My daily fasting is a part of my regimented life. Dinner and dessert/snacking is usually done by eight in the night. And the eating/drinking starts again the following morning at about six. Ten long hours of fasting, you see?
This is how our biology is supposed to work. We animals lived in the tropics close to the equator, and our lives were determined by sunrise and sunset. There was no concept of noshing on Cheetos while binge-watching yet another show on one of the many streaming channels.
In the old country, there were a couple of holy days when some people, including in my immediate and extended family, fasted for 24-hours. They did that for religious reasons. Sacrificing one's food in order to remember and praise their favorite god, and to also be thankful for the foods that they were able to have. I was always happy that we kids were exempted from this ritual, and I did not have to forego any meal ever. Why can't the religious have sumptuous meals and thank their gods, and why do they fast instead?
Now, for the first time ever, I am fasting.
No, it is not any Damascene conversion. No come-to-Jesus moment.
The fasting, with restricted intake of clear liquids, is mandatory prep for the colonoscopy that I have avoided all these years.
After I turned fifty, when I went to meet the physician for a health check up, he raised the issue of checking my prostate.
It was a butt-clenching moment. "Do I really have to get that done?" I asked him.
I am sure he has heard that from many men. We men are wimps. Women routinely get their breasts pushed and stuffed into machines in order to get themselves checked for breast cancer. They lie down on tables for pap-smear-tests. But, once in a rare while when we men have to undergo an uncomfortable examination that is intended for our own good, we become wimps. Big time wusses, we are. At least, I am.
"If there is no family history of cancer at a young age, then it might be ok to skip it" the good doctor replied. I could have hugged him for that, but then I am a man and we men stay away from expressing our true emotions.
It turned out that a hug would have been premature anyway.
The doctor added: "when you go in for a colonoscopy, you can tell the doctor to check your prostate also. Make it a two-in-one."
Like I really needed that twofer!
From what I knew about the procedure, there was nothing that is attractive. To first drink a horribly tasting liquid which then forcefully evacuates the insides, after which a doctor sends a tube with a camera up from the rear end while I am sedated comes across more as how the likes of Dick Cheney love to torture whoever they label as terrorists.
I should note for the record that despite my looks and accent, well, I am no terrorist!
After having failed to convince me over the years, a few months ago, the good doctor recommended another procedure. In this option, I would have to collect my excrement and send the parcel to a lab.
In a moment of weakness, when my defenses were down, I agreed with him.
A few days after that visit to the doctor's office, the collection kit arrived. I watched the video on how to use it, and I immediately knew that I couldn't go through it.
But then, a man has gotta do what a man has gotta do. I signed up for a colonoscopy.
The day prior I fasted.
In the middle of my fasting, I got a call from the colonoscopy office. Among other things, they wanted to make sure that I had not eaten anything, and that I was following the instructions.
"I am hungry like crazy, and I am dreaming of foods that I want to eat. But, nope, I haven't had anything," I told them. I imagined in my mind the Charlie Chaplin character in Gold Rush. And then the restaurant scene in City Lights. I was ready for a food fight like in Great Dictator! I suppose I have seen a few Charlie Chaplin movies in my life.
The wuss abides, as he always does. "Will be there on time tomorrow," I said. For the twofer!
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