Tag Archives: Colorectal cancer

Relax, I’ve got your back (side)

8 May

manure_spreader_largeI’m covered in shit. Not in the ‘nice skid mark on your shirt’ kind of way; more like an ‘I walked through a fog of aerosol poop’. Picture that painted lady at the makeup counter, that one who is a cross between The Joker and Newt Gingrich’s wife (she’s terrifying), ready to hose you down with a bottle of really expensive feces eau de toilette. If you were to hit me with a black light, I’d probably light up like a Jackson Pollock painting or one of Dexter’s fun kill rooms.

I work at a colonoscopy clinic and I’m a klutz. One of these factors alone wouldn’t be a big deal but the combination means I’m a disgusting person two days a week (thank you baby gee-zus for the wee little infant that finally gives me the perfect reason to work part-time). I’m not actually complaining…I accepted my fate eight years ago. OK, maybe sometimes I find myself a teensy bit salty when I picture the doctors getting home from a long day, peeling off their crap misted dry clean only attire and escaping to their money room to enjoy a relaxing dip in a waste deep pool of hundos. Folks in my pay grade would consider eating a shit sandwich for a pathetically low amount of cash. (But we’re not bitter. Not at all.)

Let me be clear. Their usually isn’t a whole lot of crap left by the time you’re all saddled up and ready to get your scope on. It just so happens, that if there is shit present, I am lucky enough to find it. Don’t let this make you shy away from a colonoscopy. I’ve had one and many more are in my future. It’s not at the top of my list, but to be honest, I’d rather spend an eternity with a gastroenterologist than 15 minutes with a dentist. Aside from the perks of good drugs, avoiding cancer seems to be a legit benefit? Oh, fancy dentist, you shaved some plaque today? Um, we just kicked ass at the polyp rodeo, how about that?

I’m pretty sure that as I sit here typing one handed, with the wee one asleep on my lap, she just loaded her pants. Either that or she just farted like a trucker. Yep. It’s official, that’s a solid. Sweet Jesus she’s gross. Swell. Well here’s the rub….there is no way I’m waking her up to change her shorts. I’ll just sit here and marinate in her disgusting funk. I like to bring a little of my work home with me. This is my life.


The Two Big C’s: Cancer and Commodes

3 May

4668582_f260There seem to be few certainties in life.  They say death and taxes are two, but I know a few people that have dodged that second bullet longer than seems possible.  (You know who you are) I have a new spin for you to consider.  Neither is pleasant but both are guaranteed.  I promise you.  So, we might as well try to wrap our heads around it now rather than let it sneak up on you.  I suppose you could do things to minimize the potential for each….but if left on this beautiful, shitty planet long enough you will meet with one or both of them.

Exhibit One: Cancer. If you live long enough, cancer will find you. Sure, you may not die from it, but at 92, if you’ve dodged cancer your entire life, get ready for Exhibit Two (more on that in a bit). Cancer is the mother bitch of all mother bitches. It doesn’t care if you’re a Tea Party whack job or a bed wetting lunatic liberal. It doesn’t give two shits if you have Oprah money or live in your double-wide dream home. Go ahead, be an optimist. Live your life well. Make plans. Never smoke. Cancer doesn’t care; ask Christopher Reeve’s wife. Sonofabitch. I’m hoping for a questionable mole but I know that colon cancer will be knocking on my backdoor at some point. Yes, I get colonoscopies. I’m going to have a lot of them; some even for medical reasons. Goddamned cancer. You are universally hated.

Exhibit Two: If you manage to survive into your twilight years; all of your friends and wife are dead; your kids don’t visit as often as they should and you’re just passing time reading old Watch Towers left by those pleasant but pushy visitors that don’t even seem to have parents at the senior living frat house; you’re just trying to avoid STD’s from that floosy, Edna, who has been meeting you for nooners before bingo…know this…you are one missed bowl of Fiber One away from dying on the shitter. Serious as a heart attack. Go ahead, skip your bran muffin. See if I care. Hopefully, Joyce, that sweet wife of yours, will still welcome you into her happy cloud paradise. But, she might be mad that you held out your best moves for 40 years, yet have no problem giving it to Edna during the light of day, all the while yelling, “Bingo! Bingo….Binggg-gooohhh.”

If I had my wish, I pick toilet. In fact, when I see the end approaching I’m going to cancel my nooner with Clyde,  eat a baby loaf of Tillamook Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese, wash it down with a glass of alfredo, bare down and wait for the bright light.

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