I can’t wait to get old. In fact, I dream of the day I have nothing to do but sit on my porch and throw empty beer cans and disparaging comments at any young whippersnappers that dare pass by. When you’re old, you can get away with that kind of shit. And I intend to take full advantage.
Unfortunately, my genes have sped up the need for one aspect of old age I wasn’t looking forward to: The dreaded colonoscopy.
As most of you know, Les and I first got involved with the PMC because our lives were directly impacted by the bitch that is cancer. On my end, I lost my Grandma Murray 2 years ago to pancreatic cancer, and last year my dad was diagnosed with, and kicked the ass of, colon cancer.
We ride in hopes that someday no family will have to go through what ours did.
Problem is, this is a long-term goal. So when my mom saw a CNN report saying colon cancer was on the rise for young women with a family history of the disease, she decided that riding in the PMC wasn’t enough to keep our family cancer-free. Instead, she demanded I get myself checked out.
As awful as colonoscopies sound, I wasn’t about to argue with this request. I mean come on, I *need* my butt in tip-top condition if it’s gonna survive 192 miles of one-on-one time with my bike seat. Plus, I’m a big fan of my ass, so I take pretty seriously anything that threatens the junk in my trunk.
Setting up the appointment was easy enough, though I did have to explain on numerous occasions why a healthy 25 year old was seeking out an exam normally reserved for people who check off the 50+ box. Makes you wonder if “preventative care” is more of a sexy political talking point than a health industry standard.
But I digress. While my actual colonoscopy was Tuesday, the hardest part of the whole thing was Monday’s prep- You can’t eat any solid food, or drink anything that isn’t clear, for 24 hours before the exam! This did NOT mesh well with my constant-eater life style. The saving grace was advice from Les’s mom, who’s a nurse in the GI dept of an Indiana hospital. Her words of wisdom: Beer counts as a clear liquid, and green jello tastes better when made with a liberal helping of vodka. While the jello shots seemed like more effort than they were worth, a few beers mixed with my starvation-induced delirium helped me make the best of an otherwise unpleasant day.
Then came time for the actual procedure. Just like you’d expect, you get to the hospital and they have you strip down and change into a gown. Oh, let’s pause here for a minute actually. Ya know how your mom told you to always wear clean underwear in case you get hit by a bus… well here’s something she didn’t tell you- The only thing you’re supposed to keep on for a colonoscopy are your socks and shoes; information that would have been useful to know before I reached into my sparse supply of clean undergarments that morning and settled on a fluffy, hot-pink pair of socks. So much for getting through this procedure with my dignity intact.
I don’t remember too much once they hooked up me to the IV, but I know that about 45 minutes later, the nurse woke me up to announce that my butt was …. drum roll please…. Cancer free! And even better, I don’t need another colonoscopy till I’m the ripe old age of 45. Which is still a little young to get away with throwing empty cans at kids, but if the beer is part of my colonscopy prep, I would hope the neighbors could cut me some slack.
