Clever Magazine, Spr '10 "Now you're telling me this " (www.clevermag.com)

Wanna read the latest from Clever Magazine?
Click here and return to the coverpage!

Now You’re Telling Me This

By Peter Simons

I live in Central Oregon and I am fifty-four years old. I am merely an amateur writer that tries to take life's trials and tribulations, and write about them in a humorous way. Colon Cancer is no laughing matter. In this piece I have written about my own experience. I hope, through humor, to encourage people not to delay this life saving exam.

There are relatively few things one can describe with a single word and elicit the same reaction from everyone.

“Colonoscopy” is one of those things. Even if you have not had the pleasure, the combination of “Colon” and “Scope” should be enough to induce a queasy reaction.

A good result, and instantly a Colonoscopy becomes the “butt” of jokes. A bad result, on the other hand, can be terrifying.

Soon after my fifty-fourth birthday it was time once again, to face the dreaded probe. My first one, five years earlier, had resulted in a slight concern. The surgeon removed one polyp with “cancerous potential.”

I have a huge respect for medical professionals. However, joining a mind-numbingly scary word, “cancer,” to a mundane word, “potential,” makes me crazy.

Me being me, I began to process every possible dark outcome for my upcoming procedure. “Procedure,” sounds more like the instructions for assembling a backyard grill doesn’t it?

Prep day was hell. It began with picking up my “prep kit” from the pharmacy. After obtaining a list from my insurance company, I had to choose between several products. With names as inviting as “Movelitely” and “TriLitely,” how would I decide?

Question, which of the following is true: Do the manufacturers believe we are so dumb, that merely giving their product an inviting name will make us feel better? Could it be the sick bastards in the marketing department, busted up at the water cooler, and had a huge laugh at our expense?

Trilitely was the obvious choice because, after all “it’s 3 times as lite,” right?

When the pharmacist came towards me - smirking - carrying a gallon jug, my heart just sank to the floor. Living in a small rural town, where everyone knows everyone else’s business, was not making this any easier.

“Let me explain the procedure,” she said. “Great,” I thought, “what are we assembling today?”

The Pharmacist added in a cheerful tone, “It comes with flavor packets.” I looked at the jug and the “Wild Cherry” flavor packet, the size of a sugar sachet, I was not optimistic.

I have no idea what embalming fluid would taste like, but this must be close. One sip and I knew, disguising this stuff was going to take way more than green Jell-O and Popsicles.

According to my calculations, I was going to have to drink the hell juice at a rate of one cup every 20 minutes to finish the jug in three hours. Three hours was my arbitrary goal.

I paced up and down in front of the cup like a wrestler sizing up the competition. I used all four flavor packets and about half a pound of lemonade crystals. The taste never rose one degree above vile and disgusting.

I met my goal, what happened next bared no resemblance to “lite”.

In my “pre-procedure” paperwork, The Center had emphasized the need to bring picture ID. This was pointed out again when the nurse called me the day before “my visit.” My wife and I arrived at the surgery center. One of the first things they asked me to produce was my picture ID. Call me silly, but what are the chances someone would choose to fake being me and have MY colonoscopy? Somehow, I sincerely doubt identity theft to steel colonoscopies is a huge concern for the industry.

The instructions described their use of “Conscious Sedation.” I thought about this for about 5 seconds. “Terri”, I said to my nurse, “can we lean more towards sedation, the conscious part doesn’t sound that appealing.” “Works for me,” she replied.

They wheeled me into the “procedure room”. If you’re going to perform procedures, you have to have a room to perform them in, duh? It looked like an operating room to me, but what do I know?

Someone had decided to select organ music, probably one of the sick bastards from TriLitely marketing.

“Terri, what’s with the organ music, it sounds like a funeral home in here,” I said as the vein in my neck began to throb. I was half expecting someone to whisper, “Hello my name is Doctor Frankenstein”. Terri laughed and changed the channel, although I don’t think …”I am the walrus goo goo ga joob…” was much of an improvement.

The surgeon introduced herself and we made small talk for a few minutes. I think it’s the colonoscopy equivalent of foreplay.

I was describing my love and admiration for the folks over at TriLitely, when she dropped the bombshell. “Oh there are some pills you could have taken and just drank water,” she explained. “Now you’re telling me this”, I uttered softly, not wishing to upset “The Keeper Of The Probe.”

The amnesia that accompanies Conscious Sedation is very strange. Unlike general anesthetic, where you lose an entire portion of your life, I have disjointed bits of memory, creatures with large eyes and scaly skin.

I vaguely remember being shown pictures of my colon. I wish someone would tell me why they do that? My wife tells me I made some wise-ass comment about turning it into a screensaver. Damn, one of my best lines and I don’t remember making it.

The nurse helped me dress and gave me two juice drinks, or so they claimed on my bill, I remember one. Then there’s the mystery bathroom visit which we don’t need to go into!

Well this time I passed with flying colors, no polyps.

I did turn the colon images into a screensaver eliciting a reaction of “I don’t think so,” from my wife. The screensaver was summarily changed back to our 20^th anniversary pictures.

The Center staff were fantastic, life is good, next up prostate exam. My doctor says he has small hands, oh joy.