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our best wishes and prayers for tom voyuer with his procedure tomorow

Discussion in 'The Taxidermy Industry' started by SivkoFur, Jul 25, 2011.

  1. Our dear friend is 52 (hope that wasnt a secret) and tomorow is the big day ! he is going in for his colonoscopy ! now at this point it would be easy to say things like "we hope everything comes out ok" or "it would be nice if the dr brings you flowers on your date" but in a moment of great fear and anxiety like this i dont think anyone says it better than that famous columnist Dave Barry. For those who havent read this before you ought to and for those who have read it agian and laugh. For you Tom keep in mind that in some states, namely Arkansas after this procedure i think your officially married to your cousin. best of luck and best wishes bob n ann....

    OK. You turned 50. You know you're supposed to get a colonoscopy. But you haven't. Here are your reasons:

    1. You've been busy.

    2. You don't have a history of cancer in your family.

    3. You haven't noticed any problems.

    4. You don't want a doctor to stick a tube 17,000 feet up your butt.

    Let's examine these reasons one at a time. No, wait, let's not. Because you and I both know that the only real reason is No. 4. This is natural. The idea of having another human, even a medical human, becoming deeply involved in what is technically known as your ''behindular zone'' gives you the creeping willies.

    I know this because I am like you, except worse. I yield to nobody in the field of being a pathetic weenie medical coward. I become faint and nauseous during even very minor medical procedures, such as making an appointment by phone. It's much worse when I come into physical contact with the medical profession. More than one doctor's office has a dent in the floor caused by my forehead striking it seconds after I got a shot.

    In 1997, when I turned 50, everybody told me I should get a colonoscopy. I agreed that I definitely should, but not right away. By following this policy, I reached age 55 without having had a colonoscopy. Then I did something so pathetic and embarrassing that I am frankly ashamed to tell you about it.

    What happened was, a giant 40-foot replica of a human colon came to Miami Beach. Really. It's an educational exhibit called the Colossal Colon, and it was on a nationwide tour to promote awareness of colo-rectal cancer. The idea is, you crawl through the Colossal Colon, and you encounter various educational items in there, such as polyps, cancer and hemorrhoids the size of regulation volleyballs, and you go, ''Whoa, I better find out if I contain any of these things,'' and you get a colonoscopy.

    If you are as a professional humor writer, and there is a giant colon within a 200-mile radius, you are legally obligated to go see it. So I went to Miami Beach and crawled through the Colossal Colon. I wrote a column about it, making tasteless colon jokes. But I also urged everyone to get a colonoscopy. I even, when I emerged from the Colossal Colon, signed a pledge stating that I would get one.

    But I didn't get one. I was a fraud, a hypocrite, a liar. I was practically a member of Congress.

    Five more years passed. I turned 60, and I still hadn't gotten a colonoscopy. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from my brother Sam, who is 10 years younger than I am, but more mature. The email was addressed to me and my middle brother, Phil. It said:

    ``Dear Brothers,

    ``I went in for a routine colonoscopy and got the dreaded diagnosis: cancer. We're told it's early and that there is a good prognosis that they can get it all out, so, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that. And of course they told me to tell my siblings to get screened. I imagine you both have.''

    Um. Well.

    First I called Sam. He was hopeful, but scared. We talked for a while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, ``HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!''

    I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called ''MoviPrep,'' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.

    I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind -- like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

    The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, ''a loose watery bowel movement may result.'' This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

    MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

    After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, ''What if I spurt on Andy?'' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.

    At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the hell the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.

    Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

    When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was Dancing Queen by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, Dancing Queen has to be the least appropriate.

    ''You want me to turn it up?'' said Andy, from somewhere behind me.

    ''Ha ha,'' I said.

    And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

    I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking ``Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the tambourine . . .''

    . . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.

    But my point is this: In addition to being a pathetic medical weenie, I was a complete moron. For more than a decade I avoided getting a procedure that was, essentially, nothing. There was no pain and, except for the MoviPrep, no discomfort. I was risking my life for nothing.

    If my brother Sam had been as stupid as I was -- if, when he turned 50, he had ignored all the medical advice and avoided getting screened -- he still would have had cancer. He just wouldn't have known. And by the time he did know -- by the time he felt symptoms -- his situation would have been much, much more serious. But because he was a grown-up, the doctors caught the cancer early, and they operated and took it out. Sam is now recovering and eating what he describes as ''really, really boring food.'' His prognosis is good, and everybody is optimistic, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that.

    Which brings us to you, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss or Ms. Over-50-And-Hasn't-Had-a-Colonoscopy. Here's the deal: You either have colo-rectal cancer, or you don't. If you do, a colonoscopy will enable doctors to find it and do something about it. And if you don't have cancer, believe me, it's very reassuring to know you don't. There is no sane reason for you not to have it done.

