In light of the major press coverage about the rising rate of colorectal cancer in people under 50, as well as shudder-inducing recollections of what passed as “food” in my childhood home, my sense of self-preservation prevailed and I called yet again to try to have a colonoscopy scheduled. I was mentally prepared this time. I did not expect the wait time to improve. In fact, the wait has lengthened considerably. My GI is now scheduling after Independence Day. I asked if another GI could do it or if I could be added to a cancellation list. The lovely person who assisted me said she would send a message about it to my GI, but not before she chided me for calling to schedule a procedure in March that was approved in December. I had my reasons. I needed to wait for all the other test results to come back. I added that I tried to schedule it previously, but was so shocked and frustrated by the obscene wait time that I had simply ended the call.
The next day, I received a call from my GI’s office asking me if I could do it in four days. I had 30 minutes to figure it out. I could not find someone to drive me on such short notice, so no, I could not. She also said it might be possible on another date and I managed to find a ride for that date- a man I hardly know at all- but then they couldn’t make it work. So I remain on the cancellation list and am officially scheduled for July- four months from now.
What prompted the GI’s office to call me, I don’t know. Maybe she looked me up and remembered which train wreck I was, exactly. “Oh yes, the anesthesia awareness PTSD person with a cancer history and a cousin with stage III colorectal cancer.”
My PTSD isn’t as severe as many cases are. I can get in the door, thanks to Dr. Overinvolved, but I usually unravel after I walk in, my undoing the result of hyperawareness and irritability. This is different. There’s a part of me that wants to overcome this, that wants to have another experience with anesthesia, but a good one this time, and the result of that will help. I do not react well to having an IV, as I learned from December’s CT scan. I will tolerate severe pain if I have to, but it will trigger me and result in nightmares and sleep disturbance, as I learned from a saline ultrasound I had of my uterus two years. I want to defeat this. I want to win.
The fact I feel this way at all is a good sign that I still have some resiliency left in me after all. I often feel so resigned to the status quo, not just with the current effects of my PTSD, but all the elements of my life. I lost my sparkle and my drive to become someone who is at the heart of it all, intensely angry and frightened of life.