I have just spent the last 3 days on a low fiber and/or liquid-only diet in preparation for a routine, screening colonoscopy this morning. Mind you, I had a one back in 2005 or so; just long enough ago that all the details have faded into obscurity. Everyone kept telling me that the 4 LITERS of solution that I would have to drink would be the worst thing about the experience. Not so.

Admittedly, though, reading the instructions for the colon-emptying solution was more than daunting. Besides all the warnings about bloating, cramping, nausea, etc., etc., there were all the instructions about drinking the liquid quickly, flavoring it with a provided lemon packet, keeping it cold, using a straw to put the solution as far back in your mouth as possible, and so on.

So (I have just learned about the use of the word “so” as a “discourse marker” and I feel so much better about starting a sentence with it now*), I set up everything in my den last night so as to be comfortable running back and forth to the bathroom. Started my first 2 liters at 7pm last night. While the stuff was not pleasant by any means, it was hardly gag-inducing. I left the flavor packet out and the solution really didn’t taste of much at all. It did have a slightly “salty” taste as best I can describe it.

After all that lead-up, I ended up going to bed at 10:30 and then getting up again at 3:30 to take the second 2 liters (albeit with a few trips to the bathroom in between). Managed to get it all down by 4:40 or so. Took the dog out at 5:30. Had some kind neighbors pick me up at 6:00 and deliver me to the surgery center.

The procedure itself was simple. Worst part was the IV stick. Met the doctors, got wheeled into the room at 8:15. Told to lie on my side and take a few deep breaths through the oxygen mask. Next thing I know, the nurse is saying “Hello” at 8:45 and asking me what I want to drink. I love these new anesthetics!

All right then, if the laxative medicine wasn’t the worst part of the experience, it must have been not being able to have any solid food for 36 hours. I’m not much of a broth or Jell-O person, so I expected to be ravenous yesterday. Not so, in fact, I had to force myself to drink a couple of glasses of white grape juice just because I thought I should have some calories during the day.

Just what was the hardest part of this whole experience then? It was the initial two days of “low-fiber”. I had not realized how much I depend on fibrous foods on a day-to-day basis. No fruit that has any skin: there went my grapes in the morning. No berries or anything else with seeds; there went my raspberries and figs. No dried fruits: there went my nightly dates. No beans. No vegetables with skin on them. But even that was not the worst.

The absolutely hardest part was not being able to eat nuts or popcorn! I have one or the other of those almost every night. If I’m not having a big bowl of popcorn, I’m having a handful of pistachios and a handful of cashews, and a handful of chocolate-covered almonds. It was all I could do to not snitch a couple of my mom’s chocolate covered peanuts when I took them in to her in the evening.

Not sure whether it will be popcorn or nuts tonight. Maybe both!

PS: The test turned out well; I have nothing to worry about for at least 5 years.

*https://www.dictionary.com/e/sentence-initial-so/#:~:text=So%20works%20as%20a%20conversational%20prompt%20in%20the,a%20quick%20transition%20from%20one%20topic%20to%20another.

I wasn’t aware these were even a thing anymore, but this is what showed up in my mailbox:

I like their subtitle of “The Original Search Engine”!

Bindy is no longer allowed up in my mom’s lap or chair; no matter how careful they both were, Brindy’s toenails caused too many skin tears and bruises. She now has to be content with being up on my mom’s bed next to the chair. She has definitely made herself comfortable:

The temperature is below 85°F, the wind isn’t gusting over 20mph, the humidity is below 25%, and there is no lightning anywhere within at least 100 miles: finally safe to take to the water again!

The monsoons have cleared out and the thermometer on my back porch was firmly below 80°F this morning. Still humid, 58%, which is a lot for the desert, but with a light breeze, it was quite nice walking weather at 7 am. Cooler temps predicted for the next week at least. I enjoyed the storms and rain immensely, but I am not sorry to see the heat take its leave.

I’ve spent the last several days working on flowers since the mokara orchids I had made for my mom looked like they needed some company. These orchids are made with double-sided crepe paper which I then “mod-podged” and shaped. For my initial attempt, I am quite happy with them and will probably try some others in different colors.

As I hoped, my irises multiplied over this last week from 3 to 15. Here they are now:

I adopted my dog, Brindy, on September 5, 2013. But I actually brought her home 9 years ago today on the 6th. This makes her about 11, as everyone guessed she was around 2 years old when she arrived in the shelter.

She was a very fearful dog at first, but never vicious. Didn’t take her too long to come out of her shell, though. The shelter had no info on her, but she seemed to be well-trained. She was house-broken from the start. She knew how to sit and heel and she didn’t mind riding in cars.

Here she is at the shelter:

And here she is a few days later:

And today, just a bit grayer:

Over the years, she has gone from being nervous around people to assuming everyone is her friend. She approaches anyone she meets, mostly in the hope they will have treats. She is happy, however, to accept pats on the head as well.

I admit, the last few years of seemingly unrelenting bad news and of being housebound has gotten to me. I’ve always been a fairly optimistic person, but events this year had basically caused me to throw my hands up in the air and declaim despair for mankind’s, and more specifically, womankind’s, future.

Last year I saw an article about Steve Martin’s then upcoming show “Only Murders in the Building”. When I watched it, I noticed that the two lead, male actors (Steve Martin and Martin Short) were also executive producers. They were joined by a third person, Selena Gomez, in both acting and producing roles. The second season just ended, and I understand there are plans for a third.

I knew I had heard Selena’s name in connection with music and was curious enough to look her up on the internet. Turns out she has been acting since 14 or so and singing about as long. I pulled up one of her albums, “Rare”, on Amazon Prime and was astonished by how good the lyrics were (I enjoyed the music, too).

Then I noticed over on HBO that she had a cooking show that she started during the pandemic. It has her working remotely with well-known chefs who are teaching her how to cook in her home kitchen. That’s now on its 4th season and is a lot of fun to watch.

The woman has somehow successfully navigated childhood stardom, famous boyfriends, lupus, a kidney transplant, and bipolar disorder without becoming a self-centered diva. The cooking show donates to the celebrity chef’s favorite charity. She set up a cosmetic company that focuses on making people feel better about themselves. She has a site, Wondermind, supporting mental health.

It’s not that she’s managed to do all these things by 30 years of age that has brightened my outlook for the future; it’s that a 30-year-old woman can do them at all. When I get down about lack of progress for women and what seems like an actual turning back of the clock, I remember what it was actually like for me at that age, some 40 years ago.

At 27, I was teaching in a parochial high school. When I started teaching a year or two earlier, it was the first year the church had to pay a woman teacher the same as a man. After all, the man, even if single, might someday have to support a family, while the woman, even if single, would have a man to support her.

At that same age of 27, although I had been employed for two or three years as a teacher, I was turned down, with one exception, for every credit card I applied for. No reason given, but as a woman, I would have needed a cosigner on the account. Bank of America was the only bank that looked at my salary and history instead of my sex.

At 28, I joined the Navy. Although all the military branches were ostensibly allowing women to join by then, careers were very limited. The Navy was putting very few women officers on board ships. And throughout my time in service, the Naval Investigative Service was on constant lookout for those “lesbians” that they were sure had infiltrated the ranks and were discharging any they thought they had found.

Then I look at Selena’s career. This is a woman who probably would have been written off as a bit of fluff 30 years ago. My cause for optimism, then? That she is a young, pretty, woman who is taken seriously and gets to make an impact on her own terms. Maybe there is hope for us all yet!