View Poll Results: Have you had a colonoscopy?
Voters: 94. You may not vote on this poll
Rear end roto rotor a/k/a Colonoscopy
06-19-2008, 04:26 PM
#1
Thread Starter
Rear end roto rotor a/k/a Colonoscopy
This is kinda long but very funny! Dave Barry's Colonoscopy:
BODY: 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 w ith 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 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 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 ly ing 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 colorectal 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, Fla. 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.
BODY: 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 w ith 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 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 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 ly ing 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 colorectal 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, Fla. 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.
06-19-2008, 04:52 PM
#3
The boss was reading me the Dave Barry description today...
Yep, I've been. Three times! Dad had colon cancer, so on my own, I went early, around age 41, went back a year or two later as the doc didn't see everything he wanted to see..
and again at 50. I'm on the five year recall plan. It truly is no big deal, as they say, the prep is the worse part, and I do have a problem with that, as I get a bit sick/nauseous, but it's not as bad as Dave Barry relates. 
I really, truly recommend that NO one put that most important test off. You feel no pain, and you generally remember nothing. Once again, "better living through drugs."
Yep, I've been. Three times! Dad had colon cancer, so on my own, I went early, around age 41, went back a year or two later as the doc didn't see everything he wanted to see..
and again at 50. I'm on the five year recall plan. It truly is no big deal, as they say, the prep is the worse part, and I do have a problem with that, as I get a bit sick/nauseous, but it's not as bad as Dave Barry relates. I really, truly recommend that NO one put that most important test off. You feel no pain, and you generally remember nothing. Once again, "better living through drugs."
06-19-2008, 05:46 PM
#5
I had a sigmoidoscopy done once and a colonoscopy done years later. I was in agony about an hour after the sigmoid. Seems I have lots of turns in my guts and the air gets stuck.
I woke up during the colonoscopy in pain so they told me to breath and knocked me back out. After it though, I was okay. I told them "be sure to get the air out," as I was advised to, in order not to have a repeat of the sigmoid episode.
I woke up during the colonoscopy in pain so they told me to breath and knocked me back out. After it though, I was okay. I told them "be sure to get the air out," as I was advised to, in order not to have a repeat of the sigmoid episode.
06-19-2008, 06:28 PM
#6
I've had two and they were both a piece of cake. The prep was the problem!
06-19-2008, 06:40 PM
#7
Originally Posted by Scooterboy,Jun 19 2008, 10:28 PM
I've had two and they were both a piece of cake. The prep was the problem!
I'd tell my "I passed out and fell in the cat bowl because of the prep" story, but I don't want to scare anyone from having the test....
Trending Topics
06-19-2008, 06:40 PM
#8
I was very happy when the doctors around Atlanta discontinued using the flexible sigmoidoscope. A colonoscopy is much easier and it is longer than the sigmoidoscope so they can see more of your inards.
Get it done!!! Our Accountant did not have his colon inspections done and when they discovered the colon cancer it was too late. He died last February.
06-19-2008, 06:44 PM
#9
Originally Posted by Lainey8484,Jun 19 2008, 06:40 PM
The prep takes a lot out of you.
I'd tell my "I passed out and fell in the cat bowl because of the prep" story, but I don't want to scare anyone from having the test....
I'd tell my "I passed out and fell in the cat bowl because of the prep" story, but I don't want to scare anyone from having the test....
Lainey is right......the prep is much worse than the test itself.
06-19-2008, 06:50 PM
#10
There are several kinds of preps. Each doc has a preference, but they all have the same result. You're pretty beat by the end of the evening.
My doc prescribed two bottles of the mag citrate, I'm pretty sure the first time I went it was only one bottle and then some pills. After drinking one bottle and almost
from it, I called and told them no way was I drinking a second bottle.
They gave me plan B, which was drink just a bit of the mag citrate and take a couple pills.
I'm only 5' tall. I should not have the same prep as a big guy, as I can't be as full of "it" as the big guy.......
My doc prescribed two bottles of the mag citrate, I'm pretty sure the first time I went it was only one bottle and then some pills. After drinking one bottle and almost
from it, I called and told them no way was I drinking a second bottle.They gave me plan B, which was drink just a bit of the mag citrate and take a couple pills.
I'm only 5' tall. I should not have the same prep as a big guy, as I can't be as full of "it" as the big guy.......