Tag Archives: health

A week after

Today is Sunday and my wife and I are preparing to go to yoga. I will probably stop writing soon and finish after yoga. 

Last week I had a bad night. On Saturday my dad held a small family gathering with some distant relatives, people I hadn’t seen in five years the last time and even longer before that. But one of his cousins messaged me she wanted to visit him in his recovery and he was very happy and quickly organized the event. My wife and I had breakfast and lunch with family came too soon. On our way there we stopped to buy tacos for me. Lasagna wouldn’t be good. All the tomato and pasta would be very hard on me. I ate my tacos on a full stomach and I forgot my medicine. My tummy got bloated and at night it attempted to empty in a bad diarrhea that didn’t empty it and made me lose water and electrolytes. Around five I had the tingling in my hands, I took potassium but the way it was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fix it myself without the hospital. I told my wife we should go. We prepared the suitcase. I was scheduled to be there for surgery on Monday anyway. The lump in my neck was found by the CAT scan to be most likely malignant, and my surgeon would remove it on Monday. 

We arrived to the hospital soon and I was in good shape, so we didn’t even use the ER ramp. We found a spot, parked and I walked dragging my wheeled backpack to the ER. Everything was the old routine. I spent a year visiting very often until I was finally able to take a nine month break until now. A nurse came in and left, my wife told me she was the nurse she hadn’t liked after she told her to leave the room while she worked on my arm once, long ago. I think my wife didn’t leave and both stayed uncomfortable, but she did a good job and we forgave her. She peeked and left. Another came in and said hi enthusiastically. I asked if she had worked on me before and she said she did. She hooked me up to the IV line. I told her what I wanted: please do my left arm, not the right one, if at all possible, because I’m right handed. Please do it between the wrist and the elbow, not the back of the hand or the wrist or the elbow, because that’s much simpler to handle. If not possible, do whatever you need to do anywhere, the IV is a priority and I’m a good patient. She looked and looked and finally was able to do it as I asked her. I was very happy. 

I thought it would be routine as most times. The third time I asked to use the bathroom, I felt the tingling starting in my hands. Once I got back to the bed, or as soon as I stood, they would cease, I thought. I was washing my hands and they began cramping. It wasn’t easy to get the soap off when I couldn’t rub my hands fingers of one reaching between fingers of the other. Hands were becoming stiff and tight. I forced them desperately and hurried to dry. I reached for a few paper towels. They became trapped in my hands. The nurse came in, pulled the paper towels from my hands and tore them. She dried my hands with the pieces. My wrists pulled inwards. My arms started contracting as I jumped on the bed and they started to wheel me back. As I left the bathroom I was in pain. Legs and feet were contracting. I heard my name in a cheerful tone and it was my gastroenterologist. I asked the nurse to pour electrolyte solution I had with me into my mouth. I couldn’t open the bottle or hold it. I drank the remainder of the bottle. Back in the room my wife opened another one and emptied into my mouth and then she open a third one and I drank some too. I asked my doctor to put potassium in the IV. My numbers were good, he said, but soon a nurse came in to put a little potassium into me. My cramps were not as tight now. Brilliant! My doctor put a little potassium that wouldn’t hurt a healthy person, but would certainly help. I asked my wife to pull my hands and arms straight. I was in pain! I had been thinking, ok, if I have to die, I will die, but “this is not the way I go!!!” But the cramps weakened. The nurse came back and I asked my wife to take a picture of us together. By then I was already crying, so thankful for being helped with the electrolytes out of the cramps. It was a picture in which she crouched to reach my level and we held both hands tight, I was so thankful!!! Then my inlaws arrived. I cried as I held them as best I could. Then they said they had a room for me. My wife wanted to join me once I was there, but I wasn’t going without her. She came along in the elevator with me. 

