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Just Thinking...
GrundleStiltzkin
Member Posts: 61,515 
in Tug Tavern
Through mankind's history, we faced certain foes considered to be the most vile and duplicitous of the time. In classical days, that might have been Trojans, or later the Hun. Our grandfathers may well considered that most terrible enemy to be foot soldier of Imperial Japan. More recently, it could be Osama Bin Laden or the cartels of Wild Mexico.
Yet, there's been a constant throughout the Holocene Epoch, one adversary as repugnant, sneaky, and treacherous as it is omnipresently hazardous. The Shart.
Yet, there's been a constant throughout the Holocene Epoch, one adversary as repugnant, sneaky, and treacherous as it is omnipresently hazardous. The Shart.
Comments
Getting scope raped today so just did the clean out. Even a thought of a fart requires a trip to the toilet to be sure
You're stuck with me
> BYLINE: By Dave Barry, McClatchy Newspapers
>
> OK. You turned 50. You know you're supposed to get a colonoscopy. But
you
> haven't. Here are your reasons:
>
> 1. You've been busy.
> 2. You don't have a history of cancer in your family.
> 3. You haven't noticed any problems.
> 4. You don't want a doctor to stick a tube 17,000 feet up your
behind.
>
> Let's examine these reasons one at a time. No, wait, let's not.
Because
> you
> and I both know that the only real reason is No. 4. This is natural.
The
> idea of having another human, even a medical human, becoming deeply
> involved
> in what is technically known as your 'behindular zone' gives you the
> creeping willies.
>
> I know this because I am like you, except worse. I yield to nobody in
the
> field of being a pathetic weenie medical coward. I become faint and
> nauseous
> during even very minor medical procedures, such as making an
appointment
> by
> phone. It's much worse when I come into physical contact with the
medical
> profession. More than one doctor's office has a dent in the floor
caused
> by
> my forehead striking it seconds after I got a shot.
>
> In 1997, when I turned 50, everybody told me I should get a
colonoscopy.
> I
> agreed that I definitely should, but not right away. By following this
> policy, I reached age 55 without having had a colonoscopy. Then I did
> something so pathetic and embarrassing that I am frankly ashamed to
tell
> you
> about it.
>
> What happened was, a giant 40-foot replica of a human colon came to
Miami
> Beach. Really. It's an educational exhibit called the Colossal Colon,
and
> it
> was on a nationwide tour to promote awareness of colorectal cancer.
The
> idea
> is, you crawl through the Colossal Colon, and you encounter various
> educational items in there, such as polyps, cancer and hemorrhoids the
> size
> of regulation volleyballs, and you go, 'Whoa, I better find out if I
> contain
> any of these things,' and you get a colonoscopy.
>
> If you are a professional humor writer, and there is a giant colon
within
> a
> 200-mile radius, you are legally obligated to go see it. So I went to
> Miami
> Beach and crawled through the Colossal Colon. I wrote a column about
it,
> making tasteless colon jokes. But I also urged everyone to get a
> colonoscopy. I even, when I emerged from the Colossal Colon, signed a
> pledge
> stating that I would get one.
>
> But I didn't get one. I was a fraud, a hypocrite, a liar. I was
> practically
> a member of Congress. Five more years passed. I turned 60, and I still
> hadn't gotten a colonoscopy. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got an
e-mail
> from my brother Sam, who is 10 years younger than I am, but more
mature.
> The
> e-mail was addressed to me and my middle brother, Phil. It said:
'Dear
> Brothers, 'I went in for a routine colonoscopy and got the dreaded
> diagnosis: cancer. We're told it's early and that there is a good
> prognosis
> that they can get it all out, so, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and
all
> that. And of course they told me to tell my siblings to get screened.
I
> imagine you both have.'
>
> Um. Well. First I called Sam. He was hopeful, but scared. We talked
for a
> while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy Sable, a
> gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few
days
> later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a
> lengthy
> organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing
briefly
> through Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to
me
> in
> a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but
I
> didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking,
> quote,
> 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'
>
> I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a
prescription
> for
> a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold
a
> microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now
suffice
> it
> to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's
> enemies.
>
> I spent the next several days productively sitting around being
nervous.
> Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In
> accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day;
all
> I
> had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less
flavor.
> Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of
powder
> together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm
water.
> (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32
> gallons.)
> Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour,
because
> MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat
spit
> and
> urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
>
> The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a
great
> sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose watery bowel
> movement may result.' This is kind of like saying that after you jump
off
> your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.
>
> MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here,
but:
> Have you ever seen a space shuttle launch? This is pretty much the
> MoviPrep
> experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the
> commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined
to
> the
> bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when
you
> figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of
> MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel
into
> the
> future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.
>
> After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next
morning
> my
> wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I
worried
> about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return
bouts
> of
> MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on Andy?' How do
you
> apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be
> enough.
>
> At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging hat I understood
and
> totally agreed with whatever the h*ell the forms said. Then they led
me to
> a
> room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little
> curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those
hospital
> garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it
on,
> makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.
>
> Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left
hand.
> Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was
> already
> lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their
> MoviPrep.
> At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I
> pondered
> what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the
> bathroom,
> so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have
no
> choice but to burn your house.
>
> When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where
> Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see
> the17,000 foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there
somewhere.
> I
> was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left
> side,
> and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in
my
> hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the
song
> was
> 'Dancing Queen' by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs
that
> could be playing during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' has
to
> be
> the least appropriate.
>
> 'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me. 'Ha
ha,'
> I
> said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more
than a
> decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to
tell
> you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like. I have no idea.
Really.
> I
> slept through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel
the
> beat from the tambourine ...' ... and the next moment, I was back in
the
> other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at
me
> and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent
> when
> Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with
> flying
> colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.
>
> But my point is this: In addition to being a pathetic medical weenie,
I
> was
> a complete moron. For more than a decade I avoided getting a procedure
> that
> was, essentially, nothing. There was no pain and, except for the
MoviPrep,
> no discomfort. I was risking my life for nothing.
>
> If my brother Sam had been as stupid as I was - if, when he turned 50,
he
> had ignored all the medical advice and avoided getting screened - he
still
> would have had cancer. He just wouldn't have known. And by the time he
did
> know - by the time he felt symptoms - his situation would have been
much,
> much more serious. But because he was a grown-up, the doctors caught
the
> cancer early, and they operated and took it out. Sam is now recovering
and
> eating what he describes as 'really, really boring food.' His
prognosis is
> good, and everybody is optimistic, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and