It is time for my CT and MRI. I was able to change the date and time so I am sure the doctors will have all the information they need before the big appointment.

I go out to breakfast and show up at the hospital at 9:00. First up is the CT scan. They have me sit in a small waiting room and bring me a quart of some liquid to drink. The tech warns me that it does not taste great but it is “ok” and I need to drink it all. If I had been told in advance, I would not be full from breakfast. “If I had been told …” is to become a common refrain.

I drink it all over the half hour, put on a gown, lie in the machine and get scanned. Not too big a deal, only takes a few minutes.

Next I go to the MRI waiting area, I am the only one there. After a few minutes a woman comes out, introduces herself, and tells me the doctor would like me to have an enema to make sure he gets clean pictures. Ugh.

Have you ever given yourself an enema?

No, I never had the pleasure.

She then hands me a gown and a Fleet enema, points out the instructions, points to the restroom and tells me to come back to the waiting area when I am done.

I look at the instructions, and here they are:

So I am thinking “Hey, colorectal cancer ain’t that bad! I get some new experiences.” So I study the directions and head to the bathroom.

Here is a picture of a similar bathroom. It was fairly large and had a sink and toilet, nothing else.

Having multiple engineering degrees, and in my youth being close friends with Isaac Newton, I understand that water flows downhill and one cannot take (get?) an enema standing up. That just won’t work, and besides, I don’t see that on the box. So, let’s take a look:

I go out to ask the tech a question, and of course, she is gone. I come back into the bathroom and I start to think what would work best … I am tired and could use a bit of a lie down …

But that may not be good on my back. No problem, there are other options …

There is no way I am getting on that floor. But then I remember, the waiting area is empty and it has carpet! Perfect.

If one doctor, or one tech, or one administrator was a patient there, I bet things would be different. But they are not.

I close my eyes before I am slid into the MRI machine and don’t open them until we are done. I went to my happy place; next time I will go to Pearlsky’s happy place first and borrow some valium …

Tests are done and it is six days until the big appointment. I pray I don’t get an urgent call to come right in over the next few days.

[Trigger alert: sarcasm ahead]

Seeing that I am a man’s man, a manly man, a man’s kind of man, I am very nonchalant and totally unconcerned about tomorrow morning’s CAT scan followed by an MRI.

I have no issues about taking an overnight laxative tonight. A self inflicted enema tomorrow morning, no problem! Getting to the hospital an hour early to drink a quart or two of not great tasting something, I laugh in it’s face! Lying in a CAT scan for about 20 minutes, then the MRI …

Before entering the room for the exam an IV catheter will be placed to allow access during the exam for the use of an IV contrast agent called gadolinium. The IV contrast agent will be injected toward the end of the exam and will increase the information obtained. If you have any questions about the use of contrast agents for your exam please contact the MRI department.

Once inside the exam room, a Radiologist or Nurse Practitioner will place a small plastic tube called a catheter into your rectum. A liquid barium contrast agent will then be injected through the catheter and into your rectum and will remain there until the exam is completed.

I am so fucking excited I could just shit.

Why does one have anxiety about a medical test? The test itself will not change anything about my body or health (for all intents and purposes). The fear of the test itself may be from not knowing what the test entails. In this case, I know what it entails; taking a laxative, giving myself an enema, getting an IV in my arm, getting a shot (somewhere), having a catheter shoved up my ass, receiving a bolus of barium via said catheter, and then lying in a tube so small I can’t move my arms for close to an hour. Of course there is no anxiety, I know exactly what will happen.

Would there be fear of the result which some people will know immediately yet I need to wait two days? That gives two days of waiting which always just sucks. But again, that is not too anxiety producing. And whatever my status is tomorrow during the test is what my status is as I write this. The difference is not in my tumor, it is in my knowing.

So what’s the anxiety thing, which of course a man like me does not have?

The CAT scan and the MRI are tomorrow. The flexible sigmoidoscopy exam is Wednesday. The results of all three follow an hour later during the cerberus II meeting. No anxiety there.

What we will learn:

• Exact location of the tumor
• The current size of the tumor
• Has the cancer spread to the lungs (easier to write “the” than “my”)
• Has the cancer spread to the liver
• Is surgery even worth doing?
• Is it true that there is no tumor, but we found Judge Crater?

By the way, Judge Crater disappeared the actual day my father was born, and both events were about 3 miles apart. Hmmmm … and tomorrow, the day of scans, is both my day’s birthday and the anniversary of Judge Crater disappearing. Coincidence? I think not!

