The Gift of Colonoscopy

My brother has given me the gift of colonoscopy. He's 34 and recently got the awesome news that he has stage IV colon cancer. Because of this, my Doctor thinks that I should get a colonoscopy every couple of years. The first one is tomorrow. I will provide coverage of this event.

Day One

9:32 AM
So they tell me that the hard part is the preparation. Up until after the procedure, I am on a clear liquid diet. That's no solid food, and nothing with color added. I'm allowed to have broth and jello. It's like spending the day at an old person's house, but with more pooping.
Another fun thing about today is the laxatives and special drink that I get to have all day. The special drink is a four liter jug filled with colon cleanse. They want the system cleaned out, so today is about pooping and not eating. It's a porn star's diet.
Before bed last night, I weighed 207 pounds. I'm hoping to get down to an even 200 by tomorrow.

11:00 AM
At noon I have to take 5 laxatives, and then the fun begins. Poopfest Extreme 2013.

12:03 PM
I have taken the laxatives. No more than 3 minutes after taking the poop pills did the power in our house go out. We have well water in my house, and when the power goes out, so does our well pump. No well pump equals no running water. I'm pretty sure that I'm being punked right now.

3:15 PM
I have Jedi-like focus. I am willing myself not to poop. I'll file these last few hours under, "how to make your colon angry."

3:30 PM
The power is back on. Just in time. I had a shovel in my hand, ready to dig a hole in the backyard when the lights came back on. I am thankful for toilets that work. Let the pooping commence.

4:00 PM
It is time for me to drink my special drank. The mix is basically baking soda and sodium. I'm not really sure how this all works, but for the next hour I need to drink two liters of the stuff, 8 ounces at a time. The bottle says that diarrhea will start within an hour of drinking the solution. The pooping is supposed to stop after three hours. So I've got that going for me.

4:30 PM
I am down one liter. I have had roughly four glasses of the nastiness. It tastes like salt mixed with band-aids. It is not the worst thing ever. It's like taking a shot of whiskey without the fun. I am muscling through this. It's pretty horrible.

5:00 PM
Two liters down. And now the waiting. That last liter was difficult. My stomach is sloshing around. No immediate need to drop a deuce yet. Time to enjoy the calm before the storm.

5:20 PM
We have lift off. I never dreamed that there could be poop like this. It's an ass faucet situation. A high pressured jet of filth is coming out of my body. It's strange. It is not like a poop your pants situation, and there's no cramping. It's just time to go to the bathroom, and then all the water in your body evacuates through your butt. It is all kinds of fun. I honestly don't see how there can be any more in my system to poop out.

5:45 PM
There was more.

6:10 PM
And more.

6:30 PM
And some more. This has to be all that is inside of me.

7:30 PM
Not quite.

8:10 PM
I am pretty sure that's it. I don't have a crazy urge to poop anymore. I think that will do it for the night.

9:30 PM
I am laying in bed early tonight. There is a battle in my guts right now. My stomach sounds like a Wookie orgy. It's growling and gurgling. I am going to bed hoping for no more poops.

DAY TWO (EXAM DAY)

7:00 AM
So it was an uneventful night. I stepped on the scale and it read 197 lbs. How's that for weight loss? 10 pounds in a day. I'm going to go on biggest loser next.
I am not a big food guy. I don't get crazy cravings and I rarely finish my plate. I don't get cranky when I don't have food. I usually go without breakfast and lunch. It's weird, I know. I've gone some time without eating before, but it was a choice before. When someone tells me that I am not allowed to eat, it makes me want to eat. Needless to say, I am starving. The good news is that I get to drink the rest of my special drink in an hour.

8:00 AM
On to the special drink. Two liters to go.

8:30 AM
I am not sure if I can drink the rest. I feel like it is the end of the night of drinking and people are trying to get me to do a couple more Jager Bombs. My body is very upset with me right now.

9:00 AM
How is there any more to poop? My body keeps proving me wrong, with the ability to poop. I haven't eaten anything in more than 24 hours, and yet, I am pooping like it is my job. If this is my new super power, I am going to be very upset.

10:00 AM
So I just read the instructions that the doctor gave me again. Apparently, I was only supposed to drink half of the four liter bowel preparation. What can I say, I'm an over achiever. There's a lesson to be learned in this. When I figure it out, I'll let you know.

11:30 AM
At this point, I am no longer allowed to drink anything until after the procedure. I know the question that is running through everyone's head is: Can Matt Beard still poop? The answer is a resounding yes. Yes I can still poop.

12:40 PM
My throat is dry, my bowels are empty, I'm weak as a kitten, and off we go. My procedure is at 1:30, but I have to get there at 1:00. I'd like to say that I'm not nervous about this, but my brother wasn't worried and he has stage four colon cancer. So yeah, I'm a bit nervous. I have been carefully examining all of my bowel movements for inconsistencies, you know, like a crazy person. Nevertheless, here I am; I've been to war twice, jumped out of more airplanes than I can count, and now I'm afraid of a doctor looking at my butt. Away we go.

