Facing a Colonoscopy After My Cancer Diagnosis

Recently, I opened up about my cancer diagnosis, and as a follow-up, I finally scheduled the long-overdue colonoscopy. It’s been 11 years since my last one. Quite a stretch, right?

I think part of that delay was neglect on my part, but honestly, much of it ties back to the realities of being a caregiver. My wife and I have spent nearly a year in hospitals over the past six years. Even routine things at home began to feel like executing a military operation.

Plus, living about 90 miles from the nearest place that offers colonoscopies adds a layer of complexity. It’s hardly as simple as scheduling a trip to the barbershop.

If I’m honest, I was pretty nervous. Not in a full-blown panic, but anxious enough that I needed to reassure myself about this part of my journey. The word “cancer” can trigger all sorts of wild imaginings, you know?

So there I was in the pre-op area, curtains drawn, waiting for the doctor. I watched the curtains beside me shift as he searched for an opening. A hand appeared, then vanished, the curtain swayed again. It felt almost like a scene from a comedy.

Through all my experiences with hospitals and surgeries alongside my wife, I’ve learned something vital: if you lose your sense of humor, those fluorescent lights will get the better of you.

When the doctor finally entered, I tried to lighten the mood. “If you’re struggling to find the opening in the curtain, I worry about where you might be poking around later,” I quipped. To my relief, he laughed and assured me he knew what he was doing. Moments later, I was wheeled into the treatment room.

As we entered, I made another attempt at my joke, “Well, I guess you’re all about to get to the bottom of this. Let’s not dwell on that.” Just before they admitted me, the doctor, in his best impression of a comedian, replied, “Let’s get this done!”

My last thought as I drifted off was sheer relief.

Fortunately, the procedure went smoothly. I can breathe easy for a few more years now. I’ve witnessed enough moments of tension in hospital rooms, waiting areas, and even around the family table, where loved ones carry burdens they never expected.

Just two weeks before my colonoscopy, I was at my beloved pastor’s funeral, playing the piano. The atmosphere was heavy with grief. While adjusting my sheet music, my sleeve accidentally caught on the piano lid. It slammed shut with a thunderous noise—definitely not what you want at a funeral! Everyone jumped. Then, trying to ease the tension, I remarked on my accident, and for a brief moment, laughter broke through the sadness, giving everyone a moment to breathe amid their grief.

Somewhere along the way, it seems we’ve mixed up seriousness with a lack of humor. There’s almost a suspicion around laughter during hard times, like it cheapens the sadness.

I don’t think that’s true. As I get older, I see humor as a way to reclaim control instead of a means of denial. It’s not about downplaying pain or pretending everything is fine; it’s a choice not to surrender completely to darkness.

Hospitals have a way of clarifying what truly matters. When sitting in a waiting area, listening to monitors beep or wheels rattling down hallways, you quickly shed the trivial distractions that often consume our lives.

You begin to remember what is truly important.

A friend recently inquired how I navigate decisions regarding cancer treatment. I kept it straightforward: “Stewardship drives my choices.” Thankfully, we caught the cancer early, so we had options. It wasn’t panicked; it was a result of being attentive.

Caregivers often neglect their own health while taking care of others. I’ve certainly fallen into that trap over the years. But I’ve learned that healthy caregivers make for better caregivers. Regular screenings matter, getting enough rest is crucial, and yes, sometimes laughter is key.

Responsibilities don’t just fit neatly into one part of life. When we prioritize our physical and mental well-being, it has a ripple effect on finances, work, relationships, and how we take ownership of our responsibilities.

In a world tangled up in debt, grudges, and anger, issues can seem insurmountable.

But perhaps stewardship begins with individuals willing to take responsibility for what’s in front of them.

This includes our health, our families, our jobs, and all our commitments.

A thriving culture, much like a healthy individual, is built one act of stewardship at a time.