    I am so eager for you to do this that I am going to induce you with an Exclusive Limited Time Offer. If you, after reading this, get a colonoscopy, let me know by sending a self-addressed stamped envelope to Dave Barry Colonoscopy Inducement, The Miami Herald, 1 Herald Plaza, Miami, FL 33132. I will send you back a certificate, signed by me and suitable for framing if you don't mind framing a cheesy certificate, stating that you are a grown-up who got a colonoscopy. Accompanying this certificate will be a square of limited-edition custom-printed toilet paper with an image of Miss Paris Hilton on it. You may frame this also, or use it in whatever other way you deem fit.

    But even if you don't want this inducement, please get a colonoscopy. If I can do it, you can do it. Don't put it off. Just do it.

    Be sure to stress that you want the non-Abba version.

    ©2008 Dave Barry

    Read more: http://www.miamiherald.com/2009/02/11/v-fullstory/427603/dave-barry-a-journey-into-my-colon.html#ixzz1T8FkQeNJ
  2. Bwana

    Bwana New Member

    Good Luck Tom :eek:

  3. redwolf

    redwolf Active Member

    3 years ago I had pains in my side so my doctor made me have a colonoscopy. I was 36 years old. They found polyps and told me they were pre-cancerous. They said I would of had full blown cancer within 5 years. So if I had waited till I was 50 it would of been too late. Now I have to have a colonoscopy every 3 years because I'm high risk and I go in on the 3rd of next month.
    IMO There is NO reason or excuse not to get checked. If you think one day of prep is hell, think about what chemo will be like. If you think it's embarrassing, think about what you would have to go through if you DO end up with colon cancer because you were too "proud".

    I made this to share with people on Facebook to try to wake them up.


    I hope with what I learned will help someone. If 1 person out of 100 actually listen I'm happy. I don't expect everyone to.

    Thank you for sharing Sivko, and Good luck Tom. I'm glad your having it done. ;)
  4. Bill Yox

    Bill Yox Well-Known Member

    I dont see the problem. Real men know that even if theyre boneheads about this stuff, they need to do it for their families sake. Theres usually little people who are counting on us...even some big people! Besides, what guy doesnt wanna blast like 40 second continuous farts afterwards to impress his buddy? Good luck Tom, and be sure to watch that camera, yeah thats you.
  5. I also had pre cancerous polyps. The worst part is not being able to eat anything but clear liquid the day before and the prep. Nothin like chittin your brains out! :)

    Tom it ain't that bad. Before they put you under just ask the doc if he will respect you in the morning. :-D
  6. I forgot about the 30 second CHEEK BLASTERS!
  7. Wishing you well for tomorrow Tom. stargazer.
  8. Good Luck Tom! Had mine already.
  9. marshy creek

    marshy creek New Member

    "if it doesn't fit you must acquit"
  10. Whitetailart

    Whitetailart New Member

    Good luck Tom
    and don't clinch
  11. Damage

    Damage Pull the wool over your own eyes!

    And leave the Osiris sneaks at home!

    Don't want to blind your doctor. ;)
  12. I wish it were more affordable for people without health care insurance. :( Good luck Tom, and I hope they won't find anything. :-*
  13. RDA

    RDA Active Member

    Tom, make sure when "in process" that BOTH of his hands ARENT on your shoulders...... ;DGOOD LUCK!
  14. redwolf

    redwolf Active Member

    I agree 110% Too many people don't get tested because of that very reason.
  15. Drink that stuff its good for you!. Hope everything goes in smoothly and out even better. If you feel a tug on your tonsils tell the Dr he is in to deep. If the pain is to bad tell him he took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Hey if they knock you out ask for the video!
  16. So okay, I admit it, I can sometimes be a bit of a hypochondriac. But I really do have this big lump on my hip. And it was time for my annual checkup. And it really was time for a....ugh....colonoscopy.

    So last week I go to get the check-up. Blood work. EKG. Urine sample. Then I get weighed and the doc looks me over real good. Looks at the hip. Hmm. Probably oughta have an MRI on that thing. Looks in my records. Hmm. It's been ten years since your last colonoscopy. Oughta get one. Looks in my ears. Hmm. You got massive ear wax buildup. He tries to get it out. Hmm. Your ear canals are exceedingly narrow...I can't get it. Better go to an ear, nose, throat guy.

    So, this was the week for dealing with high tech medicine. Monday. MRI on the hip. Even had an MRI? They slide you into this huge honking machine that is making all kinds of strange noises even before they turn it on. You're lying there with smooth gray metal about two inches from your nose. The claustrophobic (of which my wife is one but I'm not) freak out about the time they get all the way in. Especially when they tell you it's gonna take at least a half hour. Cranks up the music in your earphones til it almost hurts, because the machine is gonna be loud.

