Colon CARE
JEREMY TAKES A LOOK INSIDE HIMSELF, LITERALLY!
You’re lucky, Jeremy,” she said. “You’re a man.” I agreed with her, not because I instantly knew this to be the case, but because her tone suggested it would be the smarter course of action.
It does seem as though our maker put the lioness’ share of hardship on the female species. The woman in question had been deep in discussion with another woman about one of the many afflictions that are the sole domain of the fairer sex. Endometriosis, as I recall. They were drifting into childbirth and smear tests when she turned and spoke to me.
She’s right, of course. A back of the napkin calculation suggests to me that in an average lifetime, women suffer roughly five times more poking and prodding from the medical establishment than men. Most accept this harsh deal with stoicism. Let’s face it, if men had to endure the same amount of invasion, you’d never hear the end of it.
There is, however, one rather slightly malicious side effect that pops its head up from time to time, and that is the excessive joy women take in any procedure men must undergo.
As if the special discomfort of a vasectomy somehow goes toward evening up the ledger.
I had a colonoscopy a few weeks ago. That made a few women in my life smile. As if I were overdue to have some medical equipment shoved in an orifice. For those unfamiliar with a colonoscopy, a camera is inserted in your exhaust pipe and through your colon to get some lovely photos of your innards.
It’s a 30-minute procedure. Except it isn’t.
It actually starts two days beforehand. You see, doctors are precious wee things and they don’t want to look at an unkempt colon. They want a pristine, fully washed lower digestive tract.
Just as you wouldn’t go on a photoshoot without hair and make-up, you don’t embark on a colonoscopy without zhuzhing up your innards.
So, 48 hours before insertion you stop eating fibre, then you stop eating, then you drink a laxative. I’d never taken a laxative before.
I was due to appear on The
Project at the time too. I wasn’t sure how I would, er, “react” but I took a risk and decided to let everyone know and go ahead with the show. Live TV with an edge.
Uneventful as it turned out: I did visit the restroom frequently, but it was manageable. There was no running or panicking. I had plenty of time and it really wasn’t that horrible. I felt as if I had let down the women in my life.
The following morning was D-Day. I’m sorry to report the procedure was virtually painless thanks to some amazing chemicals, and I found the live video feed quite fascinating. Afterwards,
I had one of the best naps I have ever had. And my large intestine is all good, thanks!