I’ve done some sitting down over the past decade. IT work and writing. Sitting down. Seven years ago, I noticed a side effect of this lifestyle: A hemorrhoid. Ever since, I’ve had either this original little friend, or its successor(s). They’re nothing to be ashamed of. Many of you have them. Many of you hide them. Some you can see. Mine, thankfully, have never been visable. Oh, but they make their presence known in other ways: pain, otherworldly itching, and the infrequent tendency to bleed a little. There are unnerving things, like people appearing out of nowhere and frantically waving down traffic. Unnerving. Passing a little blood during your special board meeting. Unnerving. It happened once, four years ago, and the escapist in me thanked it for not returning. Then, a year or so back, it happened again. “It’s just a hemorrhoid,” those trusted few would say. Makes sense. Without getting any more graphic, the occurrences do seem to be born of a more topical as opposed to internal, source. But I’m no doctor, and when it happened two weeks ago, I went to see one.
My new doctor is an older, jubilant, optimistic, Jewish lady. She talks faster than any woman I’ve ever met. After diagnosing a mild hernia on my front side, this older, jubilant, optimistic, Jewish lady commenced with the “bedside exam” - a sugarcoated way of saying that she had her entire hand in my ass. “Oh my god” is exactly what I said. Then I flashed through a series of great proctologic movie scenes, resting on the great M. Emmet Walsh (my favorite character actor) examining Chevy Chase in Fletch, though I can vouch for not getting the urge to do something stupid like sing “Moon River.” The exam registered a very faint trace of you-know-what, to which the Doc echoed the trusting few: “I feel pretty certain it’s a hemorrhoid, but I can’t be 100 percent sure with this exam. You need to get the gold standard of tests.”
The “gold standard of tests” is a colonoscopy, “the visual examination of the large intestine using a lighted, flexible fiberoptic or video endoscope.” So goes the helpful literature that was promptly sent to my mailbox. A very common test, I’m told. It’s scheduled for the 19th of this month. I moved it back from an original date of the 16th, the day after my birthday. Not that I have big plans, but those plans will not include consuming a bottle of Miralax, two tabs of Duicolax, a bottle of Gatorade, and then settling in for 12 straight hours of Democratic Republic of the Congo - style “preparation.”
The week prior (starts today) requires the following preparation: No Aspirin, Advil, Motrin, Ibuprofen, Aleve, Iron, Vioxx, Celebrex, or Aspirin products. They conclude with this childishly funny instruction: “No corn should be eaten.”
As usual, nothing alarming has occurred over the past 2 - 3 weeks. I’m probably in fine health, aside from my sizable neurosis. I’ve been regular and normal in appearance. This tempts me to cancel the whole ordeal - a foolish thought. This is ultimately a good idea. Things need to get checked out. I’m about to turn 31.
Every day leading up to the exam, I will write an entry about the procedure. I’ll discuss the drugs, the “induced amnesia”, my anticipation, my worries, and I’ll fish for things to say about the procedure. Then, I’ll end with an account of that day…the best I can manage, of course. No, this is not an attempt to woo the editors of Vice Magazine.