What can I say? I have a thing for dark chocolate, especially when it has been chilled. Yesterday, I celebrated my birthday, doing the things that I love. But, my actually birthday is today. So, I felt like doing a little something extra for myself, maybe a motivation for my blogging--like a reward, for when I finish doing it. Unfortunately, I mixed up the motivation. It was supposed to be blog post first, chocolate treat second. In the end, it got done. And, now, I am grateful for one of the results, this essay; the other result, not so much.
Just now I consumed an entire Tony's Chocolonely, Dark Chocolate 51% Almond Sea Salt Bar. That’s 900 calories filled with 60 grams of fat (half of which is saturated), 360 milligrams of sodium, and 72 grams of sugar (all of it added), On the positive side, I ingested 12 grams each of fiber and protein, along with 90% of my daily recommended amount of iron. Why the detailed confession? I am not sure. Perhaps my gluttony, which is currently weighing heavily in my stomach, as well as on my mind, is inducing indigestion and regret. Turning forty-eight today is not helping. Six servings of chocolate bar in under five minutes is improving my physical health. Together, these factors are producing guilt. Having grown up Catholic (I rejected it during my eighth grade year), I recognize the importance of confession.
Or, maybe, I needed a topic to get this post going. For me, the most difficult part of the writing process is starting. And, what could be easier than detailing the contents of a large chocolate bar one just ate while procrastinating. And, now, I have a paragraph.
(Apologies. I need to use the bathroom. Hopefully that is not a sign of prostate issues…)
This month, I turn forty-eight.
(Sorry. Just now, I went back and found a prior post I drafted, but never finished. It began with that five-word sentence, and included some of the text that follows. I should probably update the introduction...)
Today, I turned forty-eight. Not sure what that means, except that I am getting older. However, fifty is supposed to be a milestone. But, as I have aged, my patience has waned. And, given my personality, that is saying a lot. So, I want whatever epiphany, or life-changing event is part and parcel of turning half a century, to happen now. A colonoscopy would have been part of that list, except the officials now recommend beginning them at forty-five. Well, I am three years past due on that one. Yet, despite my growing restlessness with the future, I am in no hurry to experience this procedure,.
It may sound crazy, but it is not the “sticking something up the butt, and having a look around” that bothers me. Do not ask me why. There is only so much I am willing to share on this blog. Just kidding, I will be sedated, so I will not feel a thing. Nor am I afraid of what they will find--there have been no symptoms to indicate cancer. Yes, I am aware that a lack external signs is no guarantee that something is not wrong. However, finding something now is far better than discovering when there is pain and bleeding. No, it’s the prep and sedation that has me avoiding this necessary procedure. Avoiding solids and most liquids, while downing a half dozen glasses of an awful drink, all so that you can shit everything out, right before surgery, is not pleasant. Then having to endure it for an entire day before going under, is more than an inconvenience. I could handle several hours of diarrhea before getting my my ass rammed with a camera (one of those I have experienced multiple times), but not an anxiety-filled twenty-four hour period. And, I will have anxiety, no doubt about that. Not all the words of comfort from those close to me who have endured the surgery (a few of you, too many times to count) will reduce it. That is not how it works. Finally, I have never experienced anesthesia, nor had an IV put into me. While I have done needle pricks from blood work, and a three part assault on my big toe (I made the mistake of watching the podiatrist stick a needle in and move it about, three times—nearly kicked him in the face), the act of running fluid directly into my veins frightens me.
Before you tell me there is nothing to fear with anestheia intravenously delivered, let me tell you, a few stories I have read inform me otherwise. While rare, people have had an allergic reaction to the sedative. You will not know until it happens. A burning sensation usually signals it. The person administering the fluids have been know to fuck that up, too. I really do not want my first experience with an IV to involve a sudden swelling of the vein in my hand. The nurse in that story was neither apologetic, nor sympathetic. Since I will be lying prone, ass-naked on a gurney without having eaten solid food for over twenty-four hours, I may just slap someone, should I find myself in that situation. Finally, I could end up mostly immobilized and unable to speak, but aware of what is happening, Then again, in that particular incident, the patient was a redhead, and they require a bit more anesthesia. They are also more sensitive to pain.
Yes, yes, I know. It could be worse. I could be giving birth. No, wait, that is my wife’s response to when I, or one our children, complain about discomfort or pain. Far worst than a colonoscopy is discovering cancer when it is too late. Instead, I will end up facing a lot more than my anxieties about IVs, sedation, and having parts of my body probed while lying around exposed.
So, time to schedule that colonoscopy! Well, it will have to wait until tomorrow (have I ever talked about my procrastination before, or shared my anxieties with using the phone?). Besides, right now, I need to walk off that chocolate bar. You know, the one that inspired this post. Perhaps eating it paid off.
[Stomach rumbles.]
Maybe not.
(By the way, finishing, which includes editing--for those of you who cringe at my syntactical and grammatical mistakes--,is my second most difficult struggle with writing.)
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