I Had A Colonoscopy and Went To Heaven

As that great theologian, Elvis Presley, once said, "It's been a long time, baby."

While you've been away, I've had a couple of things happen.

A couple of Fridays ago, I had a colonoscopy.  Let me explain.

Thursday afternoon, before the procedure ( a term loosely defined as a gross invasion of privacy on one of my most private parts) on Friday morning, I was instructed to use the product "Evac-U-Crap" to "cleanse" my intestinal tract.  At 4:00pm, I began.

First, I mixed 32 ounces of a semi-clear, fizzing concoction in a container provided by the manufacturer (all for the low, low price of $64.00, handling included).  Then, every fifteen minutes, I drank eight ounces of the stuff.  A play-by-play:

4:15pm--nothing.

4:30pm--nothing.

4:45pm--still nothing, although by this point I've decided I hate warm Gatorade.

5:00pm--a slight rumbling in the nether regions.  A preview of things to come.

So...about 5:18pm, more or less, I exploded in the first of several eruptions, the details of which are better left unstated.  The good news was that the whole process would begin again at 7:00pm that same day, when I would consume another 32 ounces of Evac-U-Crap, after which it would consume me.  Again.

7:15pm--pure fire turning me inside out.

7:30pm--I decide to have "Exit Only" tattooed on my lower back in hopes that will prevent the doctor from performing the procedure.

7:45pm--"Exit Only" doesn't even begin to describe it.

8:00pm--I want to die.  Or at least get a padded toilet seat.

The instructions clearly stated that I was to have a "clear liquid" diet the night before my colonoscopy.  No problem, that's what it looked like I'd been having for the past month.

Friday morning I went to the hospital, accompanied by my sweetheart, for the "procedure".  The doctor had told me that I'd be drowsy during the colonoscopy.  I demanded to be put to sleep.  Not under anesthetic--put me down, like a dying dog.  Please.

He did.  I slept through the entire twelve minutes it took him to figure out that my colon was, and is now, fine.

While I was "under", I saw Daddy and Uncle Johnny.  They were standing in front of me, somewhere which looked like the mountains where I live.  Daddy said, "We've been waiting for you", then turned and said something to Uncle Johnny, and they both laughed.

Then I woke up.

My wife said as I was coming out of the anesthesia, I asked her where Daddy was.  When she told me he wasn't there, she said I started crying.  I'm sure I did.

Not from the procedure.  From that little glimpse of heaven.

As If I Didn't Have Enough To Contend With...

...my sweetheart and I spent last Friday evening in the romantic confines of our local hospital, where I was sent after a week's worth of, well, intestinal issues.

My doctor sent me there--to a place where he doesn't have "privileges", even though he could throw a rock and hit the building. 

I wish he'da thrown the rock.

After describing my situation to the desk jockey Emergency Room Intake Specialist ($), I sat in the waiting area for (and this is no lie) one hour and twenty-two minutes. 

Good thing it wasn't serious.

Once my name was called by Nurse Ratchett the Triage Nurse ($$), my entry into the bowels of the ER ($$$) truly began.

She had me rehearse my symptoms, which I had previously told the nurse at my doctor's office, my doctor, and the Intake Specialist at the hospital.  I assume this was to ensure my story stayed consistent.  After this interview, I was informed that there were no ER rooms available and that I'd have to lie in the hallway.  If that was okay with me.

At that point I really didn't care.  Either give me a shot or shoot me.  As that great theologian Jerry Clower once said, "Shoot up in here amongst us;  one of us has got to have some relief."

I donated a blood sample, a urine sample, and drank some type of radioactive Gatorade so the radiologist ($$$$) could do a CT scan.  In two hours.

It occurred to me that, while you're lying in plain sight of God and everyone strolling about the ER, no one will look at you, much less look you in the eye.  I guess they're afraid you'll ask them for something.  Like some help.

At the 2:18 mark (post-nuclear syrup time), I walked to Radiology ($$$$) for the CT scan.  I was given some type of other dye (I'm out of dollar signs) which the Radiologist informed me could possibly (A)  Make me feel like I was tasting blood in the back of my throat, (2) feel like I was peeing on myself, and (D) cause me to throw up.

I chose all three.

After the CT scan I spent another hour lying in the ER hallway, awaiting the results.

The ER doc told me I had gastroenteritis, which is a long, expensive word which means "we don't know what's wrong with you, but this sounds severe enough to placate you for spending half a day with us".

Oh, and I have an abdominal hernia.  The doc said it was probably a side-effect of my cancer surgery.  A year and a half ago.