The room was new and I was pleased. I started to feel better and better, but I still had diarrhea. I had diarrhea the whole night. I was safe with my IV line. I had a ton of gas in my tummy pushing liquid waste out. I went to the bathroom frequently and my butt felt like a baboon’s! Monday morning I woke up early, pulled out my computer and worked, as always, but at two I quit to try to prepare for surgery. I went to the bathroom and lied on bed trying to get rid of waste and gas. I made progress and I thought I’d be ok. They eventually came to get me and wheeled me out to a room just outside operating rooms. I waited and waited. I fell asleep. I woke up and the surgery hadn’t been done. It took pretty long. My surgeon had been operating in another hospital and they were delayed, and when he came to my hospital the operating rooms were busy and we had to wait. I went to the bathroom before they took me to the operating room. The anesthesiologist, a lady, asked me if I was ready for the welcome cocktail. I said I was, she had her syringe in hand and pushed he plunger into my IV. I don’t remember much after that. I woke up with foggy eyes and the half awake and half paralyzed feeling from anesthesia. I tried to breathe deeper to help get rid of the thing, but it didn’t seem to improve. I had an oxygen mask and they had taken care to cover me with blankets. Somebody came to tell me they had finished and that I had shitted the bed in the operating room, but not to worry because they had cleaned me and placed diapers under me. Oh, I was happy to learn the story, but that’s what I had discussed with a work colleague when he called for help with a case. We laughed and he said not to worry emptying the tummy, just let it all go in there, and that’s what happened. I don’t think I have told him how it ended. 

Next morning was pretty much the same, but I was better. Coming back from surgery I ordered food and ate, and the next day I woke up to work, except that I had a remote training session I had forgotten, and I tried to catch up and connect in time, but I lost time running to the bathroom with my IV pump and then connecting wasn’t immediate. I lost half an hour, and by then they were into questions and comments that just made me lose time. I then tried to catch up, they brought me breakfast and it had to wait until I had everything again under control. After breakfast the nurses wouldn’t give me my Metamucil and my gas-x, because the doctors had left a note for every 24 h instead of after every meal. We had a few fights until they gave it to me, but it was already too late and I wasn’t in the best shape for my surgery. Again, I made an effort to empty my tummy, but felt I could have been better. Time came and I was wheeled out. 

The same nurse was downstairs and she again made a comment about the lotion I had put in my hands. My hands were so dry from washing them too often! They were already cracking. The anesthesiologist came talking on the phone and started preparing things. Then she asked to hold and came to meet me. She asked me if I had liked the welcome cocktail from the day before. I told her it had been a little strong. She laughed and asked if I was ready for today’s, and reached to my IV line with her syringe. I saw and hurried to tell her to wait a bit! I had to go to the bathroom and I hadn’t yet signed the consent forms! She said she’d do it inside and left, picking up the phone conversation on hold. They wheeled me in soon. She now put the injection and they worked on local anesthesia and sedation (the welcome cocktail). I woke up very suddenly as they were finishing up. It was immediate. I think they were seeing me up. I heard them talking and working, and I told them I was already awake. Soon they wheeled me out to recovery and then to my room. My wife wasn’t there but I found my phone and texted her. She was in the restaurant. A friend had driven her to the hospital and they were finishing a meal. She hurried and came to see me. I ordered food. I was hungry. It was a mistake. I ate a lot and had a bad night. 

Next morning, the doctors came early and said I would most likely be going home very soon. Around ten, probably, a doctor came with a nurse to give me my discharge paperwork, and the nurse started to remove the IV line immediately. I called my wife to let her know. I called the insurance office to let them know, but nobody answered the phone. I went to take a shower. This is the best shower, once you don’t have the IV line and are “wireless” and free to move and stay under the hot water. Showers and food is my favorite when I’m in the hospital. My wife arrived and the insurance was still working my release and payment. We fell asleep. When they were done, I went downstairs to check payments. In all, I only had to pay $25.00 USD for a box of gloves the insurance hadn’t paid. This time they even paid the few diapers they used. I was happy. I had asked my wife to park on the fourth floor, which has a direct bridge to the building. Nutrition service arrived with lunch and my wife and I ate it before leaving. 

