A Camera up your Bum

Spending Saturday morning having a colonoscopy procedure is different, but not to be recommended, unless that's your thing, which I'm told it is for some folk. Less traumatic than I had anticipated but I'm glad it's behind me, so to speak.

It is not exactly the most dignified position to be in, eight am Saturday morning flat on your back with some guy poking a camera where no camera has any right to be. And he's accompanied by two nurses, one of whom thought it was a great time to strike up a conversation, and the other is keeping an eye on things, my blood pressure, I think.

Dr Manning seemed like a nice young man, glasses, intense, concentrated look, reassuring, so I let him get on with things as he knew best. Said I could watch things on the screen if I wished. Meantime nusrsie is asking me about the weather, and what my plans are for the rest of the day. I'm thinking to myself this guy has just had his finger up my bum and now he's pushing his camera up there and you expect me to chat away, as if it's just another day, and not forgetting that  I've also got an oxygen mask on. But one does not like to be rude so one does one's best to keep her happy; maybe she's bored. She is very pleasant really and keeps me nice and relaxed.

I decided that I should have a look at what's happening on screen. By this time I'm lying on my back and doctor says progress is good and we're getting there, taking some photos and videos, soon to be on YouTube he says. I can see the view the camera has and it's like going up some bloody, throbbing tunnel. I couldn't believe the size of it. I didn't really take to it, so only watched for a few minutes. It reminded my of some of these documentaries that are sometimes on tele, of operations being carried out, where you can see everything going on, which  I can only watch through my fingers and then turn over to something less stressful.

Doctor says he will be stopping on his way down with the camera to have another good look at the tumour and he will let me know when he gets to it. Which he does so we are looking at it together. It doesn't look good. He says its about 4 cm in size, which is not too big but neither is it very small.

And then it's all over. He wishes me good luck, shakes my hand and away I go to get my tea and toast, my first food for two days. Tastiest toast I've had for some years. I have a memory of Sunday morning back in Aird Tong, and our father allowing us to make toast, holding the slice of bread on a toasting fork up against the old peat fire. Don't know where the old lady would have been, maybe she was unwell that morning. Anyway that was memorable toast too. The best of toast.

A woman I know who works in Morningside library told me that some people pay good money for that kind of procedure. Don't know what kind of friends she has, but I think I can guess. I always had my doubts about her. She wear a cycling helmet at work. What kind of person is that, I ask myself.

Dennis Potter called his tumour, Rupert, after you know who, but I'm not at that stage yet. But open to suggestions.

Meantime things move on at snails pace. My next stop is a CT scan on Thursday and then an MRI scan on Monday third of June. After all that they will tell me how good or bad things are. So maybe two and a bit more weeks to wait.