Back Home Again in Indiana

Okay, to be fair, I've never lived in Indiana, so I shouldn't call it "home".  But there's a song, "Back Home Again in Indiana," (When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash...) which gets sung by Jim Neighbors (perhaps not still?) at the Indy 500 every year, and it just seems appropriate to reference it when returning to Indiana.  Which is just what we have done today, my hubby and I.

Gary, my father-in-law and one of my favoritest people ever, has colon cancer.  This is why we all of a sudden picked up and headed for Indy today.  Not that going to Indy in the Spring isn't a generally good idea, because it is.  But I like a happier reason for my travels.  

I won't drone on with medical details here - those of you who are interested probably also know my email address.  I will say that it sounds fairly hopeful so far - the surgeon thinks he got it all out and we will hear the results of the lymph nodes biopsy tomorrow.  But.  People.  I am DONE with colon cancer.  I lost my dad to colon cancer in 2002.  Normally it is one of the more treatable cancers, but small comfort that was to me and Katie Couric.  So I have some instructions for all you kind readers, and I will be enforcing these instructions in strange and creative ways.

If it's time to get a colonoscopy, go get one.  It's not that bad.  (Yes, I've had one.  After my dad succumbed to the disease I had a stomach ache for a year [small wonder] and eventually the doctors insisted on doing the test.  Which showed I was fine.)  They knock you out for the actual procedure, and the prep is basically like a case of bad seafood without the cramps.  Dull but just keep a lot of books by the throne and you'll be fine.  Make sure the blue nail polish isn't too close by, though, or boredom may lead to strange toenails, I found out.

As a side note for those of you (and you know who you are, boys) who are horrified at the idea of something going "in the out door".  Get over it.  A colonoscopy a week is better than colon cancer.  You are NOT immune, and if I find out you are postponing this procedure (which has preventative benefits, by the way, because they can remove polyps that might otherwise become cancerous) I will stuff you in a sack, drag you to the local outpatient surgery center, and then post a big picture of you on the net with a sign saying "big scaredy cat" on it.  And anyway, as I mentioned, you will be unconscious for the actual procedure, and you guys like fart jokes (yes you do, you weird overgrown teenagers) so you'll like the after-procedure recovery, which basically consists of lying on a gurney passing gas for half an hour.  If you're lucky you'll get fuzzy socks for free.  I still have mine.  You know, they have non-slip stuff on the bottoms.

Eat your veggies.  Now.  Like, right now.  Go get some celery.  If there are no vegetables in the fridge, go buy some.  If you know you are prone to not bothering to wash veggies when you are hungry, then wash them all when you get them home from the store.  I will chase you down and flog you with leeks if I have to, people.  I mean it.  I'm done with this stupid disease and I'm on the rampage.  I'm convinced that a jury of my peers would acquit me of leek flogging in the name of saving your lives.

Quit smoking.  What the heck are you doing smoking in this day and age?  Okay, fine, the stuff is more addictive than cocaine.  The people who love you may have a hard time remembering that when they are weeping over your grave.  There's a lot of help out there to quit, and your health insurance might even cover it.  Mine does and it's pretty plain vanilla health insurance.  So quit.  Now.  You can chew on celery sticks to help with the oral habit.  I'll find you some pictures of cancerous lesions to post anywhere that you would normally keep cigarettes.  You're going to feel better.  You're going to be able to walk up the stairs in one go again.  You're gonna love it.  You're gonna smell better and be more fun to kiss.  For those who might be interested in kissing you.  Seriously.  Now.  Do it.  I dare you.

Get some exercise.  You can join the leek flogging squad, we do a lot of sprints.  I recently (re-)discovered that exercise is WAY better when it is disguised as a fun activity.  Thank you, Afro-Latino Groove class (no grooviness required to start).  Suggestions include frisbee, biking, walking the dog, dancing, kickboxing (WAY fun, I'm here to say), belly dancing, soccer (for those of you with any aim), hiking, rock climbing, yoga (great for you in like eight zillion ways, I totally love it), hot sex.  Really.  Look at calorie-count.com if you don't believe me.  So get some exercise.  Now.  Do it.  You're going to feel better.  You're going to be able to walk up the stairs in one go again.  You're gonna love it.  

Okay, it's 2 am (local time) and probably not a wise time to be posting something on "teh interwebs" (totally loving the ichc of late) but it made me feel better, and if you read this far then it couldn't have been that bad, or else you're a glutton for punishment.

Take care of yourselves and each other and say a prayer for Gary and all of us, if you are in to that sort of thing.