There’s something we say in our family when it comes to matters of health and wellness. When somebody needs to do something to take better care of themselves one of us will say to the other, “do all the things.” We each know the exact meaning. Leave no stone unturned. Do what you’re supposed to do. Take care of yourself. Do ALL the things, even when you don’t feel like it.
So, let’s talk about doing all the things, and I will be transparent, but with purpose. As I write this, I am submitting to the ignominy of a colonoscopy for the second time in my life. We have some checkered family history when it comes to our innards. Still, what a royal pain in the roils.
Yet, when I think about my lovely wife, my kids and ultra-perfect grandkids, and the calling that God has placed on my life, I quickly conclude that having a probe the size of a fire hose run up my off-ramp to take pretty pictures of my sigmoid colon and splenic flexure is part of doing all the things.
But the lead-up to this undignified breach of my personal space is really something.
Did you know that you can mail your “sample” in to have it checked now? This was a new one on me.
“Let’s start with Cologuard first,” the Doc says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
I discover it’s a special box for mailing poo to a lab.
“Poo to a lab?” you say. “In the mail?”
So, the box came to the house and all God’s children saw it sitting on the front porch. I imagined my neighbors speculating amongst themselves about Williams getting one of those poo boxes. I must admit the packaging was very well done … for a poo box. The instructions were disturbingly explicit with colorful pictures depicting how the poo goes from the poo place to the poo box to the poo lab.
So, I did the deed and mailed the poo. Then it hit me: somewhere some poor sap has the job of gathering boxes filled with poo sent by mail. How does he train for this? Who did he anger to get put on poo patrol? Every single day steaming boxes of poo come to his location from every corner of the globe and he gets the joy of breaking them down. (Something tells me summer deliveries are the worst.)
And pray tell, how does this go on his resume? Is there a career path in poo handling? I can just hear the interview process: “Mr. Jones, thank you for coming in. I see on your resume that you carry the designation of Master Poo Wrangler … well, thank you for coming in; we will be sure to keep your resume on file.”
But poo in a box was bush league. Then came the joy of preparing for the next phase of this anal adventure. In a sadistic moment of professional glee, the doctor prescribed a noxious substance representing a vile cross between warm flat Mountain Dew and spent nuclear waste. It goes in the topside and cauterizes its way to the downside. Literally, power washing the intestinal tract like the power generation ducts in a hydroelectric dam.
Come to think of it, we could likely power half a rural county for several days if we could harness the strength of poo prep … although I’m not sure that would qualify as “clean” energy.
Fully washed out and somewhat violated you arrive the next day and sit in a waiting room filled with other victims whose insides were also twisted into Scottish Haggis. No one makes eye contact, but everyone nods with understanding when your name is called and you walk gingerly down the green mile to have the last shreds of your dignity taken from you.
Lying on your side, with glory exposed to the medical staff and the thought that every day they perform the human version of roto-rooter and auger out honest, salt-of-the-earth folks like me, the question arises whether that poo patrol guy had the better deal.
Then you wake up and go get a burger as some form of reward. Like a Scooby Snack for being a good little poo patient. I don’t want to brag or anything, but I may now be known henceforth as the Prince of Poo … just sayin’.
All kidding aside, this is the real deal. Sure, it’s a pain in the wahtoose, but on the scale of 1-to-cancer, a colonoscopy is nothing. Its uncomfortable, it requires time away from work. It’s a 45-minute procedure that takes two days to accomplish.
But the sober truth is our family lost a dear member to colorectal cancer. She was a sunshine personality and a joy to be around. She had a wonderful laugh and a strong vibrant presence. Those last years were tough.
If a little discomfort in my life means catching something early, then sign my backside up.
In 2018 alone roughly 140,000 people were diagnosed with some form of colon cancer; 35% of those resulted in death. But some experts believe 60% of those deaths could have been prevented with adequate screening. Once you hit age 50, the risk factors go up exponentially. Testing is nearly always covered by all forms of insurance including the poo box at home.
I left my normal writing behind for a week to tell you this because I care. I deliberately lightened the mood with the whole Prince of Poo thing … but in the end, I believe God gave me this platform to talk about more than just politics and culture. There is power in telling a story, speaking life into bad situations, and encouraging someone by testimony.
So do all the things. Stop putting it off. Do. All. The. Things.
You, too, can be the Prince of Poo for a day. Your loved ones will thank you.
To contact Phil or request him for a speaking engagement, go to www.rightsideradio.org. The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of 1819 News. To comment, please send an email with your name and contact information to Commentary@1819News.com.
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