If someone had told me 20 years ago that my future self would pay a man thousands of dollars to look up my butt with a camera, I would have done the whole “laugh in their face” thing (you know – HA! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! I laugh in your face!). I mean, come on. That had to be a joke, right?
When I turned 40, other 40-somethings told me how 40 was the decade all your shit started to fall apart. Things like memory issues, bifocals, orthopedics, memory issues, hot flashes, support hose, bursitis, memory issues, heartburn, incontinence, tendonitis, memory issues and root canals. And let’s not forget the start of yearly mammograms. Oh, and memory issues.
Turning 50 is great, because you think all the bad stuff has happened already. You walk into your yearly physical (because no matter what else happens, you still have to pay someone to look up your va-jay-jay-jay with a flashlight) and you are full of cocky attitude. “Bring it on,” you say. “Hit me with your best shot,” you say. “Come at me, Bro,” you say – all while dancing around like Muhammad Ali on steroids.
Your doctor just calmly looks at you, and smiles, “So, when would you like to schedule your colonoscopy?”
Bam. One punch knockout.
Colonoscopy stories, like birthing stories, are filled with horrific detail and evil gloating. By the week of your appointment, you are scared shitless (Ha! You wish!) and are well entrenched in what I call the 7 Stages of Preparing For Your Colonoscopy, which of course I am going to share with you because, you know, evil gloating.
DENIAL:
“Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.”
“Nope.”
ANGER:
“What the heck! This shit has to stop.” (Get it? HAHAHAHAHA)
“Where is that doctor? I’m going to pop a cap in his ass. See how he likes it.”
“You mean to tell me, that in this day and age of medical advancement that they haven’t come up with anything better than drinking 10 gallons of freaking laxative? (moments later….) I’M NEVER, EVER DOING THIS AGAIN! YOU HEAR ME? NEVER!” (insert muttering and additional colorful metaphors I can’t type in because my mother reads my blog).
“I better be losing a crap load of weight!” (Do you see what I did there? Hahahahaaa! I kill me.)
BARGAINING:
“I’m going to flip a coin. “Heads” means I get to cancel my appointment, okay? Here we go..(flip)….dang. Okay, let me try that again, only this time I call “tails”…(flip)…DANG IT. Okay…2 out of 3…”
“The Bible! Yes! Flip it open and point my finger – God will surely tell me “Stay Home! Eat Cake!” (squints eyes closed…flip, flip, flip, flip…point) OKAY – WHO WROTE “GET A COLONOSCOPY YOU BIG BABY” ON EVERY PAGE OF MY BIBLE?”
“Isn’t 50 the new 40? That means I have 10 more years before I have to do this, right?”
“MAKE IT STOP!!! I’LL NEVER EAT CORN AGAIN! I SWEAR!”
DEPRESSION:
“I’m dying. I know it. And that big jerk Dave will probably have “Death By Pooping” put on my headstone.”
“So. Hungry. Need. Cake.”
“What if I have to drink more stuff at the doctor? What if I go thru all this and they can’t do it? What if the doctor gets distracted and pokes a hole thru my colon? What if the doctor is really an alien and this is just an alien butt probe experiment? What if the alien doctor is really planting an alien baby and my stomach explodes in 9 months? What if the alien doctor with the alien butt probe and the alien baby decides I’m really annoying and not worth the effort and just drops me off in some space dump with all the other reject experiments and I have to live the rest of my life intergalactic dumpster diving to survive? Wait…they would probably just kill me. Oh great, I’m dead for sure.”
ACCEPTANCE:
“What’s that? Why are you putting in that IV? Are you an alien? Why are you looking at me funny? What’s in that needle? I don’t want a butt probe! I’ll be good, I swea…..aaaaah….dude…that’s like some really sweet stuff, man….hahahaha…I feel awesome….What? Assume what position? Lie on my side and tuck my legs up? Sure…you’re the bo…..zzzzzzzzzz…”
RELIEF:
“Am I done? I’m done right? Oh sweet Jesus I’m done.”
“What? You took pictures? That’s my colon? Huh. Didn’t see that one coming. But whatever – Yay! I’m done!!”
EVIL GLOATING:
In my case, I have another 10 years before I have to go back, so I will have many opportunities to relate my story to my younger friends as they come up to age 50 and hear those dreaded words from their own doctor. You can bet I will exaggerate the hell out of it, too.
To sum up, here is an actual screen shot of a text conversation I had with my sister while I was downing laxatives and spending my night in the john. I have pointed out a few of the classic stages.
Have you gotten a colonoscopy? Was it really an alien abduction? How many alien babies have you had? Share your butt pro….colonoscopy story in the comments below! May the “force” be with you!
Squeaky Clean As A Whistle,
Sue
This post is dedicated to my beautiful friend Carol, who was diagnosed with colon cancer 15 years ago, and was cancer free until January, 2015, when she was diagnosed with a new, aggressive cancer. She died in April. Carol was strong and courageous, and met death the same way she met life – with arms wide open.
Don’t be a wuss. Get your colonoscopy.
Brick House 