for as much as I loved -- and still love -- my dad, that's something I can never forgive.
When the doctor tells me it's time to get a colonoscopy, I immediately go home and call up my gastroenterologist to make the appointment. Because I plan to be around for as long as I can for my kids and wife --and someday be around to meet my own grandchildren.
So guys, don't let a little thing like pride, embarrassment or discomfort put you off from doing something that could save your life. And yes, ladies -- that goes for you too!