The tummy has been improving slowly. Diarrhea has decreased to my usual normal, irritation is pretty much gone and I’m sleeping a lot better. Actually, i sleep peacefully as if I were healthy! I don’t feel sad. I have a sense of humor. Today I went to sign a work contract, and in this case I get to earn a bonus just by being in the company in a year and in two years. I need to be alive to earn the bonus. Maybe my wife will keep the money, but I need to make it until then. I also got life insurance. The amount isn’t huge or awesome, but it’s something. I have to rush reading the books I have bought recently, it would actually be sad if I didn’t finish because of lack of time! I don’t know what more I want. Of course, being cancer free would be awesome! I don’t know what my odds are or what an oncologist could expect of my case. I am sure I want quality more than quantity. I am happy with who I am and who I became, and how I led my life. I have already lived ten years more than my mom. This isn’t bad. This has been good and I’m still here and happy. 

The wait

Last Saturday I went to get my CAT scan. It was all routine, drinking a ton of oral contrast, walking into the room, having an IV line hooked up to a vein, getting a syringe test, then a water test with the mean machine and finally, after alignment, the poison and the scan. The poison wasn’t bad, I was able to handle it quite well, but it really feels it’s beyond control when it enters the body. The feeling that the body warms up, heats and burns from the inside out, and the flavor and smell of the drug flood the senses and then it’s luck, because it feels nothing can save me. As the body processes the poison, it feels I’m saved. This time I had to go alone, my wife was taking a class in a neihhboring city, but I felt confident. I packed a sandwich, because I had been fasting for the scan. When it was finished, I asked the nurse if i could take a picture of the machine. She started to say that it wasn’t allowed as i took a couple of pictures. It was not a question, I was just being polite. 

On Monday I saw the oncologist. He said we had to remove the lump to have the lab say exactly what it is, and he said other similar lumps had been found in the back of my abdomen. That’s it, no more details. He gave me the number of a surgeon and we left. Arriving home, I now went to see the reports from the scan. It said a lot, but the important stuff was that the lump in the neck has a high probability of being malignant, and the nodes in the back of the abdomen have increased in size since the last scan, in September, and are considered a progression of the disease. Liver and lungs are clear. 

A day later, or two, we went to see the surgeon. We really liked the guy. He explained the surgery is simple and that it won’t take more than two hours at the very most. He explained the risks and he said he’d work under general anesthesia. He said I should be ok to leave the hospital within a few hours, but since insurance is involved, I’d have to stay a day, because of the policy. He filled the paperwork and gave it to us. We bought a couple of club sandwiches down in the cafeteria, and took them home. We were hungry and the sandwiches were great. They packed a bunch of jalapeños in a paper cup and they made everything a ton better. I haven’t been eating spicy for a long time because my tummy is kind of frail, but when I taste it, it’s like a burst of life!

I sent the paperwork to the insurance company and the authorization should be in around the middle of next week, and the surgery is already scheduled for Friday. 

Since I saw things might be becoming difficult, to avoid saying “nasty” or “desperate”, I did go ahead and ordered a few books from Amazon. Two for my dad, and a few for me: one about the philosophy of happiness, one about cosmology, one about Turner and his paintings, and leaning more to the ones about ships and the sea, one about a transplant surgeon, one about submarines in WWII, and Miss Norma’s book, this 90 year old lady that when diagnosed with cancer, she skipped treatment and went to travel cross country for a year with her son until her health failed, and every single day on the road she shared beautiful, inspiring and comforting pictures of her enjoying life to the fullest, always all smiles. My books should be delivered one day before surgery, and with luck, they will go to the hospital with me. 

