When I had my initial consultation with the colorectal surgeon prior to my colonoscopy, I thought this might be a good time to bring up a medical condition that I have suffered from since I was pregnant with a nearly 10-pound baby 17 years ago, a condition readily visible to someone giving me a colonoscopy (anyone following me, other than the ladies who have carried nearly 10-pound babies and know EXACTLY what I'm talking about?). Yes, finally, after 17 years of putting up with them, I felt it was time to say goodbye to my hemorrhoids. The doctor, however, had different ideas.
When I broached the subject at the consultation, he said he would look during my colonoscopy (how could he NOT?), but he didn't give me much hope. He said it doesn't always work that well, the recovery is painful (try a tram-flap, pal), blah blah blah. So, battered but not beaten, I made my husband promise to convey to the doctor after my colonoscopy that I was SERIOUS about wanting the hemorrhoids removed. And, more importantly, I have met my insurance deductible, so there is NO BETTER TIME to do this.
When I opened my eyes from my Propofol-induced dreamland, the first thing my husband told me was that my colon was perfect. The second thing he said was the doctor didn't think my hemorrhoids were very bad and didn't need to be removed, thereby reducing me to tears and making my blood pressure shoot up (shout out to my recovery room nurse, Michelle - sorry!) and causing the husband to say, "I'm never going to tell you anything again!"
Flash forward to my follow-up appointment. Not only did it seem silly to go in when nothing was wrong with my colon, but there was apparently not going to be any further discussion about the hemorrhoids. But I dutifully went in, answered all the nurse's questions (Pain in your abdomen? No. Bleeding? No. Discomfort? No.) and waited for the doctor to come in. A few minutes later, he came in and pronounced my colon "perfect" (I DO love having a perfect colon. It's a shame that I can't go around boasting about it, social norms being what they are, unless, of course, you have a blog, then you can tell everyone. Whoops! Do and did....). He then completely surprised me by asking if I still wanted to take care of the hemorrhoids. Do I! Do I!
The doctor told me again that the results may not be exactly as hoped and that there is a lot of pain and discomfort afterwards (I believe I have proven that I can handle pain and discomfort). He hesitated a moment, then said he didn't remember exactly what my bottom looked like, to which I answered that I was fine with that, in fact, completely okay that looking at me didn't conjure up that image. He got out a paper blanket and told me he would step out of the room so I could take off my shorts and undies and he could take a look. (Again, I NEVER seem to be able to figure out when it's a talking appointment and when it's a looking appointment.)
I took off my stuff and put it on top of my purse, which was on the floor next to the examination table. The doctor and a nurse came in, and he sat on a rolly chair and started scooting up to the table. He was bearing left, in the direction of my purse and clothes, so I reached down to kick them out of the way. He stopped me, saying, "I can work around those. I'm used to doing it. This isn't my first rodeo. Now lie back and turn over on your left side," to which I answered, "Well, it's MY first rodeo...." Fortunately, this delightful exam was over in about two seconds, and what he said was music to my ears: "I can fix this." Yesssss!!!
In a weird and twisted way, I have my breast cancer to thank for accomplishing this, because without having met my deductible for the year, it would never have happened. Go figure.