BOTTOMS UP!

Time for a colonoscopy, old man!

You hit sixty-plus years old and it seems that your body senses that you should no longer be able to do what you have previously done. Prior to that morphing intrusion of the body due to an unwelcomed aging factor, that non-magical time in your life, everything seemed to be in order. However, the body starts playing games with you. The game involves parts of your body that did work at one time without thought, and then parts that suddenly do not work. Before you know it, you are on a constant diet of doctors. Doctor Numero Uno assigns you to take a “spit and pooh” test to check how your digestive track is surviving the attack of the “golden years.” Frankly, it is just another “life sucks and then you die” slap in the face. Actually, the result is not quite a slap in the face, if you don’t count the double chin, and the bags under your eyes that appear to be packed for a vacation to an exotic foreign country. It is more like “time for another colonoscopy,” my favorite medical pastime, and a result of the “spit and pooh” test. Do these tests all work together to humiliate you as much as is emotionally possible?

A diagram of my colon. "X" locates the polyp.

So, I report for hospital duty early in the morning. Does no one work in the afternoon at these places? This is following a harrowing day of drinking what seems like 42 gallons of a fluid that makes you want to puke, even though, it does not have a recognizable flavor. However, regurgitating is NOT part of the planned result. You just have to plan the previous day around the little white stool that has a permanent location in your bathroom. Do not dare to venture farther than about 15 feet from it, or…well, just make certain that you have a washer and dryer handy if you do manage to pass the point of no return. Back to the hospital. I report, and I am led down a hall like a dumb sheep. “Take off all of your clothes and put on this gown,” someone commands who should be taking off whatever they are wearing, considering that the blue uniform is in no way flattering…on anyone! By the way, I do not think that anyone connected with the fashion industry has ever been in a hospital, or they would have noticed that those blue sagging uniforms and the sheer cotton “gowns” make everyone look like something from a horror movie. But, that is beside the point, although, it is a good point.

Pumpkin polyps hiding in your colon!

So, I put on the gown, which I might add, is nothing close to what I would be caught wearing to bed. And, why are the ties to these “handsome print wraps” always in the back where one cannot reach them? A person appears to be a contortionist walking around in a circle, like a cat deciding where and when it will flop in a comfortable position. Attempting to catch the strings and tie them, thus controlling how much ventilation one will receive through the back of this amazing garment is nothing short of a test in agility. Is it not enough to realize that my derriere will be where “X marks the spot,” that it will be transmitted on a screen where several individuals in saggy blue uniforms will be following the play by play action, and that never once will I really know what jokes are being conjured during this event? Still, I would feel more comfortable if I knew it were covered for the time I am still in consciousness.

Eventually, you climb aboard the bed that is going to take you on that trip down so many hallways to the “port of authority.” The doctor follows shortly and he is Mr. Happy-go-Lucky Man. Of course he is. Nothing is happening to him. It is HE who is going to climb inside of ME. Terrific! Laugh it up fuzz ball. Then I notice that the men in the blue baggy “scrubs” commense attaching tubes into the needles that took them three or four attempts to insert in the veins at the top of my hands. I notice that the anesthesiologist ever so slightly nods his head to the doctor. It suddenly becomes apparent that there is a secret code being passed from one individual to another. I realize that I am being taken out of the world of consciousness before I can protest or make another snide remark to anyone.

Suddenly, I am awake and my stomach feels like a truck just drove through me, which may be close to the truth. I was just awake, and now I am awake again, but in a different room. The nice nurse is telling me that everything went well, the doctor found a polyp that he removed, and now it is time to leave. When did this all happen and where was I? Man! Where does the time go? So I slither out of the afore mentioned “printed wonder gown,” manage to get my clothes back on while still in a stupor, everything in the right direction, and the nice nurse plants me in a wheelchair and trolleys me out to the curb into cool, crip autumn air. “So long, thanks for coming, and we will see you again soon.” "Not if I can help it," I think. Something about the whole affair makes me feel slightly violated and uncomfortable.

A week later I return to the doctor where I learn about polyps, diverticulitis, not eating berries with those tiny seeds from my favorite raspberry bushes along the north side of my house, and a whole new way of eating that does not include some of my favorite junk food like popcorn. I learn about fiber, fiber, and more fiber. It all sounds so boring. Two days later, the lab calls me while I am walking down the hall at work and informs me that my polyp was cancerous, a rather cold and shocking bit of unexpected information about my body. However, they inform me that it was removed during the colonoscopy and they are sure they got it all. I am supposed to feel relief. Suddenly, my life takes on a different meaning, and I wonder what other secrets my body is harboring. Thanks to the “life sucks and then you die” encounter with the men in the saggy blue costumes, I learn that life could come to an ugly end without the miracle of modern medical technology. And, I have not even mentioned the carpal tunnel and trigger thumb surgery yet. Another story for another blog. Remember...bottoms up!

Meat...not the best fiber-filled food.

A great fiber-filled summer salad.

Tomato, motzerella, and basil salad, sprinkled with olive oil. Healthy.