3:30 PM
Procedure complete.
My wife and I were the youngest people in there. It's a good ego boost if you are starting to feel a bit old. They called me back to the preparation are, I kissed my wife and left her in the waiting room. A nurse led me back and weighed me. She took me to a curtained area with a bed, had me sign some forms, and told me to take off all of my clothes and put on a gown, but not to tie the back. I asked her why as a joke, but medical professionals don't like to joke around before looking at your butt, I guess.
I'd like to take this time to note that I have no problem with being naked. I really don't. I used to be the naked guy at parties. It's really not a big deal to me. Unfortunately, the gown that they gave me to wear must have been for a child or something. I'm not an enormous person, but I'm certainly not small. I'd like to think that I'm a large medium person or a small large person. This gown had to have been built for a toddler. I put it on, and it was like wearing a slightly large shirt. I couldn't find a way to lie on the bed without my downtown bonanza on full display. I just decided to hike up the gown and let it hang out despite it being cold in the room. I was on my side with the goods on display when the nurse came back and quickly told me to roll over on my back. She grabbed a blanket that I was supposed to use, and put it over my lower half. I suppose looking up my butt is cool, but genitals are out of the question.
She put in an IV and I waited, counting ceiling tiles (15 if you are wondering). A few minutes later a nurse rolled my bed back to the procedure room. It was dark and calm. A doctor came to my left side and introduced herself as my Anesthesiologist. I asked her what they were using on me, she said Propofol. I asked if that was the drug that Micheal Jackson used, so that I could seem smart. I already knew that it was, but it couldn't hurt to trick her into thinking that I'm intelligent.
The doctor who was preforming the procedure came in and sat and talked with me for a while. It was nice. I figured that it would be more like a drive through operation, but he took the time to talk. He asked me why I was getting a colonoscopy at the age of 33. I explained about my brother, we talked family history, etc. He told me that it was a great idea that I had come in, so I felt better about the entire situation. He asked if I had any more questions. I said, "Just one. If my colon is healthy, could you put in the report that 'Matt Beard's colon is magnificent?" He just laughed.
It was the anesthesiologist's turn next. She prepared large vials of sleepy medicine. She injected a clear liquid in. Then there was a milky white liquid. She said that it was very fast acting. In my head, I was like, "yeah right, I used to drink professionally, I can hold my own." Then she injected the white liquid. I sat up and I said, "That's good." They positioned me back down.
Then the Doctor said, "Okay, we are all done."  I was awake, like wide awake. I wasn't groggy at all. I told them I felt like singing. They told me not to, but I did anyway. They wheeled me back to the room that I started. It felt like the next day, but it was only forty minutes later. The nurse removed my IV and asked if I wanted to bring my wife back there before the doctor came in and talked to me. I said of course. I got changed and Leah was back there with me. The doctor came back and explained that my colon is healthy. No problems. I asked him if he thought that it was magnificent, he said that it was certainly healthy, then he left. I have to come back every three years because of family history. Then Leah and I, ignoring all doctor's order, ate big greasy cheeseburgers at a restaurant a couple of blocks away from the doctor's office. 

Appropriate dinner convos

We went to visit my brother-in-law and fam last night.  I guess I'm a little too used to talking about this whole cancer thing because Matt reprimanded me for not tippy toeing around it.  Matt's brother was saying that he isn't sure if there is a type of genetic colon cancer and I jumped in with figures.  12% of colon cancer cases are genetic.  I discussed this over dinner and didn't think twice about what I was saying.

When a family member is diagnosed with cancer, it's all anyone can think about.  It's the elephant in the room and the room is tiny with no AC and it's full of shit.  The only things to talk about seem terrible.  It's difficult to joke around about normal everyday things like farting in public and not murdering your coworkers.

After a year of thinking about cancer nonstop, it's commonplace for me to regurgitate cancer tidbits and not have any concern for my audience.  I have to keep in mind, though, that to a newly diagnosed patient and his family, they may not want to discuss percentages.  And the pit of cancer talk is just as desparaging as the diagnosis itself.  In the future, I will try to not depress my dinner company.

Bitch, Peas

So in an effort to live as far away from cancerville as possible, We are going to be eating healthier.  

I'm not trying to eat diet food, just real food.  Yes, of course, I will still be eating cookies, but I will try to eat cookies with ingredients I can pronounce or cookies I bake myself.  

I enjoy cooking and I love baking but working full time doesn't always allow for scratch cooking.  Pre packaged food was a norm for side dishes in my prior dinners.

My new goal is to cook real food at least five nights a week.

I've actually been successful for the past two months, and it's cheaper.

I'm not freaking out about organic vs pesticide laden, right now I'm trying to eliminate preservatives.  I'm no expert but if preservatives can keep food from breaking down on a shelf, they sure as hell can keep fat from breaking down off my ass. 

Cheers to a new kind of healthy, that will include real butter, and real milk and a lot of fuckin veggies!

