Message For All. Copy and Pasted from SN.

[John Rogers]

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.


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.

[cueball44]

Already had three. All clear after dodgy polyp found in the first one. Will be sending me a test kit in two years just to check things out. Not a nice experience, but having one is necessary and for your own good. Once you stop screaming you know you have cracked it. (Kidding). Don't ignore any offers.

[Rob Pithers]

When I had mine, after the laxative ( I can't remember its name) I had exactly the same results as John, i.e. I went nuclear. Then came the good part. Our local hospital now doesn't carry out this procedure, so I had the wife drive to Scarborough, about an hour away. Of course we didn't get there without mishap. She nearly pissed herself laughing as I was trying to explain to 2 Boys in Blue why I was sh1tting in the layby. Fortunately they thought it was funny too. Strange when I complained to the Hospital about this, I got no feedback.
Rob
PS I was clear too!

[cueball44]

Originally Posted by Rob Pithers

When I had mine, after the laxative ( I can't remember its name) I had exactly the same results as John, i.e. I went nuclear. Then came the good part. Our local hospital now doesn't carry out this procedure, so I had the wife drive to Scarborough, about an hour away. Of course we didn't get there without mishap. She nearly pissed herself laughing as I was trying to explain to 2 Boys in Blue why I was sh1tting in the layby. Fortunately they thought it was funny too. Strange when I complained to the Hospital about this, I got no feedback.
Rob
PS I was clear too!

It's MoviPrep. You must have got your times wrong concerning when to take it. You shouldn't have had to relieve yourself on the way to the Hospital.

[Ron Stringer]

Don't know about MoviPrep but, from my experience, if it had been Picolax you wouldn't have had to worry about the journey to the hospital - you wouldn't have been able to leave the house until it had finished with you.

[Varley]

Too much curry I expect but Picolax was not the tool to 'finish the job', to coin a phrase. My report to nurse before seeing the mobile obsessed cameraman prompted her to demand a follow up with an enema. Even then I beat her longest estimate by 5 minutes. It looks as if mine run like clockwork even when someone screws with the clock.

PS, I walked to the hospital. There's daring!

[Hugh Shuttleworth]

It's not the MoviPrep .............. never had the Nuclear type evacuation of the bowels but it worked (and I hate Picolax Ughh!) ............. its the day of liquids only the day before the procedure that I dread. I squirted in a good measure of concentrated fruit squash (not red or bright orange, get rattled across the knuckles for that ) and the moviprep was much more acceptable though still a challenge. 2 litres equals 3½ pints equals 4½ pints across the pond. Undergone the procedure several times having become a victim of Colitis. Just seemed a tad odd last time in Darlington when a blonde with a pony tail was inserting the device !

[ShipwreckX]

If I may be of help, the prep fluid goes down better if you drink it with a straw. The results are the same, but you have a better chance of not puking.

[billyboy]

dont know about the going down but the way it came back out was like I had swallowd a ruddy depth charge

[Tom Alexander]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oX2_4y_zg_8

[paul178]

Off topic but get your Prostate checked especialy if you are 50+ embarrasing for you maybe but not for the Doctor. My advice might just save your life.
Do not put it off Some sighs to watch for getting up in the night for a pee not emptying your bladder fully and having to go a second time shortly after and blood in urine. I had that and it was an enlarged prostate and was sent to urology for tests. This was not the most pleasent of trips but I was diagnosed with BPH read the link below
http://www.healthline.com/health-slideshow/bph-symptoms

Go and see your Doctor now. If you have cancer in the early stages it can be treated if left you are looking at your box!

[Varley]

A nice Mr. Upsdell said mine looked beautiful when making his movie of it and its environs a few years ago. (Prompted by GP detecting blood in the urine. It appears I am one of those who 'just do pass blood'). Not ever to be ignored, a colleague from Denholm's here has just had a kidney removed as his examination (by the same gentleman) found a tumour.

Just presently anno domini and a terrific 'cold' has awarded me with both middle ears full of fluid. Snot loosening medication by mouth, steroids blown up the nostrils. Joy.

We have 'done' the colonoscopy trail already but just to ram it home (as it were) I am visiting again today a Schulte colleague who has had bowel surgery 'go wrong'. The British 'post a turd' service and the camera are painless enough (and cheap). What he is going through now is not.

[Rodney]

My wife and I have had ours done every five years since we were me 60, and she 50. The very first time we booked them in to be done was on the same day. I had just been prepped and laying on my left side, the doctor entered, (the room, not me) and introduced himself and said "Congratulations, you and your wife are the first his and her colonoscopies I've ever performed or heard of, let's hope it starts a trend."

[ShipwreckX]

I finally had mine last December (thank you Obamacare). One tip I would like to pass on is that ghastly prep goes down better with a straw.

[cueball44]

Colonoscopy result. Be very careful when choosing to dine on 'Sushi'.

[billbren]

Hello, great pain killer is vape with analgesics. Learn about it cbdornot.com/thc-vape-juice/. The substance affects your mucosa and you don't feel pain in a few hours after that. I think that you not heard about it.

[tugger]

My Wife didn't make it from her bed to the toilet in the hospital as well. Hope she doesn't read this.
Tugger

[Howardang]

Originally Posted by John Rogers

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.


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.

Bravo sir. Very, very good advice.

Howard

[Jolly Jack]

Originally Posted by tugger

My Wife didn't make it from her bed to the toilet in the hospital as well. Hope she doesn't read this.
Tugger

Tugger, this reminded me of my appendix operation back in 1972.


About 2 days after the op., I still had a lot of pain and found it difficult to move in the bed even but much worse trying to get to the toilet for a pee, which was luckily just opposite my bed - the last in a very long ward. Anyway, the Sister nurse came to my bed and said abruptly, "Mr Jarman, have you moved your bowels"? Taken aback, having never had anyone ask me that ever before, I said, "They were there a minute ago"! She must have thought I was 'being clever' and stalked off. Five minutes later a very pretty nurse came to me and said that she was to give me a suppository. I said, "Isn't that where they keep books"? "Something like that" she said and told me to turn on my side FACING AWAY!
She then popped a little capsule in my arris and said "Give it ten minutes then go to the toilet". Well me, in my own inimitable way, thought that I would give it 15 ....to be sure!! After that, when the rumbling had started, I painfully got off the bed and awkwardly shuffled to the toilet. When I got there, being only one crapper, it was occupied!! I shouted "Will you be long" and got the reply to "Foxtrot - Oscar". Charming!!Now I knew there was an identical toilet at the end of the ward opposite about 200 yards away, so as best as I could I shuffled all that way clenching my bum in agony all the way. luckily it was vacant.................!!


JJ.

[lakercapt]

I have had several of these wonderful procedures as it was discovered I had a cancerous polyp and had a colon resection. As I can attest the worst part is the preparation. The liquid diet and then the nitro which makes you a resident of the toilet for hours.
On the last occasion, I had an unusual request to the Doctor. I wished to see what was going on. Instead of being completely under I sort of floated and watch on the TV screen and heard all that was going on. Very interesting watching the probe on its passage and the doctor telling the assistant to flush, suction and then tattooing any polyp that he thought should be watched for future developments.
Once was enough !!!!

[YM-Mundrabilla]

Scheduled for 6 May 2019.
Different preparation stuff this time. Something called Plenvu which apparently tastes so bad one has to drink it through a straw thereby avoiding most of the taste buds.
Isn't there a rule 'the worse a medication tastes the more effective it is'?
Anybody had Plenvu Preparation?