Monday, February 9, 2015

Chug It

This is my week for 'routine screenings.' I'm telling you that routine screenings are often anything but routine.

Here's your warning. If you have a sensitive stomach, you should stop reading now. Just stop. No need to keep reading as this is going to be a TMI moment. Really. Just click that little red X in the upper right-hand corner and go read something else. I won't be offended. You're not going to miss anything. Really. 

Still here? Think you're tough, do you? Don't say I didn't warn you.

My mammogram went fairly well last week, but I'm sure that woman cranked the vice grips until my mouth came open. That was her cue that it was tight enough.

"Don't breathe," she said every time she reached that point. How could I? My breast was clamped to the point of bursting. If she had asked me to tell secrets of national security, I would have spilled my guts, told them everything. I would have made up a list of communists on the spot. I wondered if anyone ever burst a boob on her watch. But, to her credit, she was quick and there were only four clamps and I was done. The warm robe was nice, but nothing, I'm telling you nothing was going to make me forget that this wasn't some sort of sadistic day spa. It's a mammogram people. The spa atmosphere just didn't do it for me. It might even give me the jitters when I'm about to get my next hot stone massage. Will my therapist be confused as to why she's there? If she tells me not to breathe, I am jumping off that damned table, hot stones and all. My breasts are aching just thinking about it.

Moving on.

Now, it is 3:27am and I'm preparing for a colonoscopy. I only have three more glasses of that stuff to drink and then I can relax. Well, I'll be spending the next hour in the bathroom, but I can mostly relax. I hate drinking that stuff. It makes me gag.

Being a frequent flier with colonoscopies, I recommend that you make sure your bathroom is clean, heated, and cozy for your visit.

----I just deleted a bunch of details I wrote. -----

It may be 3:53 in the morning and I'm nearly drunk on MoviPrep and not eating for two days, but I will not tell you the gory details, not even for your own good.

Don't you just love when some old fart tells you details about his colostomy bag or his gall stones or his hernia as if it's for your own good?

Oh God! I've become that old person. I have. I promise that I will not tell you details of my latest surgery. My grandma used to do that, scars and all. It was horrifying. No six year old girl wants to see the eight inch scar across her grandma's belly. I used to try to tell her that, but did she listen? Did she? Crap, she should have known by the look on my face.

And here I am telling you about colonoscopies. Sorry. There is a reason I stayed away all week. I was trying to preserve your sense of control over age. Here's the truth. You don't get as much control as you get older. It gets worse and worse until you're finally hooked up to machines and they breathe and eat for you. I'm telling you. Getting old sucks and I'm going to fight it all the way.

But I am on a schedule for my screenings. I'm not sure if I'm losing control here or maintaining it a bit longer because I'm trying to stay healthy.

Guess what? I've just finished the last of my MoviPrep. If they tell you that you need MoviPrep, they are NOT giving you a package of popcorn, soda, and your 3-D glasses. Drinking that stuff is the worst part of the whole deal. I think it helps to use cold water even though the instructions say to use lukewarm water. It's also better if you close your eyes and don't breathe while you're drinking it. It's flavored something like Gatorade and I'm not a fan, so I just chug as if I were still in college. Remember those people yelling, 'Chug it, chug it, chug it' until somebody puked? At the end, I wanted to smash that glass right into the fireplace in victory.

Now I just have to let it pass. That's the thing about these 'routine screenings.' There's a lot you just have to endure in the hopes that you won't have to do it for another five years. Well, it's a year for your mammogram, but who's counting?

Thanks for listening, jb

No comments:

Post a Comment