So now I have an appointment with a General Surgeon next Friday for the hernia, the Urologist in Alabama the following Thursday for the cancer test, a rotten stomach, and part of my intestine trying to break free of my midsection.

After which, in the words of that great philosopher Travis Tritt,  they'll be "billing me for killing me".

Lord have mercy on the working man.

The Best Elvis Song of All Time. Probably.

A remix from "Viva Elvis"....

I Cut My Finger and Just About Died

A couple of weeks ago, in a moment of lapsed judgment, I cut my index finger badly.  With my own knife.  While trying to remove a staple from a piece of paper.

A couple of days after that, I went to the doctor, since the finger hadn't stopped bleeding.  Or hurting.

While there, he suggested that I go ahead and do my PSA test, which I've been doing every three months since having prostate cancer last year.

A week later, he called with the results.  They were not good.

Now, this is the guy who saved my life by finding the cancer in the first place.  But it looks like every time I go to him for something else, he finds cancer.  I'm thinking about changing doctors.

Anyway...according to him, I shouldn't have any PSA readings at all since I no longer have the organ which produces the readings in the first place.  But I do, even though I don't.

Both indicators indicate that the cancer is back. 

And to think I thought the catheter would be the worst part of all this.  What an idiot.

So I called the Specialist in Alabama, who set me up with an appointment on October 21 for another PSA test and consultation.  He said, "If you're not overly concerned, I'd like to wait four weeks, do another test, then decide what we need to do next."

Concerned?  Me?

I'm looking forward to the October Surprise like a trip to the...oh wait, there's no comparison.

He suspects the first surgery either missed something or left something behind.  YOU THINK?

I already didn't feel the best;  now I feel worse.  I'm not a pessimist, though.

You know the definition of a pessimist?  Someone who feels bad when they feel good for fear they'll feel worse when they feel better.

Not me.  I'm an optimistic realist.

If I have cancer--again--I'm sure there's something they can do for it.  I'm sure it involves some sort of "procedure" (another word for YEEEOOOWWWW), "recovery" (an extension of the "procedure"), and, yes, a catheter.

I don't care at this point.  I just want to know what's going on, why it's going on, and what the doctor's going to do about it.

(Ever notice how medical professionals use the plural "we" when talking about what only "they" are going to do?  I've often wondered what my contribution to the "we" is, since I'm out cold during the entire process.)

So, that's it.  It may be back, it may not be.  Looks like it is.

I can't wait.

Talking About God--Or Not

My son and I were discussing spiritual things this morning when he told me about a blog he'd visited where the discussion about God went to...let's say, a different plane.

According to him, reading it sounded something like this:

BIGWORD BIGWORD, I sense that BIGWORD BIGWORD BIGWORD, and that the Scriptures BIGWORD BIGWORD, therefore BIGWORD BIGWORD BIGWORD.  BIGWORD GOD BIGWORD BIBLE BIGWORD SUNDAY and JESUS.

He thought his head would explode.  So did I.

He's tempted to post a question on this blog like this:

Did God mean what he said when he said it?  Was Jesus telling it straight when he said what he said?  Is ABCD really ABCD--or is it actually BCDE?  Is Elvis really alive? (the last one was my contribution)

My son had a coach who told them over and over again:  Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Of all the discussions we could have about God, wouldn't the same philosophy make sense?

Or do only those with BIG WORDS have the right--and obvious intelligence--to have this discussion?

I grew up in a country church, where Preacher Bill Coleman, a textile worker turned preacher, "preached the Word" every Sunday (even if he did buy some of his sermons).  He was a country preacher, using country words, to preach to country folks.

I miss that.

I won't miss the BIG WORDS once they're gone.  And gone they will be.

For I'm certain Heaven ain't got room enough for BIG WORDS.  Only a BIG GOD.

Elvis Saturday

I love this song...



I read that this was recorded around 3:30am the morning after the "Aloha" special.  The King ain't wearing his cape--or belt--because he threw them into the audience.

Some Stuff You Just Can't Make Up. Nor Would You Want To.

I don't always know what people are thinking, but I can sure tell when they're not.

I receive frequent emails from WSB Radio, and at the bottom of today's email was an ad for charity event called--and I am not making this up--"24 Hours Of Booty".

What would you think those twenty-four hours would entail (heh-heh)?  And what charity would benefit?

Lest you think I'm lying, here's the link:  http://www.24hoursofbooty.org/site/PageServer

It is a bike ride.  For cancer research. 

Okie Dokie.

For those of you with gutterbrains, if you scroll down to the bottom of the webpage, you'll also notice among the beneficiary organizations one called "Keep Pounding".

All right.

Somebody needs to get to the bottom of this, and soon.  Before people get the wrong impression.

Like I did.