Preparation H(ousehold)

Matt (our septic system) is prepping for his colonoscopy.

When bad things happen to good people

I've been thinking about karma a lot lately. Maybe my brother's cancer is some form of karmic retribution. I know a lot of people who would say that he's a great guy, but I beg to differ. I grew up with the guy. I have narrowed down why karma would be getting back at him to three reasons. 

1. He used to tell me that I was adopted and that I had no brain.

 

I know that this is not a new thing for older siblings to do, but I really believed him when he told me I was adopted. I don't really look like the rest of my family, and I was born in Japan, so it was really believable. There was a moment when I was absolutely sure that I was not part of the family. It left me suspicious of my parents to this day. 

Once I accepted that my parents had been lying to me my whole life, and that being adopted was no big deal. He would tell me that I had no brain relentlessly. It would drive me insane. I would say something, and he would say "Shut-up, you don't have a brain." I would respond with, "If I didn't have a brain, I couldn't be talking right now." He'd follow up with, "If you didn't have a brain, you wouldn't know it." Repeat this about 40 times a day, and I would start believing him. Maybe I am adopted, maybe I don't have a brain. I still don't know. 

2. He used to hit me when I beat him at video games.

We didn't have much money growing up, but somehow our parents managed to get us the latest video game system. I don't know how they managed to do it, but we got a Super Nintendo when it came out. We also got this little indie game called Street Fighter 2. We'd spend unhealthy amounts of time playing the game. My brother was a master of button mashing. I took my time and learned the special moves and secrets. I became better at the game, beating my brother nine times out of ten without trying that hard. Once that happened, his technique changed. I'd beat him, and then he would hit me over the head with the controller. I got good at dodging, but he would nail me in the head most of the time. This extended to any other game we would play. He was methodical about it though. Some times he wouldn't hit me, just to see me flinch. After I flinched, he would hit me. It made for very tense video games. Fast forward to 2013, I still play video games, and I still flinch when I win. I flinch when I am playing by myself. I don't like people sitting near me when I play games. I have PTSD from playing with my brother.

3. My brother would shoot me with a blow gun.

That's not a typo. My parents got my brother a real blow gun. He couldn't have been much older than eleven when my brother got this dangerous weapon. It fires darts that look like this:

Let me make another thing clear: we did not grow up in the country where shooting stuff is normal. We didn't have a bunch of land where shooting one of these would be sensible. We also were not south american tribesmen forced to fashion a weapon that could shoot tree dwelling animals for our survival. We were a family in a one story house in a crappy neighborhood. 

My brother would shoot this thing in his room at the walls and whatnot. When he got tired of shooting stationary targets, I was in the cross hairs. I would walk to the kitchen, and get shot in the leg. It would hurt, and I would bleed a little. My brother would threaten me if I said that I was going to tell our parents. An abusive relationship was formed. A trip to the bathroom would require quick feet and a few ninja rolls. Unfortunately, for me, my brother is a great shot. It's odd that I was the one who joined the Army, when he was so good at shooting people. 

Karma might have been paying attention to all of these things and punished him with cancer. Maybe that is what happened. If that is the case, most of us would have cancer. 

In the years that followed, my brother became a responsible hard-working guy. All this craziness happened during adolescence, he has done a lot of growing up. I'd almost call him a decent person. I have known him my entire life and he has always been there for me when I was destroying my own karma. So I think that his karmic debt would have been paid by now. 

If it is Karma; Karma can go fuck itself. 

Quit playin

I'm a creep

Is it "uncurable" or "incurable"?

Either way it's unbearable and intolerable. Cancer is all Matt and I can think about.  I was texting with my brother today about Matt's brother.  It's weird that our brothers have this in common now.  What a shitty thing to be able to relate to. Its like you win a prize for being stage IV, only winners get diagnosed stage IV on their first try. 

My brother said "What a shitty awful sneaky disease.  Cancer doesn't fight very fair.  By the time we knew about our conditions it's already too far spread.  Fucking terrible."

My brother, stage IV, feels bad for someone else that is stage IV.  I'd like to think I'd be so kind.  I'm not so sure.

If I was going through chemo, I'd be the whiniest asshole.  I'd wish everyone else would have to go through it. There is no way I'd have sympathy for anyone going through anything else.  

"Oh you're stage II? Cute"

"Oh poor thing you have pneumonia? That's adorable"

"Stroke? That's hysterical"

Basically I would use cancer as an excuse to be an even bigger jerk than I already am.  Because let's face it, if I'm suffering from headaches/cramps/vertigo/stubbed toe/corn in my teeth/boogers/heartburn, everyone suffers.

I'm constantly amazed at how pleasant my brother and brother-in-law still are, in spite of their disgusting poison treatment.

They are losing weight and white blood cells and they still are able to make jokes.  They amaze me.  

If I ever get diagnosed with cancer, please unfriend me, because I promise, I will make everyone around me miserable and enjoy every minute of it.