Waiting for the Last Gasp – Adam Overland

2023 is the year of the colonoscopy, my doctor told me recently during my annual checkup. At least, it is for me. The age for the procedure was once 50, she said, but now it’s 45, and now I’m 45. And I can tell you, every time I look in the mirror, I know that my colon isn’t getting any younger.

I’m told the procedure includes a little camera on the end of a flexible tube, a kind of “youtube” once it is inside of you, where doctors can then watch a live-stream of the inside of your anus supershyway. The screening can detect and even remove potential polyps to see whether they’re precancerous. It has saved a lot of lives.

But I do wonder how it worked in the late 70s and 80s, during the infamous VHS vs Betamax wars, when video cameras were unwieldy shoulder mounted titans with videotapes the size of a hardcover novel.

I bet people were begging for the smaller Betamax devices in the colonoscopy room, but at home all they cared about was that VHS was 1) cheaper and 2) could record lots more TV shows on a single tape. Nevermind that BETAMAX WAS SUPERIOR IN EVERY OTHER WAY. Meanwhile, doctors performing colonoscopies were left with reminders to constantly “adjust tracking” every time the polyp action started getting good. 

My doctor also told me that I am fat—fatter than last year even, when I was also fat. She used more diplomatic doctory terms though, calling me “pre-diabetic.” I told her how dare she. I exercise 4 days per week, every week. Just look at me, I wanted to say. Then, looking at me, she went on to suggest I see a nutritionist. A nutritionist! I already eat yogurt, for god’s sake! I planted carrots in my garden. 

I wanted to stand up and flex. To tell her about the numerous friends I have who are fatter than me. I can get them on the horn right now and they’ll agree with me. And none of them has ever mentioned being pre-diabetic. So you take it back. You take it back. 

But she kept on, also suggesting my cholesterol levels were not looking good. Something about high levels of triglyceratops, which was maybe named after an unhealthy prehistoric dinosaur. 

Back when triglyceratops roamed the earth, I told her, people didn’t have these problems. We didn’t have desk jobs and snack foods and soft drinks smacking us in the face every time we turned around because we had to be on the lookout for T-rex and other predators. She then suggested that she could also refer me to a paleontologist, which I bet costs more than the nutritionist and I’d be surprised if health insurance even covers it. 

No, I told her. I can do this on my own. I go to the gym 4 days per week right now, so I’m going to make it 5 days per week. And I’ll reluctantly add a little cardio. I’ll eat even more yogurt, too–the sugar and fat free kind that no one likes. And in a couple of months, those carrots will be ready, and I’ll eat those. And then I’ll live forever, right? Right? 

All I really know is that somewhere out there is a VHS colonoscopy collection that was never transferred to DVD.

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