Dignity, Grace and Tumors, Part I

(Working Title)

Although I can say with a degree of certainty that everything above this line makes it to "post time."

I was also toying with the title "Is it soup yet?"

For roughly the last one year and four months, there's been an appointment I kept "forgetting" to make.

Sixteen months ago, I turned the big 5-0.

I am by no means a dignified person.  I am not graceful or couth either.  I do seem to have a better vocabulary than google though so there's that (Google is calling "couth" misspelled. It is suggesting I use the word "couch" instead.  To be fair to google, I am not a couch either, so ...)

Anyway, from the time I was a little kid, I thought old people were a little ridiculous.  Goofy fuckers, all. With their dirty, ill-fitting, mismatched clothes.  Their loud voices.  That messy white hair they'd walk around in, etc.  Oh and they always smelled like ketchup or peanuts to me.  Yuck.

There was one exception in my mind.  Every once in a while I'd see the "Distinguished Gentleman."

This was a guy who groomed and stuff.  Also, he seemed fit and strong.  His clothes were neat and clean.

I figured if you had to get old, that was the way to go.

Through the years, that idea kind of morphed into the concept of "Aging with dignity and grace."

I'd say to myself, I want to age with dignity and grace.  All the while turning more and more into a goofy old fucker who smells like ketchup.

But you don't just say to yourself, "Now that I'm old today, it's time to be dignified and graceful.  It's time to grow one of those thin, white mustaches and say, "Hmm.  Yes." like Sean Connery.

In reality, what happens is you just live each day as one day older than yesterday.  You do that 15-20 thousand times and before you know it, you're not only not a kid anymore . You're old.

Damn.

And no matter how much you take care of yourself to avoid being a goofy old person, once you hit 50, you are still required to let a coal miner's camera probe deep, deep into your anus.

Either that or it's certain death by butt cancer.  Who's dignified now, rot bottom?

And though this is seriously no laughing matter, if you do get butt cancer and die, people will be thinking of laughing.  They won't laugh because they're better than that. But they'll want to.

I guess you could just get the colonoscopy and not talk about it.  I suppose that's one way to hang on to a shred of your dignity.  Yeah, that's what I should do.  Just not talk about it ...

So I scheduled the procedure about a month ago.

When you sign up, they send you a packet of "prep" instructions.

It basically boils down to "Don't eat anything the day before.  Drink a bunch of liquids and take a dangerous amount of laxatives."

This is what they call "prep" or "cleansing".

From the literature :

 "... a poopy poop chute can obscure the doctor's view of any lesions.  Plus ewwww! There's a bunch of poop in your butt!"

So yeah, you gotta "colon blow" all that outta there the day before.

I have never in my life taken laxatives.  I'm a pretty regular kind of guy in the extreme.  I don't have any problems in that department if you know what I mean. If you don't know what I mean, I'm saying I normally poop a lot.  Like at least once a day.  Usually more.

So drinking a bunch of liquid all day and taking 9 doses of laxatives between 1 and 4 P.M. was the formula for a perfect storm that began at around 6PM and went strong until about 10PM.

Here's my favorite answer from the F.A.Q. in the literature they sent me:

What should my bowel movements look like after I drink all of the prep solution

Your bowel movements should be clear yellow liquid.  They will look like urine or lemonade.  If your bowel movements are still brown and haven't been clear, please call ...


Uh yeah.  So I had my dignified goal.  Sit on the toilet until I saw lemonade.

At 6 PM, I had what could easily be mistaken for Dinty Moore.  Except there seemed to be some sort of small twigs interspersed.

By 8:30, I realized I'd never look at a Black and Tan the same way again ...  Plus the sound was amazing. It sounded just like peeing, but felt way different because, um, because of the source.

So that was better. Closer to what they were looking for, but not lemonade. I was hoping I wouldn't have to make that phone call.  How do you gracefully tell a stranger "Yeah, I realize it's 2 AM but I just wanted to call and let you know my poop isn't clear yellow liquid yet.  Hmm? What? Did I dial ...? Sorry.  Wrong number."

But thankfully, by 10 PM, we had lemonade.  I mean, sure it was extra pulpy, but definitely lemonade.  Ice cold lemonade.

I was ready.  My colon was ready.  Now all I had to do was wait until 2 AM when I was supposed to take another huge serving of laxatives (well, only 7 doses this time).

To be continued ...