Ohhh, noooooo! It’s that time again! The pooper snooper (colonoscopy) exam pops up on my calendar every five years, disrupting my busy life for 48 hours. Just the thought of it makes me snap at mosquitoes, growl at dogs, and kick the stuffed cat into next week. I moan and stomp about- but I always do it. It would be a waste –(Ha! I had to sneak that in…) not to schedule this regular body maintenance, which involves a bit of effort on my part. Test preparation requires that I swallow three teeny pills, drink lots of water, down one bottle of lemon-flavored magnesium citrate the day before, be wedded to the potty for a while, and abstain from eating solid food for 24 hours. All in all, it’s a cheap price to pay for peace of mind.
Colon cancer, the second worst human killer, is incredibly sneaky, but, caught early, is completely curable. Right then, during the inspection, if the doc finds a suspicious polyp, he’ll snip it out. It’s painless. (80% of colon cancers begin with a polyp.) Interesting fact: our internal organs, colons included, have no pain receptors. Curious fact: technically, the colon is outside the body. Fascinating…
Anyway, Tuesday, after my one meal, nothing of substance passed my lips ‘til after the test on Thursday. (I did drink a cup of clear liquid chicken broth at noon on Wednesday. That was allowed.) To be honest, I really wasn’t that hungry. I kept busy, and stayed out of the kitchen, determined to be as cleaned out as possible- no cheating. It would be awful to have to start over again!
The reward for my efforts? Actually, there are two. Number one is hearing I’m healthy. And number two- and this admission is trotted out with some embarrassment, but it’s the truth- when they inject the meds to put me to sleep, I’m awash, for maybe six seconds, in drug-induced bliss. Honestly, I do relish that experience, once every five years.
The exam took maybe 15 minutes, after which I was carted off to the recovery room to revive slowly. I came awake, got the good news, jumped into my clothes and rocketed to the nearest restaurant. That meal was manna. A day without food is a reminder of how fortunate I am to have it available at any time.
(One other thing- I always book the colonoscopy to happen first thing in the morning. The doc is rested, and I can refuel that much sooner.)
Then, after lunch, I trotted off to the dermatologist for a complete skin checkup. I do this every six months, having had a warning three years ago. Melanoma and other skin cancers are fond of fair-skinned people (especially their backs, where these killers can develop unseen). But, caught early, they’re dead easy to cure.
Good thing I keep up. This time the doctor found seven small lesions here and there, and Zap!-promptly froze them off. No pain. I was in and out of there in about ten minutes.
Now, properly pruned and poked, I’m ready to begin my winter schedule; music and book-writing rate high on the list.
Oh- below are some photos of my blue topknot. There is more blue scattered around, but you get the idea. Sorry I didn’t get them out earlier. I got a tremendous response with last week’s ‘Go Blue’ column. So many folks have apparently been tempted to try silly-streaking; some declared maybe they’d actually go for it.
I sometimes play sing-along songs at the assisted living center where my daughter is Social Director. There, a slim, handsome older man who was a resident –early 70s, maybe- said, hesitantly, “I don’t know if you realize, but you have blue paint in your hair.”
I gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes! It’s everywhere! Really blue! But…you know,” Long pause- closer inspection…”it actually looks good on you. I wouldn’t rush to the sink…”
I explained, looking sheepish and apologetic, that one-gallon cans of house paint occasionally get mixed up with proper hair coloring bottles when one is elderly, like me. He looked startled, then chuckled. We had a good laugh, and I explained about my bucket list (a list of stuff one hopes to try, or do, or see, before popping off). Intrigued, the fellow- who didn’t look even 65- declared he might make his own bucket list, and pronounced my hair experiment ‘snappy.’ (By the way, it turns out that he was 90!)
Oh, and one more thing: my husband’s eyes widened, but he studied the vivid blue streaks carefully, and grinned. “I like ‘em…Yup-I like ‘em!”
Colon cancer, the second worst human killer, is incredibly sneaky, but, caught early, is completely curable. Right then, during the inspection, if the doc finds a suspicious polyp, he’ll snip it out. It’s painless. (80% of colon cancers begin with a polyp.) Interesting fact: our internal organs, colons included, have no pain receptors. Curious fact: technically, the colon is outside the body. Fascinating…
Anyway, Tuesday, after my one meal, nothing of substance passed my lips ‘til after the test on Thursday. (I did drink a cup of clear liquid chicken broth at noon on Wednesday. That was allowed.) To be honest, I really wasn’t that hungry. I kept busy, and stayed out of the kitchen, determined to be as cleaned out as possible- no cheating. It would be awful to have to start over again!
The reward for my efforts? Actually, there are two. Number one is hearing I’m healthy. And number two- and this admission is trotted out with some embarrassment, but it’s the truth- when they inject the meds to put me to sleep, I’m awash, for maybe six seconds, in drug-induced bliss. Honestly, I do relish that experience, once every five years.
The exam took maybe 15 minutes, after which I was carted off to the recovery room to revive slowly. I came awake, got the good news, jumped into my clothes and rocketed to the nearest restaurant. That meal was manna. A day without food is a reminder of how fortunate I am to have it available at any time.
(One other thing- I always book the colonoscopy to happen first thing in the morning. The doc is rested, and I can refuel that much sooner.)
Then, after lunch, I trotted off to the dermatologist for a complete skin checkup. I do this every six months, having had a warning three years ago. Melanoma and other skin cancers are fond of fair-skinned people (especially their backs, where these killers can develop unseen). But, caught early, they’re dead easy to cure.
Good thing I keep up. This time the doctor found seven small lesions here and there, and Zap!-promptly froze them off. No pain. I was in and out of there in about ten minutes.
Now, properly pruned and poked, I’m ready to begin my winter schedule; music and book-writing rate high on the list.
Oh- below are some photos of my blue topknot. There is more blue scattered around, but you get the idea. Sorry I didn’t get them out earlier. I got a tremendous response with last week’s ‘Go Blue’ column. So many folks have apparently been tempted to try silly-streaking; some declared maybe they’d actually go for it.
I sometimes play sing-along songs at the assisted living center where my daughter is Social Director. There, a slim, handsome older man who was a resident –early 70s, maybe- said, hesitantly, “I don’t know if you realize, but you have blue paint in your hair.”
I gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes! It’s everywhere! Really blue! But…you know,” Long pause- closer inspection…”it actually looks good on you. I wouldn’t rush to the sink…”
I explained, looking sheepish and apologetic, that one-gallon cans of house paint occasionally get mixed up with proper hair coloring bottles when one is elderly, like me. He looked startled, then chuckled. We had a good laugh, and I explained about my bucket list (a list of stuff one hopes to try, or do, or see, before popping off). Intrigued, the fellow- who didn’t look even 65- declared he might make his own bucket list, and pronounced my hair experiment ‘snappy.’ (By the way, it turns out that he was 90!)
Oh, and one more thing: my husband’s eyes widened, but he studied the vivid blue streaks carefully, and grinned. “I like ‘em…Yup-I like ‘em!”
