In Sickness and in Health
A Couple Contends over Colonoscopies
Quickly shutting the bathroom door . . . again . . . Todd shuffled back into the bedroom, rubbing his stomach. His face was pale, his gait deliberate, as though one wrong step might set something loose.
“Round four complete,” he said, collapsing onto the bed. “The toilet and I have formed a temporary but inescapable bond.”
Carol sat on the bed, her legs tucked under the covers, glasses perched on her nose, scrolling through her tablet. “Oh yeah. How’s that going?”
“Let’s just say, I’ve seen the depths of my soul… and it’s plumbing. I’ve consumed enough clear liquids to launch FEMA emergency services.
She smirked but didn’t look up. “Self-inflicted, you know,” she finally said. “You didn’t have to sign up for this torture.” She was busy with her article.
“Carol.” Todd sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “You want me to live a long, healthy life, don’t you?”
“I’m not saying I want you to die early,” she said, tapping the screen casually. “BTW, did you finish your will?” She turned to him, looking above her glasses. “Do you know that colonoscopies can actually cause cancer? The procedure irritates the lining or something. There are risks.”
Todd groaned—not at her argument, but at a sudden cramp in his gut. “You and your online rabbit holes. Was this from one of your wellness blogs?”
“Not just blogs,” she said, sitting up straighter. “There was an article in The Atlantic. It said that over-screening leads to unnecessary treatments and anxiety. And who benefits? Big Pharma and the hospitals. They scare you into thinking you’re sick when you’re fine.”
“Carol,” Todd said, his voice calm, “screenings aren’t about scaring people. They’re about relieving the mind and saving lives. Colorectal cancer is the second leading cause of cancer death in the U.S. Did you know that? And screenings have brought the death rate down by 50% in the last few decades.”
She hesitated. “Fifty percent?”
“Fifty percent,” he repeated, his tone measured. He knew he wasn’t making any progress, but the conversation was relieving his cramps. “You do mammograms”
“Yes, but they are safe, and not up my you know what.”
“It’s of your you know where. Sure, there are risks. No procedure is perfect. But when the alternative is catching something too late, I’ll take a little discomfort.”
Carol frowned, fiddling with her glasses. “But what about over-treatment? What if they find some tiny polyp and suddenly it’s biopsies and surgeries for no reason?”
Todd nodded thoughtfully wondering if his wife really thought what she was saying. “That happens. But here’s the thing—almost all colorectal cancers start as polyps. Catch them early, and you stop cancer before it even starts. Isn’t that worth it?”
Carol looked down at her lap. He had the feeling she was now connecting to their conversation. “I just think… life is a mystery. Maybe we’re not supposed to know everything. Doesn’t it take something away? The not knowing—that’s part of being alive, isn’t it?”
Todd studied her for a moment. He knew she wasn’t being dismissive or conspiratorial. He reached for her hand. “I get it. I do. Healthcare decisions are personal. And maybe ignorance is bliss . . . until it isn’t. Remember my brother.”
Her expression softened. “I know. I think about him too.” This was why he loved her. He noticed she had on a new nightgown.
“He was 58,” Todd said quietly. “If he’d had a colonoscopy, maybe he’d still be here.”
Carol sighed. “And if he were, he’d probably be teasing you right now about shuffling to the toilet every ten minutes!”
Todd chuckled, then winced as another cramp rolled through him. “He wouldn’t be wrong. But look, I’m doing this because I want to stick around. For you, for the kids. It’s not just about me.”
She squeezed his hand. “Okay, fine, honey. But don’t expect me to follow your lead anytime soon.”
The next afternoon, Todd was groggy but triumphant.
“You were right,” he announced as Carol drove him home.
“About what?”
“About overtreatment. The two nurses were lovely and certainly over-treated me.”
“Do you want me to dump you right here?"
“I don’t remember a thing. One moment, they’re asking me to count backwards from ten, and the next, I’m awake, texting you gibberish on the hospital bed. I didn’t even have my phone. I came to and I was texting onto the sheets with my fingers. And guess what? Clean bill of health. They said come back in seven years.”
Carol glanced at him, smiling despite herself. “So, no pain? No… issues?”
“None. My asshole feels like it spent the night at a spa.”
Carol snorted. “Lovely image.”
“And they gave me pictures. Wanna see my colon?”
“Pass,” she said, but her smile lingered.
Todd leaned back in his seat, the three o’clock sun casting warm light through the windshield. “I saw the sweetest thing in there.” He was still high from the sedative. “A younger couple came in just after me to have theirs together. The nurse set them up with two beds side-by-side.”
Carol was patient and looked at the road.
“Here’s the thing, Carol. I get why people hesitate. But knowledge isn’t just power—it’s relief. We’re not here forever, but we can give ourselves the best shot at a little more time.”
"I’m still not looking at your colon pictures.”
“Fair enough,” Todd said, grinning as he closed his eyes, savoring what he thought to be a quiet victory.