A colonoscopy camera lets the physician check for abnormalities inside the colon. These can include cancerous or precancerous growths. The doctor guides a flexible scope though the colon, that can take about seven minutes, he then spends on average another six minutes withdrawing the scope evaluating inside of the colon.

The New England Journal of Medicine published a study that found colonoscopies that took a longer time to complete found more abnormal growths. Faster testing was shown to miss some abnormalities. Doctors who spent more than six minutes withdrawing the colonoscopy tube found more abnormal growths than those who withdrew it in less than six minutes.

The study did not have a conclusive answer as to exactly long physicians should spend withdrawing the tube. Other experts say to keep it in the range of six to ten minutes.

I know this is the last thing you want to say to your physician-- "Can you keep that up there a bit longer please?', but it might just save your life.

My own oncologist did it just two days ago. He checked in on my mental health, asked how I was surviving, and eased my fear of cancer recurrence and possible death. He reached beyond the medical scope of our relationship -- literally. He placed a hand on my shoulder. He offered me a hug. He cared.

Yet many doctors refrain from reaching too far into the lives of the patients they treat. They stay at a distance. They focus on merely replacing illness with health. This is, after all, the purpose of medicine -- to fix people.

Dr. Jeremy Geffen, author of The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person, shares in his book that "at present, doctors focus primarily on the physical characteristics of their patients -- bones and organs, tissue samples, test results, height, weight, and age. Yet in each of us, there is a rich mental, emotional, and spiritual reality that influences, even directs the course of our lives."

Conventional medicine responds to cancer patients with surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and other treatment protocols to essentially get rid of the cancer. Physical signs, symptoms, and responses are carefully monitored -- while other areas of patients' lives receive little attention.

A whole component of true medical care is missing -- as doctors may feel unprepared to address emotional issues, and time restraints allow for limited interaction between doctor and patient.

Geffen believes the ultimate purpose of medicine is to help all beings "experience unbounded love, joy, and inner peace, and to know this is the essence of who we truly are." This purpose, he believes, deserves as much attention as the purpose of treating symptoms and curing disease.

And so Geffen created a program based on his Seven Levels of Healing -- a program that includes both the relative and ultimate purposes of medicine, both the doing and the being.

Level One: Education and Information -- provides basic information about cancer and treatment options and encourages patients to actively participate in and obtain benefit from their care.

Level Two: Connection with Others -- explores the importance of reaching out to others for comfort and support on the journey through cancer.

Level Three: The Body as Garden -- invites patients and family members to see the human body as growing and evolving, as a complex garden rather than a machine. This level touches on good nutrition, exercise, massage, acupuncture, and a variety of complementary and alternative approaches to healing.

Level Four: Emotional Healing -- enters the realm of the human heart, shedding light on fear, pain, anger, self-love, and forgiveness.

Level Five: The Nature of Mind -- examines how life with cancer is influenced by our thoughts, beliefs, and the meanings we give events.

Level Six: Life Assessment -- delves into aspirations, goals, and purposes of our lives.

Level Seven: The Nature of Spirit -- embraces the spiritual aspects of the healing process.

As a physician, Geffen aims to bring his vision of medicine and healing to cancer patients everywhere. And he uses his book as an instrument of communication -- so readers can participate in his vision, so they can learn to settle for nothing less than medical care that centers on the whole person. And not just the parts.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: Beverly Is Every One Of Us

I didn't know what was coming when I plopped myself down in the waiting room of an Ear, Nose, and Throat clinic yesterday -- which is a good thing. Had I known what doctors would do to me, I may have run the other way. I may have learned to live with the pain I was experiencing each time I swallowed food. But I waited patiently, aware that doctors would "scope" my esophagus, mildly certain the procedure could be uncomfortable, completely unprepared for the full "scope" experience.

I swallowed a pill on Friday night -- not even a whole pill, just a half of one pill -- and it hurt when it went down my throat. I've had the feeling before, a sensation like the pill got stuck, but the discomfort has always gone away within a few hours. This time, it lasted. It hurt to swallow saliva. It hurt to swallow food. It just hurt. So after three days, I took myself to the clinic -- with the subtle worry that cancer was settling in my esophagus.

I know rationally that every ache and pain I experience is not cancer. But I've had cancer. And so I constantly battle a nagging fear lodged deep in my head that reminds me cancer is always a possibility, that cancer is often a shocking outcome of a routine little test for a simple little health concern.

I do not have cancer. I do not have cancer of the throat, voice box, esophagus, or stomach. That's the good news. The scope revealed -- via a tiny camera that traveled through my body -- nothing but healthy tissue. That makes me happy. The test did not make me happy.

I now know the scope is a long, thin tube that enters the body through one nostril. Ouch. It travels into the throat. Ouch. The patient swallows when it reaches the throat to assist in maneuvering it down further. Ouch. The scope then makes its way past the voice box, though the esophagus, and into the stomach. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. The travels are all displayed on a monitor, and I actually got a glimpse of these body parts -- during the split second when I was able to control my gagging, loosen my grip on the arms of the exam chair, and open my clinched eyes. So I saw for myself that everything looks healthy -- just before the tube was pulled right back through all these parts, leaving me with a very sore throat.

Now that I am home and have talked with a few people, I hear that some patients are unconscious for this procedure. They are completely unaware of the horrors of the scope. I got a few sprays to numb my nose and throat and drank a thick cocktail of lidocaine -- but I did not get the luxury of unconsciousness. And in the end that is okay. I got to see what was happening. I got to hear the doctor's revelation that nothing major is wrong. I got to witness the wonder of medical technology. I got to prove to myself that I can handle a little discomfort in exchange for a clean bill of health. And I got to learn that I have a bit of acid reflux. And now I have to squash that nagging fear that reminds me of the literature out there suggesting a link between acid reflux and cancer.

Most of us know her as Elyse Keaton on the long-time ago sitcom Family Ties. Many also know her from the variety of characters she has portrayed on television specials and movies. And Meredith Baxter is also known for her support of breast cancer research -- something not so apparent or obvious but just as significant in the scope of her life in the spotlight. Like many issues she speaks out on -- women's rights, gun control, state legislative matters -- breast cancer is an issue about which she is passionate. She has appeared at Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walks and presented gifts to the cause of breast cancer research and has starred in the 1994 television movie My Breast -- about a woman who successfully battles breast cancer. And she also has her own Meredith Baxter Foundation for Breast Cancer Research which began when she donated $10,000 to the University of Minnesota Cancer Center where her foundation was started. Much of the funding for this foundation comes from Baxter herself via the profits she makes from her own skin care products that are available in gift stores around the country. She says that life has been so kind to her that she was looking for a way to share her good fortune. So she took her concern about breast cancer prevention into the business arena. And just as she soared to success as one of the best-known TV moms, Meredith Baxter is soaring to new heights -- where she hopes to help prevent and one day cure breast cancer.