Christmas Colonoscopy

I have been asked to speak to a local cancer support group early next month. The topic is legal issues for cancer patients.  Whenever I give any kind of presentation it usually comes across as a bad stand-up routine.  This is mainly for my own amusement even if the jokes don’t land with the audience.  Sometimes I get a chuckle.

I know it is hard to believe, but a number of years ago I was a little more church going than now.  When I finally realized the joy of Sunday mornings not going to church it was all over.  You guessed it, I was raised a Mormon. For a while I was an occasional instructor for a Sunday session mainly composed of young men.  My favorite topic was always the “Word of Wisdom” mainly for its inherent humor.  For the non-Mormon crowd, the word of wisdom is the Mormon doctrine that prohibits use of alcohol, tobacco, coffee, tea, and fun.  As for tobacco, the scripture indicates that it is not for the body, but is to be used as a remedy for “sick cattle.”  I have no other reference for tobacco being used for cattle.  Who knew?  It is also a common fable that Mormons tend to break these rules, but not in the company of other Mormons. One common joke is why do you always take 2 Mormons fishing? Because if you only take one he will drink all your beer. So, when I was teaching the word of wisdom I would open with “I prepared this lesson and pondered its message over my morning cup of coffee.”  I got laughs, even though it was true. Then, into the lesson I would talk about an incident when I was buying a can of Copenhagen and another member of the Mormon ward walked up behind me when I immediately quipped “ahhhhhh . . . I got some sick cattle back at the ranch.”  That was about as much edge I could get away with.

So, I am a little concerned about how much “edge” I can get away with in front of a cancer group.  Many people adamantly decry that cancer is not funny.  I don’t want to offend, but I got to get some jokes in.  My “Cancer Condom” material is probably a little ripe for this crowd.  So, here is some material I am working on:

• So whats the deal with cancer? (Sorry, this only works for Seinfeld)
• I asked my oncologist what my prognosis was and he said “smoke em if you got em.”
• Look at this audience, we are one swastika away from a skinhead convention.
• A breast cancer patient states after a mastectomy that “i’m afraid my husband will no longer find me sexy” to which I respond “hey lady you wouldn’t be sexy with 3 tits!” (I stole that one from Robert Schimmel, the man is a comedic genius).
• This room is putting off so much radiation that I’m going to walk out here sterile.
• Look at the wigs in this room, somewhere there is an entire colony of hairless opossums.
• I’ve had so much chemo that my seamen has stripped the enamel of my wife’s teeth. (too much edge?)

I’m afraid that most of these will miss the mark.  Throw me a bone here. Chime in with some cancer humor.  Help a brother out.

So, when I was up at Huntsman last week I had another MRI.  Some of you big city cancer patients may have experienced this, but this is the first time I have been offered headphones with music during the MRI!  Like I have said, Huntsman is the freaking Marriott of hospitals, and this was no exception.

I lay down on the MRI and the tech says can we get you some music.  Sure.  What would you like to hear.  I’m thinking what do you have?  Easy listening?  Ocean sounds?  Enya?  He says no we have Internet radio and can cue up about anything, how about some classic rock?  That sounds great.

I get the headphones on and they slide me into the tube when I hear “ooooooooooooooo what a lucky man he was.”  Now I think the techs are just screwing with me.  Then comes the opening to Ventura Highway which settles the nerves to relaxation quite quickly.  Then what comes next but Magic Carpet Ride.  With all the vibration of the MRI I am one mushroom away from being on a magic carpet ride.  “Why don’t you come with me little girl . . . on a magic carpet ride.”  As we wrap up my thoughts turn to “when the hell did Whitesnake become classic rock?”  Despite the Whitesnake debacle it was pretty cool.

Getting into the MRI tube with all the beeps, whirs, and vibration kind of makes you feel like an astronaut.  Now that I know they have music, this is how I’m going to play it next time:

Tech:  Would you like some music.

Me:  Absolutely.  Please cue up Space Oddity by David Bowie (known by most as “Major Tom”)

Tech:  Ahhhh . . . OK . . . I’ll see what we can do.

Me:  And, anytime you interrupt the music to ask me to take a deep breath please identify yourself as “Ground Control” and me as “Major Tom”

Tech:  What?

Me:  You know “this is Ground Control to Major Tom?”  (the tech is a little young to get the gist)  Just trust me.

I’m in the machine and the magical sounds of Bowie start up.

Tech:  Matt, take a deep . . .

Me:  Who is Matt?

Tech:  I’m sorry, Ground Control to major tom, can you take in a deep breath and hold it.

Me:  This is Major Tom to Ground Control . . . check.

