The Long Camera

Yesterday I stumbled via Huffpost on an article in Esquire profiling Roger Ebert. America’s favorite film critic has undergone a number of operations for cancer that have made his familiar face unrecognizable, but he’s a testimony to perseverance. 

Coming across this was a bit jarring for me, since I was spending the day preparing for my post-60 colonoscopy. I’d had one ten years ago and knew the drill; at least they’ve made the clean-out stuff less vile to drink, but it’s still the case that when you’re just killing time playing solitaire on the computer and nature’s call comes, as it does repeatedly, you don’t have the luxury of saying to yourself “I’ll just finish this game.” (See Dave Barry for the best description.) Still, even after getting past that ordeal one can’t help but fret over what they might find where the sun don’t shine.

In the interview, Ebert paid homage to former partner Gene Siskel, who died of a brain tumor in February of 1999. It was in February of 2001 that my dad was diagnosed with mesothelioma (resulting from industrial exposure to asbestos), which killed him three months later. And it was in February of 2007 that Beth and I lost one of our closest friends after her decade-long bout with liposarcoma. So I began to think maybe I should’ve pushed my date with the long camera into March.

Anyway, it was all routine and the anesthesia was lovely (thanks, Maureen) – so much so that I felt like they were giving me the bum’s rush hustling me out of there when it was over.  I’d be happy if they come up with some easier alternative within the next ten years. Even happier if something like the medical tricorder from Star Trek finally got invented.

Because it’s good to know something’s wrong early enough to do something about it. But it’s still disquieting to know that something’s gonna get you eventually.