Home » Poems » Robert Ronnow » Colonoscopy

Colonoscopy

I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy.
The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being
the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors.
They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test.
At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this
      interview
I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable
describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic polyps
but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and
      hormones,
I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman.
I wasn’t worried although my ass was burning.
Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse
      models for dying—
mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul
      Newman in Hombre—or hagiography
Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun.
Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all
      before,
acting tough, which isn’t actually an act
you do your prep and say your prayers.
I thought I’d be in and out butt as you probably already know
the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting,
clear fluids only, and constant voiding.
You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken. 
I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are
without so much  and flesh between you and the natural world.
Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level,
      nearer the nucleus, with fasting and sexual abstinence.
The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for
      future existence.

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Candide Diderot

Date: 6/14/2024 5:24:00 AM

Isn't it so annoying how they are always most comfortable describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic polyps...." but what about cell structure", I said. "He was vague about genes and hormones, I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman." True.

Candide Diderot
Date: 6/14/2024 5:29:00 AM

"I wasn’t worried although my ass was burning. Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse models for dying— mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul Newman in Hombre—or hagiography Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun. Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all before, acting tough, which isn’t actually an act you do your prep and say your prayers. I thought I’d be in and out butt as you probably already know the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi." I'd be worried, but reticent...what can you do? After all, when your time is called, you present front and centre, as best you can. Someone in my family ... a female, has been through this journey recently (not myself, but someone very close to me) and you listen and take it all in...there for the grace of ....? ... go I.