Tech:  Let out your breath . . . Matt, let out your breath

Me:  You didn’t say “Ground Control to Major . . . ”

Tech:  Alright, alright.

A few more deep breaths with “Ground Control” following the correct protocol.

For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do

Here is where the guitar cranks up.

Tech:  Ground Control to Major Tom . . . we are going to inject the contrast now.

Me:  Tell my wife I love her very much (she knows).  (I actually make parenthesis motions with my hands, but the tech does not see it).

Contrast in.

Tech:  Ground Control to Major Tom . . . everything ok in there?

Me:  No response

Tech:  Can you hear me Major Tom?  Can you hear me Major Tom?  Can you hear me . . .

Me:  Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were just singing along.

Tech:  Get this fucking wack job out of the tube.

For those of you too young or too out of touch, may I present the great David Bowie.

So, I had the endoscopy on Monday.  What a joy.  The GI ran the scope down the throat, through the stomach, and into the small intestine.  As I understand it, there is a scenic byway from the intestine to the liver which is the intended route.  However, the off ramp to that byway is very narrow, without proper signage, and may not even be on the map.  The off ramp to the liver in my body apparently requires, at freeway speed mind you, that you exit on almost a hairpin turn to make the exit.  Unfortunately, every time the doc tried to exit he ended up on a roundabout heading toward the pancreas (and nobody wants to go there).

So, long story short, the GI could not get the scope to the right place and could not place the stent.  So, I wonder if he was coming from the South if it would be easier to hit the off-ramp?  Hmmmmm.

So, I’m waiting to hear from the various docs as to where we go from here.  I anticipate being back on the chemo train shortly.  See ya.

I had my appointment with the Intervention Radiologist along with an MRI last week.  We were discussing doing the Sir Sphere therapy.  When I met with the doc he was looking over the MRI and asked “are you itching a lot?”  Hell yes, like crazy.  “Is your urine dark in color?”  Yes, like an Amber Ale.  Well, you have tumor pinching off a bile duct.  Oh, more good news.

Its funny, the doc was also concerned with my nutrition as my protein levels were low.  He said I would like to see you up about 10 pounds over the next month.  Are you shitting me?  Never, in the history of my life, has any doctor suggested GAINING weight.  I currently clock in at about 270 (my high school weight) and have always been overweight.  Wow, just wow.

So, this afternoon I have the pleasure of an endoscopy procedure whereby they stick a scope down my throat, into the liver, and place a stent to open up the duct.  This is pretty amazing.  Not that I want anything up my ass (maybe I do) but it seems like that would be a shorter route to the liver than my mouth.  You know, shortest distance between two points.  I’m just sayin.

Anyway, I have a good MRI story lined up in the next day or two.  I’ll keep you posted.

It is an unhappy anniversary for me tomorrow.  On a cold dreary January 6, 2009, I ventured to the Colonoscopy center to be anally probed, perhaps by aliens, after a long night of blowing out my colon with Half-Lytely (frankly, I think they must have given me whole-not-so-lytely as I almost blew a hole through the porcelain toilet).  One year ago tomorrow I heard the words “We found a mass . . . its cancer.”  A day that forever changed my life.

The question is, did it change my life for better or worse?  It seems like you can’t pick up a poignant cancer book these days without some jackass author proclaiming I’m glad I got cancer.  Even Lance Armstrong makes such a wild claim in his book.  Apparently, cancer is just the wake up call they needed to live life to the fullest.  I couldn’t agree more Lance!  Ever since I got cancer its been nothing by bungee jumping and fucking deep sea fishing!  Whoop-de-fucking-do I don’t know what I ever did without cancer.  I can hardly wait for the running of the bulls in fucking Pamplona! 

Do you want to go scuba diving this weekend?

Gee, I got this pump with a tube hooked into a needle in my chest. I’m not sure this pump is waterproof.

How about we hike the Grand Canyon?

That would be great, except I can’t keep my eyes open more than 6 hours at a streachand I don’t think there is a donkey big enough to ride my fat ass out of that canyon.

How about sex?

Wonderful, except the chemo seems to have dried up my juice and I don’t know if anything is working down there any more.

Fuck you Lance and the rest of you goons.  Maybe cancer is great . . . when you have beat it.  But your not kidding anyone when you say “Gee I’m Glad I Got Cancer” when you are in the thick of the battle.  How about a nice near death experience to make me realize I need to live better?  That would be nice.  I’m not glad I got cancer and I would not wish this shit on anyone.  My life was plenty miserable and boring without it.  Happy Swimming With The Dolphins fuckers.