Following Mom's Orders

Last week as I dressed in the morning preparing to go for my colonoscopy, I remembered the order of moms everywhere to their kids before they'd leave the house: put on clean underwear! Especially as I was having a medical procedure, I dutifully found and put on absolutely clean underwear. Freshly laundered in fact.

Half way to the hospital it occurred to me: no one, not the doctors, not the nurses, not the techs or anyone, was going to see my underwear that day. They could not have cared less. I would be placed behind a curtain to remove my clothes and don a hospital gown. Nothing I was wearing mattered. Not one bit.

I still get points for doing what Mama wanted though, don't I?

Finding a Career

Before I begin, I want to say that I deeply appreciate those in the medical profession. They do work I can't do, and indeed wouldn't do, for all kinds of reasons. But I can't help but wonder what inspired the doctors and nurses and techs to enter certain fields.

Take the colonoscopy team I was blessed to have last week. They did great all the way around: professional, courteous, good at what they do. The procedure took barely a half hour, and maybe not that. I simply wonder what caused them to want to do it.

I don't remember career day at high school covering it, nor the similar career days we attended when our kids were in school. There were many options out there, but I apparently missed the poster which asked, "Do you have what it takes to make it in the world of colonoscopy?"

I'm glad those folks made that choice. I thank them very much. I just don't get it.

One Down

Three days, three medical appointments. Do I know how to live or what?

Yesterday I was in for a CAT scan of my troublesome left ankle. Today, my first colonoscopy. Oh joy, oh rapture. Thankfully it's simply for preventative purposes, another of those 'at your age' things to do. "At your age, Mr. Cosgriff, you really ought to have a colonoscopy," my doctor told me seriously this past September. I suppose he's got my best interests in mind. And I do get to moon people without repercussions.

So I honestly don't expect bad news from that. I don't expect particularly bad news about my ankle either for that matter, except that I may need minor surgery. The ankle worries me more only because when it hurts, it hurts. I'm talking about 8 on a scale of 10. It's woken me up at night. But the damn pain comes and goes out of nowhere, sometimes lasting days, other times not even 10 minutes. Even that doesn't appear to be life threatening in and of itself. It's when it comes out of nowhere, say, when I'm going down steps, that worries me. Falling down a flight of stairs can be life threatening.

I don't want to die that way. I mean, I want to get to Heaven. I pray every day that I do, but eventually. And there are enough dicey questions already that St. Peter, I'm sure, will be asking me. I don't want "Why are you here early?" to be among them.

Which leads to appointment Roman Numeral III. Friday I see the orthopedist to find out the results on my ankle. I wish I hadn't put my foot in my mouth so often over the years...