Colon check chronicles

By Herman M. Lagon

The moment I stepped into Healthway (Qualimed) for my colonoscopy, I felt the usual mix of nerves, surrender, and curiosity. It was not my first time—gastroenterologist Dr. Ramel Ramon Balbastro also handled my procedure back in 2020 at St. Paul’s Hospital—but every screening feels personal. In my family, colon cancer is not just a statistic. In our Lagon clan, the disease is no abstraction—it already took a medical doctor and a civil engineer from us. That is why every checkup for me is not routine but resistance, a choice to fight for more years, more memories, more time.

The dreaded preparation lived up to its reputation. Friends call it the “cleansing marathon,” where the hospital controls your diet, water, and sleep more than your cravings do. On the eve of the procedure, I declined dinner and night-out invites. I also explained nothing to my mother, who wondered why I touched only three crackers of SkyFlakes at the table. Better she did not know and worry. My daughter Psyche nudged me online for not letting her send help, not realizing PhilHealth and my HMO already had me covered. I assured her that what I needed most were her prayers and her moral support.

Stepping into the hospital, the fear and emptiness I carried gave way to kindness. The place did not feel cold—it felt human. Nurses Sara dela Cruz and Cielo Marie Pama were at the heart of it, bringing patience and care that made a stranger feel at home. Sara had the charm and energy of Sarah G. (not Sara D) without the concert lights, while Cielo exuded a bubbly warmth and glow that shone even through her mask and hair cover. They treated me less like a case file and more like family, keeping me calm with updates, humor, and empathy. Their “chikahan” was not filler—it was medicine.

Their communication was as healing as the procedure itself. Studies affirm that nurses who mix empathy with a touch of friendly banter reduce anxiety and improve recovery. Sara and Cielo, plus their band of Healthway health specialists, were living proof. They could have been all business, but they chose connection. In the reception lobby, in the waiting area, and in the operating room, their words were better than sedatives.

Of course, their efforts were part of a larger team that worked seamlessly that early morning. Dr. Balbastro stayed steady as always, while anesthesiologist  Dr. Felix Fandiñola did more than put me to sleep. Beforehand, he told me how my late cousin Dr. Escolastico, a.k.a. Doc Ike, once guided him during his specialization. It was like bumping into a piece of family in an unlikely place, proof that our loved ones find ways to stick around.

And then there was my daughter Parvane, my “meticulous sidekick.” She handled papers faster than any app, anticipated which prep rules I might break, and explained hieroglyphic prescriptions like a pro. In the haze of sedation, having her there doing all the paper stuff was priceless. She capped the day by indulging me, after a two-day fasting, with Netong’s adobo, Madge’s ibus, and eventually Starbucks choco chip cream, where we, as usual, did our typical “don’t bother me” study and work modes—a gentle reminder that life rolls on.

Behind the warm smiles was an efficient system. Healthway’s coordination with Maxicare and PhilHealth was seamless, no endless paperwork or surprise charges. I owe it to Ma’am Maribeth Ilustre, who persuaded me to stay with Maxicare. Watching how their service ran seamlessly—from their Primary Care Clinic in Megaworld to the hospital desk—I realized again that a legit HMO is not an indulgence but a shield. In a country where a single diagnosis can cripple a household, that shield is worth everything.

But systems and insurance are only half the story. The heavier truth is that colon cancer itself remains a serious shadow in many families, mine included. Colonoscopy for clans like ours is not just routine. It is survival. Doctors recommend colonoscopy for most adults starting at 40-45, especially for those with family history, prior polyps, or red-flag symptoms—it can even serve as treatment when polyps need to be removed. Colon cancer is no rare disease. It is the third most common cancer in the country, with an estimated 11,000 new diagnoses yearly. Of these, about 10% are inherited, tied to genetic mutations such as Lynch syndrome and familial adenomatous polyposis that quietly run through family trees. My regular checks are not paranoia but prudence, my way of ensuring I will be around long enough to watch my daughters and mom thrive.

Lying in recovery, I realized that hospitals like Healthway—and nurses like Sara and Cielo—show us that medicine is more than science. It is kindness in action. A smile or a warm tone can calm the body as much as medicine. In a country where nurses are often underpaid and drawn abroad, their choice to stay and bring light into Iloilo’s corridors deserves more than my thanks. They deserve respect, recognition, and better compensation.

By the time I left the hospital, messages from friends trickled in—some teasing me about “surviving the hose test,” others offering comfort. What I thought would be a grim story turned into one of grace. Grace in preparing with patience, grace in the loved ones who stood by me with prayers and presence, grace in doctors whose calm steadied me, and grace in the nurses who lightened the room with laughter and genuine care.

That sense of grace gave me a new appreciation for what colonoscopy really means. No one brags about having it, but it works. It protects lives by asking us to prepare, it asks us to trust, and it asks us to stay humble to the doctors and nurses guiding our care. In the long term, it is less about the trivial discomfort and more about being present for family in the years to come. Each test is more than a procedure. It is a statement: I choose life.

I walked out lighter, perhaps a kilo down due to required fasting, but with gratitude weighing heavy in my chest. Hospitals are often painted as places of illness. Yet in the hands of people like my daughters, Sara, Cielo, and the team at Healthway, they can also be places and opportunities of humanity at its best. I went in for a colonoscopy. I came out reminded that healing is always a shared journey.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.