    For the next half hour, you lie perfectly still and about 15 kinds of very loud thumps and thrums vibrate throughout your body. Pause between each series. Nope, not done yet, another series, different sounds. Finally done? Nope, voice comes over the earphones, "Radiologist says we need one more set of pictures." About this time I'm thinking, uh-oh, that can't be good.

    Finally it's over. Nurse comes in, slides me out like a slab of meat, takes off the earphones, and says, "It's nothing. He says it just looks like a lot of skin."

    Lot of skin???? I tell her to feel it, it's a lump the size of a walnut. Yep, it is, but it definitely isn't cancerous. Probably a lipoma.

    Okay. One worry stricken from the record, to the tune of about $500 after insurance.

    Go straight from there to the ear guy...who we can't find...because his office is in the cancer wing of the hospital for some strange reason. An hour of sitting and waiting and filling out paper, five minutes in his office, and that's taken care of. To the tune of another $75.

    So today is the big one. Colonoscopy. I've had one of those once before, ten years ago. I remembered the nasty stuff I had to drink gallons of the night before to clean everything out. I wasn't looking forward to it. And the old hypochondria had set in big time and I was sure they'd find something awful.

    Things have changed in ten years. Over the counter laxative, that you mix with Gatorade and drink...gallons of it. Well at least four 16 ounce bottles in less than three hours, after taking laxative pills. Doesn't taste bad...in fact, it actually seemed to improve the taste of the Gatorade until I got to the last bottle, which I could barely choke down. And it didn't seem to be working. I puttered around, waiting for the bomb to drop, but nothing. Then, two hours after the last bottle, the bomb definitely dropped. Over and over and over and over...half the night.

    Procedure is early. Gotta drive the hour and fifteen minutes to St. Louis and be there by 6:45 AM. Bomb is still dropping when I wake up at 4:30. Bomb is still dropping at 5:15, just before we leave. Thankfully it holds off on the drive, but drops again when we get there. Nurse says not to worry, they have a suction thingy on the scope if they need to use it.

    I get into the backless gown, get wheeled into the operating room. Doctor is in a meeting, it'll be a little while before he comes in. He finally shows up. And proceeds to tell me ALL the myriad of things that can go wrong or that they can find, and how screwed you are if any of that happens. Heart monitor goes from beep...beep...beep, to beepbeepbeepbeep.

    When I'd had it done before, they gave me a sedative that didn't put me out, but made me simply not care what happened. Pretty good drugs. This time, they said no, we now put you all the way to sleep. Okay, how long until it takes effect? Oh, within a couple minutes. Sure, I'm wide awake, there's no way it's going to________.

    I wake up like I'm in my own bed. Wide awake. Clock on the wall says 8:30. Geez, they started the thing at 7:30, and they told me it would probably take til 9:00. Uh-oh. Probably saw my guts rotted out and just closed up shop early. Doctor leans over me. "All clear, everything's normal."

    Whoopee! The load has been lifted. I'm healthy as a horse. I got 30 more years at least.

    I have no idea what that cost. But...it was worth it.
    =================== from a friend on another forum
  17. psycho

    psycho 2011 WORLD CHAMPIONS!

    When Tom told me about it on the phone the other day I told him I knew he was just going to look behind him and tell the Doc, "Damn I think I love ya doc". :eek: LOL

    Tommy didn't seem to be to worried about it but he wasn't having a party thinking about it either. Good Luck to one of my favorite F O C K E R S! ;D
  18. DropTine

    DropTine DSCN0137.JPG

    That barium shi- they make you drink is nasty. If you don't drink it all they will have to give you enemas till your cleaned out. I asked the nurse what her highest total was, and she told me one guy had to have ten. i drank the crap drink, even though it was nasty. The procedure wasn't bad because you are out. Good Luck Tom. Mark
  19. boxerpet

    boxerpet Harry Paulson-grateful

    The worst thing about the procedure is the day before drinking all that stuff and the time on the toilet. Next day they get you ready ,dope you up a bit and its over.

    The best part is when they tell you all is well.

    Every man or women needs to get it done at your age and older. Its great to hear everything is OK

    Good Luck , I'll say a prayer for positive results.

  20. taxi_grl_ga

    taxi_grl_ga Active Member

    WHAT is WITH you guys?!?!? have you FORGOTTEN we're talking about tommy freakin VOYAH here?!?! don't feel bad for him, the man's a freak....he LIKES it! :D :D :D much love tommy, you'll be fine! :-* :-* :-*