So, turning fifty offers lots of perks. I went on a few amazing girls’ trips; my period is debuting less and less; I was thrown a surprise party, where a stripper had me straddle his face in front of the guests; and, just last week, I had my first ever colonoscopy. At least I can say, that was something that was actually supposed to go up my ass. The prep for that procedure is like sitting in a center seat at a really bad Broadway show. It’s like torture, and there’s just no way out of it. I remember drinking that super sweet glucose during all three of my pregnancies. While it wasn’t fun, it was like a vacation compared to the amount of shit I had to drink for this. 

I had to stop eating solid food after a “light” breakfast and have only clear liquids after that. Chicken bullion was like my filet mignon. At 6:00 pm, the real party started when I began drinking a large pitcher of fake Kool-Aid with a ten-minute break in between each full glass. This was the beginning of the process to dust bust the shit out of my colon (pun intended). “Stay close to a bathroom,” the instructions said. What they didn’t say, though, was how much you’d be using your gluteus maximus and sphincter muscles to create a steel blockade while walking briskly—with the straightest posture your body will allow—to the toilet. It was almost like I was a contestant in one of those egg-and-spoon races. And, this went on ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Thank you, Lionel Richie.

The next morning, I had to drink another bottle of some syrupy concoction and then force lots of glasses of water into what used to be my body. I was like a blow-up raft at this point. And, of course more toilet trips followed. I now needed my own diaper bag with medicated wipes and adult A+D ointment. The worst part was that I didn’t have an appointment first thing in the morning like most sane people do. I had a 1:00 pm appointment. I was now living the three S’s: starving, shitting and sleepy. I called an Uber to drive me to the medical building, and the driver had to have been a three-pack-a-dayer. Now I was up to five S’s with the addition of stale smoke. How blessed I was. 

I’ll fast forward to me in the gown with the opening in the back. “Is there a possibility you could be pregnant?” asked my nurse. “Yeah, I guess,” I said, “but I’m 50.” “Well, do you want a pregnancy test?” she asked. “No, I don’t, because I wouldn’t keep it anyway,” said the Democrat in me. (Fuck you, Alabama, Georgia, Indiana and you other back-ass states.) The light-hearted banter between my nurse and me ended right then and there, as she was now quiet. She walked me over to my pre-op bed and put in my IV, and I waited and listened to a post-op woman fart very loudly from behind her curtain. The staff acted like they couldn’t hear anything. If I hadn’t offended my nurse, I would have joked about whoopee cushions or tubas. I thought, “Please don’t let that be me afterwards.”

Once in the O.R, I was told to lie on my side and felt the drugs rush into my vein. What seemed like ten seconds later, I heard my name called and was back in the same surgery partition. My prayers were answered, as my body was as quiet as I had rendered my nurse. They gave me apple juice, but where were the post-surgery Lorna Doones? Wtf, I was looking forward to those. I got dressed and met Ray in the waiting room. I’d like to say I ate lightly once I got home, but, nope, I ordered a big turkey sandwich. I’d also like to say that I didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore. Sorry, that didn’t stop until well after midnight. Ouch. I did receive a phone call from my doctor the next day, and she told my that I was polyp-free and had a healthy colon. That meant I didn’t have to do this again for another ten years. After my relief, my only thought was, “I’ll be sixty then. Holy shit.” (Pun intended again.) 

I defecate (I mean dedicate) this blog to all of the organizations working to fight for reproductive justice. There are too many to name. I will be increasing my donations to support them. And, to continue the anal theme, I don’t hesitate when I say that these people working to take away women’s rights are complete assholes. 

*All names have been changed. 

**Follow me to receive email alerts for new posts. Tap on the FOLLOW button at the bottom of your phone or computer. (Move your finger or mouse around, and FOLLOW will appear if it’s hidden.)