Movember and Men's Health Issue - A Crude But Gentle Nag.

Three Wishes

/* Working subtitle: In Which An Old Coot Rambles In Public About His Health To Relative Strangers, Because Who Doesn't Love Getting Ambushed Into One Of Those Conversations? */

Hi all,

I felt compelled to stick my head in and encourage...well, if not participating directly in Movember, then maybe taking to heart the Movember message if you're a guy.

Let's talk about colons.  And prostates. That's right, kids.  This discussion is now about butts and butt glands.  There, we just covered the "Crude" base you were promised in the title. 

About four years ago, I had a routine medical checkup for the first time in ages.  The Dr. was very young, very professional, and very comprehensive. He dispatched me for a colonoscopy (my first).  The procedure itself is amazingly painless. When I woke up from it, the gastroenterologist told me he had found and removed twelve growths...none of them cancerous, but in his words, all of them "headed for trouble."    My next scheduled colonoscopy is next month.  It's an every four-to-five-year thing.  But you need to start when it's time to start. 

Colonoscopies are not restricted to guys, but what IS restricted (It seems) to guys is the tendency to shrug and to Put Things Off[TM].  

Nag #1:  Please don't.  Whatever your gender, early detection is absolutely essential to the successful treatment of colon cancer.  When it's time to go get initiated into the Roto Rooter Club (about your 45th year for guys, iirc, not sure when the ladies start getting encouraged to do it), please: Just suck it up and go.  I know it's squicky, but.  Or, if you prefer, butt.  (See what I did there?) I was actually over ten years late getting my first one, and it appears I got lucky.  Don't be me.

Thus endeth the colon-related portion of this nag.  

Moving back to my medical exam years ago, my young primary care doctor collated all my results, made some exhaustive suggestions for lifestyle changes (some of which I even temporarily implemented), and finished with "Oh. So, your prostate serum blood factor is a li-itle high. I'm not alarmed, but I'm not loving the test results.  Let's get that scheduled for a checkup."

At which point, I did what guys do: I blew the prostate thing off and I left town. (Seriously, I had some major life changes and it took me a few years to work through them and get re-settled. Isn't this a fascinating story? I promise it has a point).

So, I guess I had an excuse (?) for "deferring" the exam?  Yeah, I'm not buying it either. And I'm a guy. Apparently, "excuse" is our default mode for dealing with squicky medical stuff? 

Fast forward to 3 months ago.  I *finally* get my act together enought to get reasonably decent medical coverage as a retiree, and head out to hook up with a well-regarded young GP in the area.  (Side note: Seriously, when did all the doctors start looking twelve years old? And don't even get me started on police officers. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the Big Seven-OH is gradually coming into view on my birthday calendar?  Nah, couldn't be.)  Anyway: He too runs a blood panel, diagnoses several minor immediate medical needs, and starts referring me out to every specialist in the area.  When he gets my blood panel back, he notes an increase in my prostate serum production from the last test results, and now we're in Yellow Alert Territory. He expedites the referral.

The urologist welcomes me to the office, sits me down, and says "Yeah, we need a biopsy. Like, my next available open appointment levels of 'now'."  (To his credit, he says it in slightly-dressed up professional language. But that was the gist.) 

I will not remark on the biopsy procedure except to say: It's less uncomfortable than it sounds, and weirder than you can possibly imagine.  Seriously, I'm surprised it wasn't conducted on a flying saucer en route to a crop circle jamboree. 

So, long week of waiting, I revisit him (along with a friend, that he insisted I bring (gleep!)) and I get the news that everybody always thinks somebody ELSE is going to get:  

I have cancer.

Now, my story isn't as bad as it could have been.  I got lucky again. In this case, amazingly, unusually lucky. 

At this point, I don't even merit treatment, because my carcinoma is in only one of the twelve prostate sectors, is a glacially slow-growing Stage 1 with almost no aggressive tendencies, and is both unwilling and unable to metastasize due to its location.  But I am on a semi-annual checkup list for the rest of my life. I am now a member of the Wait And Watch Cancer Club.

Nag #2: Please don't count on luck. Prostate cancer is eminently treatable, all the way up through, believe it or not, Stage 3.  Even with spread into local tissues, survivability rate is over 98% for ten years.   It's when it crosses to Stage 4 and takes up residence in its first remote site in the body that the life expectancy for prostate cancer takes a nosedive off a very tall building. 

Please don't be afraid of the squick.  Don't be afraid of the unpleasantness. And if you get as far as a biopsy and get told you need to wait for lab results, breathe and relax.  It's not bad until it is, and as cancers go, early detection for both colon and prostate cancers aren't just a nudge on the survivability table; they can make all the difference between an annoying bit of news and a very tough battle. 

Guys: Just go. You can do this. 

Thus endeth the promised crudity and the nags.  

 Since you've stuck with me, here's a specially-marked bonus nag for guys and ladies alike.  (In Cajun culture, this is called "lagniappe," where a merchant always gives the customer a little more than promised.)

I'm a very fair-skinned dude.  And as I've aged (and aged, and aged), I've collected my fair share of little weird spots on arms and legs.  I *was* actively in denial about this and dreading my first-ever dermatologist appointment for a full-body check.  The NP moved up and down my arms and legs very slowly, saying "yup. No problem. This is a <bigGreekWord> and this over here is <anotherBigGreekWord>.  Nothing to worry about at all."

Then at the end, she held up a mirror to my face and said "You see that?"  And there was a faint patch, almost invisible, growing behind my eyebrow. She asked me if I'd even noticed it, and then told me "yeah. That's gotta go." 

So, executive summary, guys:  Butt glands.  Get 'em checked. It's a thing. 

Everybody:  Colonoscopies are a thing.  And also?  A periodic skin surface survey is a thing, especially if you're fair-skinned or a sun bunny. 

Yes, it's awkward and squicky.  You can do this.  I did it, and I'm the biggest medi-wuss you've ever met. 

PLEASE take care of yourselves; you're the only you we've got in this community.

/ Finis / 

barbult

Well said. I'm glad you are a lucky guy.