I have received word about Karen's/Darian's funeral, that the obituary will be published sometime next week. I know a little bit more than that, but have been asked not to publish it here. So I won't.
The speech is about 30% different than it was just 7 days ago.
I present it in just a few hours. Wish me luck!
Bevboy
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A Whole Other Side of Bev
April 3, 2008
A number of years ago, Patricia and I had dinner with an old friend of hers. His name was Kerry. I was meeting him for the first time, but within a few minutes it was as if we had known each other for years.
I liked Kerry. He was a thoughtful man, with an outrageous sense of humour. We had some food, some beer, some conversation, a little more beer. We took our leave for the evening. I was looking forward to seeing him again.
A year or so later, Patricia called me to tell me that Kerry had died the night before. Colon cancer. He was only 42.
In 2007, 8700 Canadians died of colorectal cancer. It is Canada’s third highest cancer killer for both men and women. At the same time, it is one of the most preventable and curable cancers. If caught in time, there is upwards of a 90% survival rate.
People can have the classic symptoms for years, and because they deal with a part of the body that we don’t like to talk about, the symptoms are often ignored until it is too late.
It was a few months after Kerry died when I discovered blood in my stool.
I didn’t do anything about it at first. But the problem persisted, so I sought the advice of my physician. He scheduled me for a meeting with a specialist.
A few months later, I finally met with him: A kindly, older man named Dr. McKeevin, who had spent the previous 35 years perusing people’s patooties. He wanted me to have a colonoscopy.
As he began to explain the details of this procedure, something strange happened. One minute, he was telling me what he was going to do to me. The next, I observed him run around from behind his desk to prevent my face from hitting his blotter. I had fainted.
As preparation for my colonoscopy, I would have to take a medication that would help me go to the bathroom, a lot, to make sure my colon was cleaned out. "Doctor", I said, "do I have to take this medication with food or water?".
"Bev", he said to me pityingly, "it’s not going in that end!"
The day of the procedure drew nigh. Early that morning, I took this medication, which had a nice soft tip at the end of it and resembled a tube of toothpaste. I was still renting an apartment at that time, and remember thinking to myself, "Boy, I hope they don’t have a fire drill right about now!"
Sure enough, shortly after I had applied the medication, I found I had to visit the Little Toastmasters Room. I was there for a while.
Thank Goodness for Entertainment Weekly.
And TV Guide.
And The Coast newspaper.
And Frank Magazine.
A few hours later, I gingerly made my way to the hospital, where I was asked to put on one of those johnny shirts, with the opening in the back. Looked like a great big Kleenex, the kind that doesn’t sustain more than one sneeze. I then had to sit in a waiting area with a bunch of other similarly-attired people.
When it was my turn, I went into the room I was directed to. Dr. McKeevin greeted me warmly and asked me to lay down on a gurney. (Or is that "lie down on a Gurney? I can never keep that straight!) There were two other people in the room: A nurse, and an assistant to the doctor, or so I assumed.
I assumed also that it would be Dr. McKeevin who would perform this procedure. I was wrong. It was actually his assistant. SHE was perhaps 30, blond, and very attractive if you don’t mind my saying so. I could have lived with the old man performing my colonoscopy. Every male insecurity came to the fore when I realized that it would be his female assistant. I finally understood why so many women prefer having female doctors: Kindred spirits, and similar body parts.
I lay in a fetal position, and the procedure commenced. She inserted a long, thin tube and moved it so far up I swear I could feel it tickling my tonsils. As she did so, she muttered strange words to the doctor, who nodded sagely and told her to give the tube another big twist. Meanwhile, the nurse held my hand. I prayed that the woman administering the procedure was in a happy, healthy relationship based upon mutual trust and understanding.
After what seemed like 4 days, but was more like 10 minutes, she carefully removed the tube. Doctor MacKeevin looked at me and smiled. "Mr. Keddy", he said, offering me some dignity which I gratefully accepted, "I want to apologize to you for making you wait so long for your procedure, and putting you through all this stress. You can thank government funding for that. Normally, we’d prepare a report and send it to your doctor, who would review it with you. But I want to tell you right now that we didn’t see anything. You’re fine".
Relief? That’s not the word for it. I began to sit up right away, until the nurse cautioned me to slow down and keep myself covered, lest she, the doctor, and her comely assistant see yet another side of me.
I got dressed and went home, walking a bit more gingerly perhaps than usual, but relieved and happy.
If I had to put my finger on one aspect of that day’s activities, I’d be hard pressed. But there was one thing I just can’t forget. One thing that was so humiliating, so invasive, so hurtful. I, I, I don’t know how to say it.
That doctor. She never writes. She never calls.
Despite the experience I endured, I would recommend a colonoscopy if you have any inkling that you might have a problem "down under". People are so timid about that part of their bodies and tend either not to notice any problem, or pretend that everything is just fine, when that may not be the case. If I, Mr. Leave-Me-Alone-Don’t-Touch-Me-Get-Out-of-my-Personal-Space Guy, can go through this procedure, then so can you.
If you’re wondering what the warning signs for colon cancer are, check out www.cancer.ca.
The "bottom" line: If you have any of these classic symptoms, then get your ass to the doctor.
Madam Toastmaster?
Bev
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