Poop Chute Blues

Nothing hearkens middle age in Western civilization like the onset of health issues and those invasive, uncomfortable tests that come with them. Most of my peers are getting their first taste of crappy blood reports full of "pre-diabetic" warnings, high cholesterol numbers and liver panels that do not bode well for the future. Sure, we join the gym and try to "watch what we eat" but the truth is that sort of just accept, as a society, the inevitability of nursing a growing collection of pharmaceuticals as the years tick on.

Except for my mum, that is.

She is the other extreme, drinking green smoothies full of spinach and foul spirulina, reading everything she can get her hands on about food, health and how everything is interconnected. In spite of how I tease her, I have to admit that there is something to be said for her lifestyle. When you line my mother up in a roomful of people within a decade on either side of her age, she looks so much younger than everyone else. She radiates health. She eschews all but one medication. She has never had a mammogram because she believes the brain is susceptible to suggestion and doesn't want to plant that particular seed of possibility in her head. She is fearless.

I will admit that there have been plenty of times in my life that I thought perhaps her Birkenstocks were strapped too tightly but now, as the sins of my twenties have come back to haunt me, I think that she's on to something. The one concept she has always stressed is that the medical community is full of human beings who by virtue of being human, can be expected to err. "Ultimately, YOU are responsible for your health", she says.

I've toyed with that concept for several years researching diets, implementing new exercise programs and eliminating certain foods from my kitchen. Some efforts were more successful than others and some things were just all kinds of stupid. I dabbled because generally, it's more enjoyable to remain blissfully ignorant. Until there is a medical scare and there always will be one, right? Because how we treat our bodies today determine how big our pill case of tomorrow will be. No brainer.

I turned forty and overnight, it seemed that my entire physiology changed. As I ushered in my middle age crisis with Harley Davidsons, wrinkles, presbyopia and ill fitting bras, I began to get serious about my health. I have accepted middle age, embraced it. I am having the time of my life. I'm also having a colonoscopy this Thursday.

(Let's just pause there a second. I need to catch my breath.)

And I'm kind of hoping that after taking a small biopsy of my stomach, my gastro doctor is going to tell me that gluten is not my problem. I can absolutely live and live well without gluten or any other grains but I'd like to give them up on my own terms. There is a whole new class of people who are proving to be "gluten sensitive". My doctor thinks I'm one of them.

Whatever.

All I know is that until a few months ago, I ate all the wheat, barley and rye that I wanted, like I had been doing for forty four years. Becoming gluten free was a choice and admittedly, I felt freaking GREAT without it in my diet but I didn't HAVE to avoid it. Now, it appears like I do and I can't help but sort of kick myself because it seems like I have manifested this issue just by virtue of letting it hit my radar.

I am not going to wail on about how crappy the colonoscopy is going to be (pun totally intended) because really, the procedure itself is the nicest part about the whole ordeal. Instead, I'm going to focus on the fact that after it is all said and done, I will be able to state, unequivocally, that I am no longer full of shit.

That will be a first.