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My dad died of colon cancer. He'd had some signs that things were wrong for a couple of years, but he kept going to the VA because it was free -- he had insurance, but he was cheap -- and they kept telling him not to worry. Eventually, he switched to another doctor who diagnosed it correctly, but when they operated they found that the cancer had gotten through the colon wall and zapped his liver. Inoperable.
After the operation, I spoke with the surgeon and got the word: he had a 50/50 chance of surviving three years, even with chemo. Dad was not a guy who coped well with bad news, so when he asked me for the word, I fudged; I told him he had three years, flat. But never underestimate the power of positive thinking; he made the three years with a few months to spare.
That said, not all that time was good time. He was pretty active up until the last six months or so, but the side effects of the chemo (sudden and explosive diarrhea, other things) really cut into his quality of life and really, in the long run, may not have prolonged his life all that much. This was 10 years ago, and chemo may have gotten better. But if they offer him chemo and it makes his life hell, my call would be to get off it and live a real life, a normal life, for as long as he can.
Anyway, my two cents. And you better believe I had my first colonoscopy a couple of years ahead of schedule (all clear, glad to say).
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