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VISIT MINNESOTA MONTHLY ON THE WEB Online Article Index		A few weeks after our men's health issue hit the newsstands in January, this letter to the editor arrived in our office. To the editor: I saw your magazine yesterday as I came home from the hospital. Great piece ("I Ain't Got Time to Bleed," January 2003). Since I plan to become somewhat of an evangelist that men should get complete physicals, I thought I'd share this piece with you. It's not professional prose, but it's from the heart. I write this from my hospital room, recovering from cancer surgery, awaiting news that may change or shorten my life, with an urgent plea to healthy, active males: Don't be afraid to see the doctor. Like many men, I've avoided doctors all my life. The reasons are many: a fear of being poked and prodded, an unwillingness to admit to any physical shortcoming, a sense that it wasted money. Four years ago, on my 40th birthday, I promised my wife I would get a complete physical. But one year blended into the next. I got busier. Every three to six months, I was reminded to get a physical. Even my mother began to pester me. I would do it. Really. But then, why should I? I was in great physical shape. I had little body fat. My resting pulse was 45 beats a minute. I played basketball with guys 20 years younger than me. I ran a marathon every year. True, my diet wasn't perfect, and I admit to drinking too much Chardonnay, but I felt great. Still, a promise is a promise, so I finally had my physical on Dec. 23. A week later my doctor called with the report: "You're a healthy guy," he assured me. But he said my red blood cells were slightly too small, a possible sign of iron deficiency, which could be caused by internal bleeding. He told me I might need an iron supplement, or perhaps it was because I regularly popped aspirin when my knees hurt from basketball or running. He suggested a colonoscopy and an endoscopy. Both involve a doctor inserting a scope into an opening in your body and looking around. The thought of that was not pleasant. I told him I would just take the iron pills. He explained that was not a good decision, and I finally concurred. Two weeks later, I did the tests. What the doctor found made me shiver. I had a 4- to 5-centimeter-long cancer tumor in my colon. How could I have colon cancer with no symptoms? No loss of weight? No bleeding? No fatigue? The doctors told me the cancer had probably been there for three to five years, growing slowly. Left alone, it would spread and there would be warning signs. But by then it might be too late. And, maybe, he said bluntly, I was already at that stage. There was only one way to know: surgery to remove the tumor and an analysis of the tissue samples. That night, watching the sun go down took on a whole new meaning. I hugged my wife hard and long. The day of the surgery, an 8-inch incision was made in my abdomen, and they removed about 12 to 14 inches of my colon. They reattached the large intestine to the small intestine and extracted nearby lymph nodes and other tissue. They told me that within three days I would have the lab results. And so here I sit... waiting. Whatever the outcome, I'm neither a victim nor a victor. I'll face my future, bolstered by an incredible wife, wonderful children, an overwhelmingly show of support from friends, and a deep faith in God. If I seem stoic and courageous, I'm not. When a person is no longer in control of his choices, he simply has to accept what comes. -Jeff Smedsrud, Eden Prairie P.S. The pathology results are in. There are no signs the cancer has spread. I am a lucky, lucky man. Watching the sun rise tomorrow has a new meaning. MM

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