It was more than enough to have diarrhea. I also knew I was anemic and it seemed the hemoglobin was decaying very, very slowly. I still worked, travelled, lifted machinery and everything. I had been concerned for a good while now, but fear is very strong, and I wanted to become healthy out of adjusting my diet, taking probiotics, reducing stress and eating clean. None of these measures helped the least little bit, but I wanted to feel I was doing something.
I was assigned two trips: one to freezing Wisconsin, for two weeks, and after one weekend at home, three weeks in cold Bogotá. I went to Wisconsin. The trip wasn’t easy, but I got there, as always. My stay was very difficult. I was having a hard time going to the bathroom. Pooping was very difficult. Something was obstructing the exit. I wanted to give it time to heal and clear, but I spent my nights running to the bathroom. Two weeks passed. I finished work and flew back home. Spent the weekend in my city, went out with my girlfriend, had a good time, worried and hoped. Monday morning I was on a plane on my way to Colombia. I love the place, but this was my worst visit. I travelled with a new colleague that I hates after the first exchange of words. The idiot behaved like fellows that sell in local markets. The insecure bastard had to show brands in his clothing to make his person valuable. It was bad and I ended avoiding him outside work and avoiding any talk unrelated to work. Outside work, the weather was cold and rainy, and guess what kind of weather I don’t like? The stupid hotel had a shower that delivered cold water and colder water. My problems were still there and I still spent nights in the bathroom. Of course I should’ve healed by now, but fear makes you stubborn. I spent the three weeks working, walking the neighborhood, I saw a friend I have in Colombia and she showed me a cool place to eat nearby, I got my girlfriend a very beautiful gift that screamed “Colombia!”, the most expensive gift I’ve given her. I discovered mulled wine in a coffee shop close to the hotel… It wasn’t that bad of a stay, but it was certainly difficult. I finished work well ahead of time and the last week I was assigned something else on my own. I was happy and relieved. When the time came, I flew back home and I was already assigned to two more weeks of local work. I did it, but I asked my managers from the start to give me a day to go see the doctor. They have me a Friday.
I woke up early and went to the hospital to get a fresh blood test. Around noon I drove to the other hospital to see the doctor. The results had been delivered via email and I had a printout. The doctor was a nice, calm man that looked very wise and I felt I could trust him. He asked questions, took notes and eventually the time came for me to be examined. It was the first time I had somebody put a finger in my ass, nothing nice, but the doctor said he believed I had polyps and he had to do a colonoscopy. Right then an email came with a ticket to Maryland. I told the doctor I had work and I could schedule… “No, he interrupted me, I want you to be admitted in the hospital tomorrow morning, if possible”. He made me call my manager to cancel my flight. My manager understood and didn’t require a long talk. A few minutes later I saw the emails canceling the flight. I thought I would spend the weekend with my girlfriend and my family, as always, before taking the plunge on Monday. Monday came and my doctor scheduled me for Wednesday. I prepared and Wednesday morning I rode a taxi with my dad and my girlfriend to the hospital. I signed papers , handed a credit card… It felt unreal. I was taken to a hospital bed and changed into a hospital gown. A nurse put an IV, drew blood, routine for her, new stuff for me. They wheeled my bed into the procedure room. The anesthesiologist put something in my IV and then I woke up with my girlfriend and my dad by my side. The doctor came in and said I had thousands of polyps. The colon had to be surgically removed. I didn’t know how to believe and understand that. The following days I was given packs of blood and also one of iron. They were preparing me for immediate surgery, but at some point my doctor and my surgeon decided to schedule that for later. Saturday came and I was released. I paid the hospital and I paid the doctors. I asked for a taxi and rode to my dad’s house, happy to be free, smiling I had been allowed to spend some time out to digest this information. I could not believe I had to have any surgery at all! I mean, I understood, but how could this ever happened to me? How could I have a genetic error that made my colon a time bomb that would explode with cancer before being 40? Those things happen, but they happen to other people! What if I died during surgery? What was life going to be? Would I be able to work after surgery? Would my girlfriend stay with me? Would I be left useless? Would I have control of my sphincters? Would I poop out my ass? Would I live long? How long would I live? Would I be financially safe? How hard was to deal with all those questions! How hard was to realize I would probably live less than most people! Sometimes my thoughts brought a few tears out. Sometimes I felt I had a watermelon in my throat. How should I have prepared for something like this? I never felt I had moved from childhood to adulthood. Cut my abdomen? Remove a huge intestine? Connect a bag to my belly? Would I break down and cry when I saw a bag on my belly? Would I die during surgery? Would I die? So soon? Me? Die? And I could also be hit by lightning and run over and a thousand possibilities… My mind raced.