Ouch!!! It's kicking my a s s. This is the second go round in less than a year even with the suggested diet. Nothing but liquids for the next few days.

I'll most likely have to have another "probing".


Dave Barry Colonoscopy Inducement

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 butt.

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 colo-
rectal 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 as 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
email 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 BUTT!''

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 that I understood
and totally agreed with whatever the hell 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 the 17,000-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 all that.

Which brings us to you, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss or Ms. Over-50-And-Hasn't-
Had-a-Colonoscopy. Here's the deal: You either have colo-rectal
cancer, or you don't. If you do, a colonoscopy will enable doctors to
find it and do something about it. And if you don't have cancer,
believe me, it's very reassuring to know you don't. There is no sane
reason for you not to have it done.

I am so eager for you to do this that I am going to induce you with an
Exclusive Limited Time Offer. If you, after reading this, get a
colonoscopy, let me know by sending a self-addressed stamped envelope
to Dave Barry Colonoscopy Inducement, The Miami Herald, 1 Herald
Plaza, Miami, FL 33132. I will send you back a certificate, signed by
me and suitable for framing if you don't mind framing a cheesy
certificate, stating that you are a grown-up who got a colonoscopy.
Accompanying this certificate will be a square of limited-edition
custom-printed toilet paper with an image of Miss Paris Hilton on it.
You may frame this also, or use it in whatever other way you deem fit.

But even if you don't want this inducement, please get a colonoscopy.
If I can do it, you can do it. Don't put it off. Just do it.

Be sure to stress that you want the non-Abba version.

That's very funny, but I'll still pass on the Colonoscopy.

I've had three in the past 13 years due to family history. The sole discomfort is chuggin the industrial strength laxative the night before, and if you approach it the same way as you did with your frat brothers and that half gallon of tequila . . . it's not that hard either.

The wonders of modern intravenous anesthesia, can't say enough good things about it.

Sigh.

Hit the big five oh week before last.

Been down the 17,000 mile probe road once before a couple decades ago, prolly time to do it again.

__________________
1961 220b: first project car - sold.
2000 CLK 430: first modern Benz - sold.
2001 CLK 55: OMG the torque!!! - sold
1972 280SE 4.5: Baby Gustav
1991 300TE 4Matic: Gretel the Snow Bunny - sold
1978 300SD: Katz the Free Man - given away
1980 Redhead: Darling Wife

Fifty... a mailbox full of AARP junk.

LOL, I'm still getting junk mail from those idiots.

Joke: Do you know what AARP stands for?
Answer: That's the sound you make just before you die.

I had my doctor do an "in the office" probe about 7 years ago after a close friend had 7 feet (?) of his colon removed because of cancer. My doctor, about a foot and a half up with his instrument (a shorter version of the full colonoscopy) said, "You have a polup that will have to be removed. We'll make an appointment for you to have that taken care of. He continued to push the probe and it became very uncomfortable for me. I asked since I would have to have the full scope, could he stop the "in office" procedure. Appointment was made, the day after my birthday. The time came and I said "I made a mistake" as I had to go through the prep ON MY BIRTHDAY!

Went in the next morning, got on the gurney, was knocked out, and woke up in the recovery room. The Dr. said, I have some good news and some bad news for you. We took out the polup that your Dr. found a few weeks ago and their were no others to be found. I said good, what's the bad news? He said he thinks that he punctured my colon and their was an ambulance waiting in the back to take me to the hospital. I then asked him if that meant I couldn't mow the grass tomorrow? He acknowleged that I couldn't then got loaded onto the ambulance gurney then off to the hospital. A rough ride on my inards, I could then tell that he did infact do some damage to me. A round of xrays confirmed the case then it was off to the operating room only to get knocked out again. The next Dr. had to remove about 5 inches of my colon, pull the two parts out of a small incision, stich them back together and stuff the colon back into me. I was in the hospital for 4 days of recovery.

Not a pleasant experience, but my friend passed away later that year because of the cancer. I would recomend getting one to be sure, his death was not a pretty thing, I saw him the night (7 hours) before he passed, I will never forget that.

I'll definitely pass on the Colonoscopy.

Most, but not all, polyps that can turn cancerous are relatively slow growing, so it's inaction that's the biggest risk and the likely cause of serious complications, including death.

By the way boys, don't forget about that prostate.

The only reason I considered joining AARP was to sign up my spouse - who's all of 29

__________________
1961 220b: first project car - sold.
2000 CLK 430: first modern Benz - sold.
2001 CLK 55: OMG the torque!!! - sold
1972 280SE 4.5: Baby Gustav
1991 300TE 4Matic: Gretel the Snow Bunny - sold
1978 300SD: Katz the Free Man - given away
1980 Redhead: Darling Wife

Goodness i am overdue. The last one was in 89 at Hermman in the med center. Two years before the i developed diverticulitis/divertulosis and had a colostomy for six weeks from a perforated bowel and and perotinitis.

__________________
TXBill



Former owner of a few diesel MB cars
1998 Lexus ES 300 In Chicago We Trust

stop being a sissy its not as bad as it sounds plus your are not really awake, they part put you under and you dont feel anything BUT you do walk different from them on HAHHAHAHAHAHAhah just kidding, It is better than wearing a bag for the rest of your life because you did not man up and have it done.

The second time is actually harder to do well for me it was -- jz

I feel as though probed after just paying property taxes. Now this...

Whiskey is a clear liquid. Crap, the meds they have me on... off to check.

I may or, may not be back.