I blame Dad.
As my kidney-stone issues keep improving, I turned my attention to a gastroenterology appointment. I have wanted to see a GI doc for a while to make sure stuff was OK. I had a note from my FA doctor and found someone who sounded good.
I went in, hoping to weasel out of a colonoscopy. I'm not 50 yet and the prep is so miserable for a wheelchair user, I thought my chances were good. Plus, stress.
Until she found out Dad had been diagnosed with colon cancer in June. It didn't matter that he is 78 or that surgery on him was successful.
"You definitely need a colonoscopy," she said. Not only that, but I need to start now, not 50, and have one ever five years because of my medical history, not every 10 as is normal.
On Oct. 7 I don't just have a colonoscopy either. I have an upper endoscopy. As Mom said, "They start at each end and meet in the middle." She is so funny.
Fair warning: If anything turns up in these tests, the bitterness in this blog so far will seem sweet as sugar.
And Dad probably isn't to blame.
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