Ok, so now that we have totally reasoned away the thought of anxiety or fear we can move on with our life. Oh, wait, don’t know if we can. I don’t know if I can move on with life, but I may know on Wednesday, two days after others know.

I hate this shit. Where’s my medical marijuana …

I showed up at 8:00 AM for my CT scan. I was told to follow the orange dots on the floor to the proper waiting room, as opposed to the green squares to the MRI waiting room. Yes, even I can do that. After a minute or two a nurse came in with my elixir to drink and asked if I wanted an IV inserted or to use my port. I forgot about my port, good idea! Close to 9:00 I was brought into the CT room, I lay on the table, and spend all of six minutes in the donut shaped machine.

Then I follow the green squares on the floor to the MRI waiting room and yes, the fun begins.

If you have not read about my first MRI experience, with the enema surprise, you really need to read that now. After my nurse practitioner heard about the experience, and then I showed her the post, she (with permission) shared it with the hospital and I got a call apologizing. Hence, make sure you remember my needing to give myself an enema on a bathroom floor, etc. before continuing to get the maximum amount of enjoyment at my continuing perverse adventure.

Again I am the only one waiting in the MRI waiting room. Within a few minutes a nurse (MRI technician?) comes out and I notice she is holding a piece of paper and … wait for it … an enema! She asks my name and birthday, confirms with the paper she is holding and tells me I need to give myself an enema. I specifically ask her where I am to do it and she points to THE SAME FUCKING BATHROOM. I then told her I gave myself one two hours ago at home and she saved the enema for another patient.

So now you should be aghast. The hospital called and apologized that they did the same exact thing twelve weeks ago hence I expected a different experience this time.

Last time I was dejected, mortified, and scared but figured it out. Unfortunately I did not get pictures of that actual bathroom and as the other post says, that is a similar bathroom. This time I was just pissed and disgusted, but I took pictures! Here is the actual bathroom where patients of this world class, big-city, ivy league teaching hospital are expected to give themselves an enema:

The astute among you will ask why there is a picture of me over the sink … no, that’s a mirror. It proves I was actually in this bathroom. But there is something the super astute of you have noticed …

But first, ENEMA 101. The result of a properly administered enema is minimally the expulsion of the contents of one’s rectum. It is typical that said expulsion is both liquid and solid. When properly done, said expulsion is done in a toilet. Note that there is a toilet in this bathroom. When said activity is occurring, solid and liquid is falling maybe six inches into water of unknown quality. Due to physics and fluid dynamics the toilet water will splash and soon it will be intermixed with said ex-contents of one’s rectum along with any bacteria, pathogens, sex toys, what-have-you. This leaves unsavory and unknown droplets of liquid on the buttocks of the enema-ee, possibly the back of the upper thighs, scrotum or vulva, and anything else placed within the porcelain ring.

Now that you have the picture (you’re welcome), you understand that the next thing the enema-ee does is reach for the super thin single-ply toilet paper to do whatever cleaning is possible. After a through study of absorption, fluid dynamics, and squeezing the Charmin, you will find that some cleaning does get accomplished and some dirtying of one’s hand(s) and fingers occurs as a result; contaminated with all manner of fecal matter and associated clean-challenged water.

Back to the astute observers reading this. What else do you see in the photos? What’s that you say, something on the faucet?

A Post-it® note! Wonderful. Good news? The report on my CT scan? A reminder that I have rectal cancer?

But nooooooo …

So let’s review:

Three months ago I get handed an enema and shown pictures on how to give it to myself. I am told to use this very bathroom, with no place to lie down but the floor. This is so objectionable that the story of this goes from my nurse practitioner to patient relations to some administrator in radiology who reaches out to me to apologize.

Three months later, today, I am given an enema to give myself in the same bathroom. A bathroom that still has only a floor to administer said enema, but the bathroom does have a modification. A SINK THAT DOES NOT WORK. NO PLACE TO WASH ONE’S HANDS AFTERWORDS.

As I said, I gave myself an enema in the comfort of my own home earlier in the day and did not need to be demeaned by the total and complete lack of empathy on behalf of these so-called professionals. I used some soft two-ply toilet tissue followed by a brief, but effective, shower.

Readers of my blog concerning me and Pearlsky are well aware of the fact that I hate idiots. I have refrained from saying that here, and will continue to.

The MRI went fine with respect to the procedure itself. I was actually able to relax inside the machine, let’s just say better living through chemistry is more than just an expression.

We will get the results on Wednesday, in two days.