All this has left me thinking a lot. I feel I have a very high potential to be heading to a death sentence. I feel great. I have been enjoying my days so much now. In the mornings, heading out to work from my dad’s house (I’m taking care of him while he recovers from treatment), I smell the cool, moist air filled with sweet orange juice from the stand by the avenue, I see the clouds, a very light shade of gray mixed with warm tones from the early morning sun, and, going the opposite way of morning commuters, I sit on the half empty bus, happy to be running the three stations to his home quickly and effortlessly. I stop and feel the taste of my food. Man, it’s so good! I usually pack scrambled eggs for breakfast, a little rice, some fresh papaya juice, cheese, cookies, yoghurt.  I consciously observe all I am enjoying at the moment, and I feel happy for it. Yes, nobody wants to die, and I am no exception, but we all will. There’s not much of a choice. We don’t want to die young, but we don’t want to die old and frail, we don’t want to die in pain or sadness, but we want to take the time to say goodbye and finish important business, and we don’t want to die in a state of dementia where we don’t even know what’s going on. So, I think I will take my process as if it is the best and make the most of the grim situation, and enjoy the ride like Miss Norma while it lasts. 

Still, we have to see the lab results and hear what the doctors have to say about it and the options I have. Maybe I am worrying way ahead of time. With some luck it will be like that, but here we don’t get so lucky. I haven’t waken up to realize it was just a bad dream, and it’s been about four years since this all started, so I’m starting to consider that it is real. Oh well…

CAT scan blues

The time has finally come. This Tuesday my insurance company sent the approval authorizing 22 hundred bucks for a tomography and an ultrasound, and on Wednesday I made an appointment at te image center in my local hospital. As everybody knows, a creatinine test is required, so Thursday morning I woke up very early to cook breakfast for my wife and for me, both to go, and then I went to the lab. I was running late, I arrived 7:30 AM, but it was surprisingly empty, and by 8:00 I was arriving to my dad’s house, to work from there. My dad is recovering from his own radiation treatment, last week he was admitted to the hospital for a few days, and now he’s recovering at home. Radiation is mean. Cancer treatment is very aggressive. My dad was doing great and treatment has robbed him of his strength and independence. He lost a lot of weight and is frail and weak. I have been working from the hospital and from his home for more than a week, taking care of him. Sick cares for sicker. Two years ago or so I was staying in his house. He gave me his room upstairs and he would bring me my food at night to my bed. In the mornings I would come down to get breakfast, but he had to prepare it. Today I help him every way I can. I hold him when he walks, I dry his hands when he washes them, I hand him water and the food he can tolerate, I spray water on his face, I bring medicine, I do as much as I can while doing my work. I see he is a little bit better every day and that comforts me. He will get out of this. Stupid smokers, if they knew what cancer does, I always think. But my dad and I are not here because of any tobacco. We are into this for different reasons. 

These days I have felt great, really better than ever. I have been able to care for my dad, work and I haven’t really been able to lay down during the day, which I usually have to do, because that’s the only way the air will leave my modified digestive tract, and otherwise it can become a painful problem that can take a good while to fix. But these days my body has behaved great to the point that I should be in great health and the scan should prove me clear. I don’t think this is the situation. A lump in an area full of lymph nodes feels like it will bring sad news, the worst I’ve heard so far. Everybody says “you will see you are doing fantastic!” But I don’t know how they can say such thing without knowing. Won’t they feel bad if it ends up being a lie? What will they say then? “Oops!” “I’m sorry, you had to live a week with a cruel lie” what? But I don’t really mind, the comment is silly and mean, but they do it with good intentions, and they really cannot make the situation better or worse for me. It will be what the scans say. 

