Because my original post didn't save :(

I wonder what it means when your 63 year-old mother tells you that you are about to schedule a colonscopy from the same GI doctor as her. This is what my mother told me today when I updated her about my health issues.

"Did you tell him that I am your mother?" she asked.

"It didn't come up."

"You need to tell him that we are related. He knows me. He knows my history which will help him with you."

My mother is good at this. Whenever someone is telling a story, she inevitably has to bring the conversation back to her. It's just her thing. She's one of those people who needs to be the center of attention at all times. Good or bad, that's what always happens. It's not necessarily a bad thing. I understand the her intentions. It's her way of connecting with people when she's not always sure how to. It's her way of making a situation more even. I do that sometimes too. A lot of people I know are like that. One of them just happens to be my mother.

So when I was telling her about my situation, she proceeded to tell my life-long friend, Shay--who is in from Colorado for the weekend visiting us--about her 50th birthday.

This is the same birthday where I had to give my mother an enema. There are just some things that children should not have to do for their parents. Give them an enema is possibly the top thing on the list.

A few days before her 50th, my mother had back surgery. The doctors gave her Vicodin for pain, and the prescribed dosage was 1-2 pills every 3-4 hours. My mother proceeded to take the Vicodin every two hours, she claims, because she didn't want to be in pain. Vicodin is one of those medicines that contributes to constipation. Very quickly, my mother found herself in that predicament.

Without any physician consultation, she had me go to the drugstore for magnesium something or other (whatever you have to take before a colonoscopy). It didn't help. She was in bed all night, suffering. The medicine basically dehydrating her further.

The next day, Cyndi and I started our plans for making her 50th birthday a special day. We had a calendar made a Kinko's, we got other presents, and ordered a cake. We were gone for several hours. When we got back home, my mother was hysterical.

"I need to go to the emergency room," she said. "No, get me an enema. You have to give me an enema."

I really didn't think she meant what she said; I thought she would do it herself. I went back to the drugstore and got her what she asked for. When I got home, she insisted I give it to her. She pulled down her pants, revealing her 50 year old butt. I tried, but I couldn't do it.

We called 911.

Long story much shorter, the doctors at the hospital un-impacted her. They did the job I wasn't equipped to do. Thankfully.

And, once again, the focus is on her (see, you won't like them all).