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Shortly after my 54th birthday, I received a package. The enclosed instructions told me that next time I emptied my bowels, I should scrape a bit of the stool into a small sample bottle, seal it in a pre-paid envelope and drop it into the post. I did the deed and, a few weeks later, was invited to hospital. My sample contained blood; a colonoscopy was ordered to rule out colorectal cancer.
I don’t, thankfully, have colorectal cancer, and a colonoscopy at 54 is a classic initiation into middle age. But in the coming years, this particular rite of passage might start happening much earlier. While…