Tomorrow I will have the ultrasound first. I once had one and it was messy with lots of “lube” to make the thing see (hear?) what’s inside. Then, with all the gooey thing on me, I will head to the other room to drink a liter of contrast mixed with mango drink powder, and when I’m so full that I may burst, I will go to the cold tomography room. A nurse will come to find a decent vein and start an IV line. I will lie down on the bed, arms over my head, and the technician will tell me they will run a quick test to see if the line and my veins hold and can stand the real thing. They will rush water into me. Once this succeeds, they will prepare the dose of poison, the contrast that runs in the veins. As they pump it, my arm will feel hot, then the center of my chest, and finally a fire will start from my lowest of the abdominal cavity, rushing up to the head. The smell of the poison will flood my nose and then the taste of the drug will fill my mouth. Pressure will build up. I will be asked to breath deeply, release and stay still without breathing. The bed will move and by then I will be hearing the machine spinning very fast. While having to lie still and not breathing, this is the time nausea may hit. You don’t want to screw up the imaging. Hold! Hold… can’t… hold!!!! I need to… Hold!!!! Then the voice will tell me to breath normally. This happens a few times. With luck, I won’t throw up. With more luck, I won’t even feel the nausea. The truth is that I have been doing better from my first scan to the latest. Last time I didn’t feel much. I call it “the mechanical scorpion”, but last time in September it was pretty mild. I think it should be mild this time too because I feel good, I feel better and I’m in better shape. What I’m not so confident about is the results. What else can the lump be? Who am I fooling? 

Results will be available a few days later. I will call my oncologist on Monday to make the appointment the same day the results will be in. I will enjoy my weekend. I will go to my yoga class Sunday morning with my wife. I will want to share a beer with my wife on Saturday. I will want to cook a nice lunch for us. I will hug our yorkie and will play with him. There has never ever been a happier dog. I will have Popsicles. 

I know I will enjoy good health at least for a few months, and that’s a lot of days. I want quality, not quantity, in terms of life. I don’t want a medical treatment that will make me miserable without really changing my situation into a promising outlook for a longer and healthier life. I don’t want to live in pain or die in pain. I don’t want to die alone. We all die alone, but I want to be surrounded by my dearest people. I want to reach my last day with the solace that all my loved ones will be left with comforting recollections of what we’ve meant to one another. I will live my healthy days happy and enjoying my time, eating what I like, feeling the sun, genuinely enjoying every sip of the experience of being alive. If results come good, I will celebrate. Let’s see. One thing is what I say and another is what actually happens when reality develops in its full potential. There are no gods here, never, I am on my own. 

The time has come

After weeks waiting for those idiots approving medical procedures in MetLife, they have finally decided the paperwork is complete and good, and I have the ok to start chemotherapy and radiation for whatever cells dared to remain in my body after my colon was removed in July. I feel somewhat relieved that everything is ready, and I also feel nervous about what I am going to live over the next six months. I feel good. If I were in bad shape, medical stuff can take place without a lot of complaints, but I feel ok now. I try to see it as an investment in my future. Radiation will burn and cook my ass for a month, and the chemicals will be killing cells for half a year.

I say, radiation + strong toxic chemicals will make a superhero out of me. Watch for justice being made and a better world over the next few weeks. Villains will be beaten, punished and jailed. Be it common crooks or your nasty politicians. Families will have a break. Streets will be safe for the common citizen. We will all live in peace and happiness.

Said that, my secret plans are to keep learning to write programs, make a few cool machines like a simple robot arm, play my harmonica, keep working from home, keep reading, keep eating (man, I need to gain weight!!), keep jogging and prepare to go back to my house.

I also plan to keep being the biggest smile in the oncology unit.

😉

Becoming fit

I did some research and found articles where researchers report better outcomes for people that work out and those who have higher levels of vitamin D. My gastro already put me on vitamin D. A pill a day. I asked for iron and he let me take it, so I am on iron too, building the hemoglobin level that the evil and treacherous colon dropped along those years. I already saw improvements after the colectomy, and I wasn’t taking extra iron yet. Now, I am pretty curious about my next blood test. Be careful nurses, your needles will bend and break! Please keep your magnets away from me! I think I will be pretty close to normal levels already!

I am curious about those studies dealing with vitamin D. What did they mean? Did they mean that bringing up levels of vitamin D is directly related to a better outcome? Or did they mean that those patients that had higher levels before treatment had a better chance to become healthy? I believe it was the second case, but I take my pills every day, because I think our researchers have not fully studied the situation. It may just be that I don’t know.

