Rainy Day Writing

Writing, Reading, Inspirations and Aspirations

The Virgin Mary, Good Drugs, and the “C” Word

Next year I will turn sixty. Which pisses me off a little. When you turn sixty people start to treat you differently. Especially your health insurance provider and doctors, who start sending you reminders to get a flu shot, a Hep C test, a shingles shot, blah, blah, blah. Obviously you are approaching a turning point in life that will take you down the long dark tunnel to your imminent demise, and no one is going to let you forget it until you reach your destination. Happy fu©%ing birthday.

One thing I do need to take care of this year is the C word. No, not that one you dirty peeps, the other C word, the senior version…the colonoscopy. I’ve had a couple in my long and exciting life, but it’s been over ten years and I know Regence is going to get hysterical on me if I don’t do it by my sixtieth birthday. They’ve been harassing me about it for a number of years. The last one I had I was self insured and they have no record of it on file, even though they provided my private insurance at the time and I haven’t changed my name, SSN or other pertinent information in the interim. Can you say National Health Data Base Congress? No, I didn’t think so.

Colonoscopies are not fun. The prep sucks, like literally. You feel like someone pumped you full of salt water and then attached a fire house stuck in reverse up your arse. It’s always a shock when you realize the vile stuff you are expelling was inside your body, apparently some of it for several years, especially if  you thought you were eating a relatively clean diet. You spend all night on the toilet and then have to get up early the next day for the big event, and even though you used the softest TP  possible for your hygiene, it feels like you used Brillo pads soaked in ammonia exclusively.

So you get to the facility, and they know you had a shitty night, so they put you to bed wrapped in warm blankets, and you would suck your thumb if it weren’t for the memory of the night before and your fear of germs and all. Then they wheel you in to the “procedure” room and everyone is smiling and dressed in sky blue like the garments worn by our Virgin Mary, and they ask you what kind of music you like and give you awesome drugs and that’s it. You wake up feeling a little gassy and drooling some, but you feel positively groovy and don’t remember anything at all, which is good, because I’m sure that they have some wicked conversations while they are working on you that you would never, ever want to recall. They let you rest for a while, and eventually you are aware enough to know that you can’t stay here forever in this violet blue mind haze, although you wouldn’t really mind that at all except that you have a life to attend to and a significant other patiently waiting to drive you home. And if you are lucky, everything was fine and there was nothing frightening rearing it’s ugly head up your butt, and you can come back in ten years.

So, there it is, the good and bad of the “C” word. The night before you feel like you died and went to hell and are hanging with the demons, who are even more demented than you every imagined in your wildest nightmares and then the next day you are gently ministered to by a host of very clean, very hygienic angels who are actually doing demented things to you also but the drugs they give you are so good you have no idea what’s going on and you wake up and think you are in love with the anesthesiologist. I guess it could be worse.

©2017 by Ilona Elliott

Me and Cosmo

The Author (on the right)


  1. This is quite a clever accounting and I appreciate the horrors that you have, and by the sounds of thing, are soon to experience.

    I can’t help wonder why I haven’t had to endure the procedure. Is this something mandated by the insurance company? That is, it’s not really all that necessary?


    • Well, the recommendation is to get one when you are fifty, and then every ten years unless they find polyps or something, then it’s sooner. It’s not a bad idea since it definitely detects colon cancer and sometimes things like colitis and other digestive issues.
      Be well Maggie Wilson and thanks for reading and commenting!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. As my 50th birthday approaches, I feel no qualms about the number, but I have a lot of exams due. Being of the mind that one shouldn’t mess with something that ain’t broke, I am going to have to drag myself to them kicking and screaming. Until the drugs kick in…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I was a mess for awhile last year when I had some miserable acute pain from scar tissue in my pelvis (from an old surgery I had twenty years ago) come in and not go away like it usually does after a day or two and so as a precautionary measure I had the big C. Drove the family crazy the night before- Hogged the bathroom for several hours but on the bright side I got some serious War and Peace-type reading done when I was in there and when it was all over the next morning a beautiful nurse winked at me and handed over a manila envelope to take home, containing high definition pictures of my impossibly glossy rectum.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ha Ha! glossy rectum. Two words I don’t think I’ve ever seen used in tandem before. Glad you got a clean bill of health TF!


  4. I am now picturing ‘ugly things rearing their heads’ up my ass. I have been putting off my own Big C. Sigh. Probably should get to that…any day now.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Maybe we can get all of us together for a group discount.


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