Last Friday I had the questionable pleasure of a Colonoscopy.  My primary doctor is trying to find out what is causing a rather severe pain in my lower abdomen.  An ultrasound showed that the ovarian cyst that ruptured last year was still there, but that otherwise my girly bits were clean and clear. 

Which left the bowel as the next area to explore.  It's been at least ten years since they found polyps there during the last jaunt up my bum.   I've been a little too busy with my mental health issues to bother with any follow-ups, plus really and truly, I'm hopeless at any kind of maintenance.


Things have changed quite a bit over the last decade or so.  Or maybe I blanked some of it out, you know, like the pain of childbirth or that drunken night of, well, whatever it was?  Either way, I couldn't eat the whole day before and in the evening I had to drink a gallon of completely revolting sludge that made me throw up as well as evacuate the entire contents of my colon.  The only bright spot was the hope that I might get an answer for what is causing the pain.  Oh, and that I'd get knocked out.

Maybe it was my hunger and thirst that made me creeped out by the doctor when we first met.  I was being wheeled into the room for my "procedure", when he greeted me from his rolling stool.  (No pun intended, honest).  They shot me up with Valium and Pentothal, and were astounded that I remained awake for 75% of the time.  I got the visuals of my inner rectum in HD on a large screen looming above, which was interesting. 

I came out of it minus three polyps, with a sheet of snap-shots to impress my friends.  But (hee hee), no answer to the reason why I'm in pain.
The whole thing got me to thinking, anyway, about why we do the jobs that we do.  I mean, Doctor Lichtenstein probably didn't grow up saying he wanted to be an arse doctor.  Or did he? 

I have had many jobs because I am a painter, so I never quite got on that career track.   Along the way I have stumbled upon some odd ways to make money.  Ways that my High School guidance councilor  never hinted at. 

For example, "fluffer".  Not that I'd do it, but still....  Did you know that you can make money acting as a patient for medical students?  As a food stylist, making even fast-food burgers look attractive?  As the person making up rediculous names for the colours of paint, lipstick and eye-shadow?  As a quick sketch portrait artist in an amusement park?  As an animal wrangler for television and film?  As a Bathyspere pilot?

And still we have the doctors that chose to be a proctologist.  Wonders will never cease.

I stayed up too late last night watching the second series of HBO's "The Wire"; so the brunch with my neighbour Junior got blown off. This is strategically not the smartest move. Given to mercurial views on his friends and loved ones, he can be a fierce foe.

I had ignored my ringing phone so that I could keep sleeping. I've had a lot on my plate recently and it's exacting it's toll. The problem with Manic Depression, is that when you feel good, you try to cram as much living as possible into that time.

I'm volunteering at a women's prison on Monday nights, I have a part-time job, I'm taking an art class, I have somehow found myself on the "Please save this dog" e-mailing lists, ( I have found homes for a couple), I see my therapist once a week, I attend 12-Step meetings, I try and clean out the five litter-boxes each day, my car just died, I saw my mum for the first time in about six years and next week I am going to enjoy the fabulous experience of a Colonoscopy, as I am in quite a bit of pain. As my housecleaning and social life is spotty at best, these have been put not on the back-burner, but behind the actual oven.

Last weekend I helped Junior empty the coffin outside of his house, (Emptying The Coffin, 6/17/08). We had made tentative plans for brunch today, but I had to be an arse and stay up watching "The Wire", which I'd gotten from NetFlix. By the time I got up, my room-mate Cricket was just about to leave on her errands. I went with her, because without a car I need help picking up the twenty-pound bag of Science Diet for the cats.

I was totally out of it, but then we stopped for a meal at Sulimay's. The food and caffine must have done the trick, as my brain started to function after a delicious grilled chicken salad club sandwich and three large Diet Cokes.

Realizing my blunder with Junior, we ran our errands with the idea of buying him a peace offering. That was my second mistake of the day, because we found a new book shop in our neighbourhood. We had just come out of Villa & Hut, flushed with our gift for him, when we spotted the book shop. We had to go in.

Thirty dollars later I was the proud owner of "The Gospel of Judas", "Through the Lens" (both National Geographic hardcovers) and "The Encyclopedia of Natural Pet Care". Cricket resisted the temptation, with a struggle. Me? I need help when it comes to books, as I can never have too many and I will read them. The problem with this is that A) I read far too quickly, B) I don't have the money to spare and C) I have been trying to "manage" my book reading, as I find myself short of (A+B) + time.

Nonetheless, I love this evil place! It's an actual warehouse of new and used books. The guys have been operating online for some time, but have just recently opened the space to the public. And it's right by my bank.

I'm still waiting for Junior to return my humbly apologetic phone calls. I want him to have the wonderful wooden bowl we picked out at Villa & Hut. But most of all, I don't want him to be upset.