As for workouts, I believe that being fit is always a benefit (and it sounds pretty cool being phrased like this!) running or jogging improve the way lungs perform, and being in hospitals, better oxygen use is always an advantage when the body is having a difficult time. It is my belief, because I haven’t proved it, that recovery is a lot better the fitter we are.

After surgery I started walking in the hospital and after I went home, I started working out every Sunday. I first went walking and I did 2 km, stopping in the middle to rest and drink water. Next week I walked the same without stopping. I kept asking my surgeon if I could run, and the last time he allowed me to jog.
I started going to a local trail/track. It’s not a track because it’s hilly and irregular, and it’s not a trail because it was built. It’s full of people because it’s the city, and in this poor country facilities are not awesome, but I live very close to the spot and I don’t want to sink in the traffic to go somewhere else.
I have been slowly building distance and speed (from snail to turtle is how I would best describe my improvements, just in case you wanted to be impressed and become a fan!), and my last run this past Sunday was 5 km in 38 minutes on the hilly course, and I did take a bigger hill during the last lap.
I used to run very often when I was in the sprint kayaking team in my late teens. I used to think anybody should be able to run 5 km any day of their life, and we used to tease a girl that ran the 5 km in 35 minutes. These days I have found out that 5 km can be beyond my possibilities and that those slow runs, while my goal is to improve them, are making me very proud.
I run with a bottle of electrolytes that I don’t touch until I finish my run, my iPhone recording time, distance and elevation (logging the data is very important!), my car key tucked in a small pocket and my big awestomy bag, hopefully pretty much empty. Sometimes the awestomy behaves, sometimes it’s in a bad mood. Last Sunday my belly was disturbed, let’s say. It didn’t feel nice, it wasn’t in pain. Disturbed is the right term. But it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the way it is sometimes. I really believe I will start treatment next week, so this weekend is my last weekend running “normal”. I will soon start radiation and chemotherapy. I am pretty sure I will become a superhero. Everybody knows they get their super powers while subjected to extreme conditions and radiation plus toxic chemicals make a very promising mixture for the transformation.
My plan is to keep working out through chemo, even if it’s only walking, I will do what I can. The body must be as strong as possible to improve my recovery.

I wrote this a few weeks ago, before a blocked intestine landed me in the ER for a painful and boring weekend. It’s been two weeks since I left the hospital. I have gone running twice. Last week I ran only 3 km, which is about two miles for those that speak miles. I felt a bit weird, and in normal health I would have pushed my run to complete 5 km, but having an ileostomy and being somewhat prone to dehydration, I preferred to be cautious and stop. I didn’t like stopping. I came back in a terrible mood that was worsened by a rain that went from a few drops to a huge shower in the three minutes it took me to park the car. I had my big Colombian umbrella and I didn’t get wet, but still, I didn’t like it that it rained on me as if it was a fun prank or whatever. Silly weather.
The rest of the week has been sunny and I have been very happy. I wouldn’t be able to live in places like Wisconsin or Pennsylvania, for example. Maine is beautiful, but I only know summer there. Even Bogotá is too cold for me. Sunny days have made me happy this week.

Today I went running. It’s a hilly course. Like a half mile track on the side of a hill. Going uphill I felt pain in my abdomen, on the right side, close to my ileostomy. I stopped after two laps, rested it out, and continued. Felt the pain again and decided to stop. The lungs were doing fine and my skinny legs were also good, but that pain didn’t let me continue and I again preferred to stop. Hopefully it was only something meaningless like swallowed air.

I promise I will do better next week. I may go to a level course in the university. I want to run the five km in less than 25 minutes. I want to be able to run 2 km in eight minutes even if my tongue ends up tangling in my feet. Those things used to make me feel good about half my life ago. For now, improving my distance and time are good ways to become healthy and in better shape to recover from whatever may come. Do you have cancer? Run with me! You don’t have cancer? Run with me! It’s good for our bodies.

My failed run today finished with a smile. An old man passed me twice on the track. I was happy to see him doing better than this 37 year old!

The scope

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.