All the Cool Kids Do It

Half mock-exasperated, half serious, he beseeches us all: "Why does it always come back around to this?"

I just sit and smile, with my fingers across my lips; I don't want to blurt it out and ruin it; I don't want to tell him what I know is quite obvious.

It always comes back to poop.

Every.

Single.

Time.

My life, post-cancer, revolves around all things colonic. I can't help myself. It is just how I (and my bowels) roll now.

I remember when I had just had my surgery, the biggest question of the day after 'How's your pain level?' was 'Did you fart yet?'

Apparently, in a hospital setting, flatulence is an event to be celebrated. Like Bastille Day. Or Oktoberfest. If I say yes, do I maybe get a party hat? Leiderhosen?

Alright - small disclosure here. I can get completely sucked into a mob mentality.

It got to the point where I enthusiastically jumped on board to give out periodic "Poot Watch" reports. Not gonna lie - I got excited by my rumblings. I wanted to be that people pleaser.

"So hey, come here... guess what just happened?"

"I know, right?? TOTALLY cool!!"

"If you stand right there, no a little over, you can still feel the breeze. It's like a Spring zephyr..Glade will be calling soon. I'll tell them you just can't bottle perfection."

"I know - I'm happy, too. Really. Thrilled. Can I have some jello now? Dude, it's been like 3 days since I ate..."

My current obsession is just an off-shoot of those times. An extension, as it were...

Back to AJ and his constant disgust at our table talk.

When both of our families get together for one huge breaking of the bread (in this case it was a spring roll), it is inevitable.

We are, 9 out of 10 - simply put - feces-centric.

This meal, however, is slightly different than our usual get-togethers. It isn't a religious holiday. It isn't merely a visit with out-of-towners.

This time, it is yet another kind of celebration; of costuming for a cause out in the summer sun, strolling hither and thither in our skivvies , bringing awareness to down-thereness at this year's Underwear Affair.

We celebrate because, under the banner of Semi-Colon Army*, we have raised enough funds to come second overall in our city's event this year.

As Captain (or Colon-el), I celebrate my team's effort and heart and soul.

As a team, we celebrate being that much closer to finding some real solutions to an insidious, soul-sucking disease.

And being Number 2?

It seems blithely poetic to me.

; ; ; ; ; ;

*refers to the fact that as a result of my surgery, I no longer possess an entire colon, only bibs and bobs** of the original.





** I may or may not, from time to time, refer to my internal lower 49 as Bob; this really is of no concern to you one way or another. You can save that for other more important matters at hand, like "what color lip gloss goes with these shoes?" , or "should I eat the chocolate chip cookie dough and the tub of icing I've stashed in the back of the freezer?"