Hello? Hello? Is This Thing On?

[ahem]


Can you see me up here? I've just jumped up on my soapbox. I won't take up a lot of your time, but listen up, because what I do have to say is important.


I've made no secret of the fact that March is Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. I've been singing that tune for the past four weeks. I've devoted each of my Wordless Wednesdays not to my adorable nephew or my brilliant terrier or even a glimpse at my own gorgeous mug, but to this thing here ...

... with the admonition to get your : looked @.


Clever symbolic syntax aside, I mean it. Get your colon looked at. 


While the editor in me shudders at that sentence construction, the cancer warrior in me thinks it can't be stressed enough. Now I know you can't just waltz in and say to your friendly neighborhood gastroenterologist: "Hey dude! Wanna take a peek up my poop chute?" No. Of course not.


But you can do this: Educate yourself. Learn your family history. Each cancer has its own set of risk factors, and colon cancer is very familial. The fact that your uncle was diagnosed in his late 40's may not mean a damn thing to you. But it will give a good doctor pause — and, hopefully initiate more questions.


As it did for mine. 


I am only 41 years old, and in my early 30's I thought a colonoscopy was something I wouldn't have to even think about for another 20 years. When I was 50, as is recommended for routine screening.


Six years later, I have had three colonoscopies and four polyps removed. One so large, if it had hung around in there, neither it nor I ever would have made it to 50. Or even to 41, for that matter.


I learned tonight that the 41-year-old husband of a friend of mine is having 75 percent of his cancerous colon removed tomorrow. I learned yesterday that a dear friend of mine, only 42-years-young, has been diagnosed with osteoporosis, a complication of the genetic condition that caused her colon cancer. I have spent the past three months working with the family of a beautiful, vibrant woman diagnosed at the age of 37. I wish I could tell you I've been working with her, but she's no longer here.


Ass cancer isn't sexy. There's no way around that. We've got "Feel Your Boobies" and "Save The Tatas" but there's no way you're ever gonna see a shirt that says "Peek At My Pooper" or "Save The Sigmoids." It's embarrassing, it's uncomfortable and it's, well, gross. And people don't want to talk about it.


Which is why I won't stop.