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| Yes, the whole fuckin thing. |
One of the joys of getting old is that every life choice, every cigarette, every drink, every random line you may have snorted basically every sin you ever committed from the moment you were born comes back to haunt you.
That shit catches up, y'know?
I never really had time to think about it much when I was working. But now, retired these nine months, one has more time in which to ponder his impending mortality. And, ideally, to take corrective action while there's still time.
In the last few months I've had a battery of tests: a scan of my "right upper quadrant" for some reason; a lung scan to detect early signs of lung cancer, due to my 40-year relationship with the Phillip Morris Companies; bloodwork, to rule out a host of age related maladies, including prostate cancer, heart disease, liver function. Next month I'm starting up a regular thing with a dermatologist. This is Florida, after all, land of endless sunshine that is punctuated only by the occasional Cat 5 hurricane.
By some miracle, I'm still in fairly decent health. I'm not sure how that's possible, given my history, but here we are. My point is that I've weathered all of this poking and prodding, this groping and grasping, with great aplomb. I have refrained from my usual complaining in these instances because, goddammit, I'm a trooper. The physician's assistant told me so.
Until now.
Because, you see, tomorrow I'm having a colonoscopy. It ain't my first time at this rodeo, so I know exactly what to expect.
This is my 3rd colonoscopy in the last 10 years. I'm a pro at this. I've already taken the first four laxative pills to get this party started, and in a few hours I'll begin trying to choke down THE FUCKING GALLON of gag-worthy slop that will compel my bowels to vacate. Like, right then. Explosively.
Sorry for the TMI. It isn't pretty and it isn't pleasant, but neither is colon cancer.
I don't feel like being "a trooper," but I have reason to be vigilant in this regard. When I was in my early twenties, shortly after I had moved away from my small town and found a new life in the Big Gay City, I contracted a rather nasty case of HPV. (HPV is a euphemism for venereal warts.)
Yes, I'm aware that I contracted HPV as a result of wanton, reckless, risky gay sex. But this was before the AIDS pandemic had become a thing, and no one was yet over-worrying STDs. We had penicillin, for fucks sake, what could possibly go wrong? There was also no HPV vaccine, and anyway, who was even thinking about venereal warts in 1982? I was treated, cured.
But it was a hard lesson for a young lad about the realities of venereal disease. I learned how to protect myself, and took precautions after that. In retrospect, I credit this incident with perhaps saving my life later, when AIDS came along: I was practicing safer sex before it was cool.
But the HPV virus remains dormant for the rest of your life, and it can morph into cancer later.
It's not only that. Not long after my parents died of Covid, I discovered a whole other branch of siblings I never knew I had. One of them was my half-brother, born just 1 month after me. He and I had never met, never spoken, but another sibling (whom I did meet!) told me a few months ago that our brother had died. Of colon cancer. My age. And (who knows?) I'm guessing was probably never exposed to HPV.
So. Yeah. I'll take these pills, drink my glop, and expel my guts in the hopes of getting a clear view, a clean reading. It would be easy to see all these tests and procedures as onerous and inconvenient and uncomfortable. They are all those things.
But they also save lives. Maybe yours. Maybe even mine.
* * *
Not lost on me in all of this is the fact that I have access to good healthcare. In this country that's a goddamn luxury, but things have gotten somewhat better due to Obamacare. Love it, hate it, but the fact is that prior to March 3, 2010, when the Affordable Care Act became a reality, I would not have been able to retire at 62. It would have been impossible.
This is because Medicare, the health insurance system for old people, doesn't kick in until one turns 65. Before Obamacare, the only way younger people could get any access to health care at all was either through employer paid health insurance, or by being completely destitute and on Medicaid. There really was no other option, other than risking ruinous medical debt if you got sick.
Read that again, please: Prior to Obamacare, there was essentially no way for individuals or families to find affordable health insurance on the marketplace. It was all employer provided, or some form of Medicaid (the insurance program for low income people.) That was it.
This would have essentially mandated that I either continue plodding along in the workplace (instead of opening up a slot for a fresh young upstart like the girl who replaced me) OR living without health insurance for three years when Medicare kicked in. That's a long time at this age.
* * *
All of which is a long way of saying, Would you stoopid GOP humping maddafackas stop voting to make your own lives miserable? I'm sick of your grievances when you keep voting for assholes who tell you right up front: We're going to gut your health care, strip your pensions, slash. your social security, take away your contraceptives, and generally make sure you remain indentured servants for the rest of your miserable lives -- but in exchange, you won't ever have to bake another gay fucking wedding cake.
YAY! THANKS GOP!!!!
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