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Over Endo–endoscopy

March 19, 2016

Man, the first beginning of taking on esophageal cancer is an endoscope, three separate tubes. Glorified plumber snakes to get down to the garbage disposal known as my esophagus. The first time I ever heard about that organ was: Humphrey Bogart died from it. Bogey drank and smoked pretty hard. Weird what sticks in the brain. The first one is a thin line with a flashlight, the second tube is a camera that takes a picture of the entire wall, and the third one goes to far down and watching the film on the screen and I see wreckage debris on the bottom of the sea, and two pieces of the Titanic.

Why do they call it an endoscope if they go down your throat? Do they just turn the tube around after they do an colostomy. I’ve been double dipped!

With my sore throat and pain in my stomach that lingered from the endoscope I guess the most difficult thing is experiencing the first disorienting pain that comes with treatment. The brain thinks, okay I can catch up on reading or writer, or listen to music or watch movies (I have a couple DVD box sets I haven’t cracked –Laurel and Hardy, Three Stooges, Abbott and Costello’s TV shows, the Bowery Boys,), but then that heavy cloak of pain overtakes you and unease stirs within you as you are tossed between the troughs of the chemo seas. Reading is almost impossible. All you can do is hold on to your hear and rage and refuse to get washed overboard and drift out to that deep ocean where the Big C tries to drown you. But your soul is a life preserver, and it can glow, and rises and seethes, and will burn and evaporate the what is trying to sink me until its all gone and I’m back walking among you all, carrying my surfboard to the ocean or stepping on the stage, or helping a friend.

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