Post by Wapitiwill on May 28, 2008 11:06:53 GMT -8
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.
> 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.