COLONOSCOPIES ARE OK WHEN YOU GET TO THE BOTTOM OF IT

One of the realities of reaching that certain time of life is discovering all sorts of … let’s say, inner qualities

FORGET same-sex marriage, when it comes to a more mature crowd, there’s only one topic that’s top (or is it bottom?) of the list.

While it falls broadly under the heading of health, it’s a bit more, um, deep and meaningful. I’m not sure quite how we got here. But suddenly, the c-word is constantly dropped at gatherings of over-40s.

It’s a little bit diet, a little bit digestion … it’s the colonoscopy craze.

Haven’t you heard, darling? Everyone’s doing it.

Quite frankly, brown is the new black.

I thought I had decades left until our bodily ins and outs, so to speak, were a subject of fascination.

When I chat to my 70something mother, I anticipate a good 10-minute monologue on Elsie’s hip and Gerald’s scan last Monday or was it Tuesday? No, it was definitely Monday because that’s why he missed mahjong.

Surely I’m too young to hear about such delicate subject matter among my own crowd? But no.

It seems that 40 is the age where all those nights you got away with in your 20s drinking ’til the early hours and scarfing horrid kebabs come back to haunt you.

The ghosts of gluttonies past terrorise you to the point where you resort to sticking foreign objects in/ on/up your body to assess and address the damage.

Get a group of parents together and you can just sense the discussion looming the moment some glutenfilled feast is laid on the table.

Mouths are grimaced, hands flutter down to protect the gut. Oh boy, here we go.

“Ooh, I can’t, sorry. My dietitian says it’s only low FODMAP foods for me.”

OK, that’s actually me talking.

I admit it. I’ve become one of them. NOT a health nut – I will drink wine and gorge on dark chocolate ’til the cows come home (as long as their milk is lactosefree). But I do have to watch what I eat. Believe me, you want me to watch what I eat.

But barbecue vox pops tell me I am not alone.

Show me a middle-aged woman without a digestive concern and I’ll show you a man. And no, I’m not bringing up LBGTQI issues again.

And actually, even the men are in on the action as well. I know this because I was busted in my own colonoscopy prep by our plasterer.

For the uninitiated, and dear God I envy you that innocence, c-prep involves drinking some really gross fluid – like 5000 litres of it – and then waiting for it to exit.

By the time you’re ready to head to hospital for your procedure you’re just about floating.

So it was truly magical timing that my prep coincided with our home renovation.

When I realised the date (ha ha, date), I wasn’t too worried. I have my own master suite upstairs so I could rest in peace on the white porcelain while all the work was going on downstairs (these double entendres are just writing themselves).

There was no need to explain anything, I would just quietly disappear after letting the workers in.

But the plasterer took one look at my jug of yellow drink and gave me a wink.

“Ah! PicoPrep! You’re havin’ a little look up the guts, are ya?” Kill me now. “Oh man, that is some toxic stuff, right? Whoa, you are just going to blow that toilet apart!”

Excellent. With any luck he’d follow me upstairs and commentate my whole adventure.

Fortunately, no renovation was required on the ensuite post-prep and I have to admit I kind of enjoyed the procedure. No, not that part. Sicko. But that twilight sedation is a dream. Just like equal rights for marriage, amirite?

ann.wasonmoore@news.com.au