Should I be thankful I had polyps the last time I had a colonoscopy?
When you get to be a certain age, you are torn between a rock and a hard place. Take the routine colonoscopy for example.
When Phil had his colonoscopy the gastroenterologist declared that he was clean as a whistle.
“That was it,” he announced, “no more colonoscopies necessary.”
Phil was delighted…at first…Till I figured out the reason.
Medicare pays for a routine colonoscopy every 10 years. In ten years, there would be no reason to even check…
So am I lucky that I need to do a colonoscopy in 3 years? Does that make me more “relevant?”
My doctor is into the arts. Of course she is. She was raised in Europe and she thrives on culture – the kind of culture we, here, do not often appreciate. Because we are a society that appreciates what exactly? Thrills? Distractions? Never mind, if you want a doctor who cares about your heart – not just the physical heart – but the emotional one, too, CALL me and I will share my contact information!!!!
If you go to http://www.jewishsacredaging.org you will see that I am the featured guest of Rabbi Address. He interviews me for 26 minutes about my new book: RAGING AGAINST AGING kicking & screaming, laughing & crying, stretching & kvetching. Available NOW on http://www.Amazon.com and Kindle.
I very, recently, had to have an ultrasound on my wrist. The young technician looked like she belonged in high school. When she left me in the room to wait for the doctor, I questioned what I was doing. Maybe I should leave and rethink. The radiologists in the city were older. The technician seemed more experienced. I have known them for fourteen years. They are so sophisticated. I was sweating profusely when the doctor came in. He looked like he was younger than my daughter but he had some gray in his beard. He introduced two young residents who looked like they were applying to college. “I probably know your mothers,” I blurted out of nowhere. So then I had to explain that all my friends had children who were doctors at this hospital. “I live in ____,” I continued. “So do I,” said this nice, young doctor. “So I do know your mother?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t think you do,” he explained, ” I did not grow up there.” He told me where he lived and as he asked me if I was in pain. I let myself relax, as I watched the screen, as he guided a needle deep into my wrist to aspirate a cyst. “Don’t worry,” I reassured him, “you can still say hello to me in the local supermarket.” He, relaxed, in turn, and smiled. And just to be safe, I added: “I know where you live.”