Saturday, October 31, 2020


I've labeled this entry TMI, which is a category I've only used five times, probably to the distress of many who would rather not know as much as I tend to say. Increasingly, my lack of filter tends to get me in trouble and forces me -- rightfully -- to turn to Craig Ferguson's Three Questions:

  1. Does this need to be said? (my brain feels an urgent need to express any and all thoughts)
  2. Does this need to be said by me? (if not by me, then whom? Though I'll often find similar comments have already been posted somewhere in the bowels of the internet)
  3. Does this need to be said by me now? (there's no time like the present, and you're only as clever as you are timely)
As for this particular entry, I can think of no better time, place, or person to say and show the following. For one thing, how could I -- author of a ten-year chronicle called Semicolon -- in good conscience not write an entry about my colonoscopy entitled, Semicolonoscopy? That's just a moral and artistic imperative. You have been warned.

I think I'd previously mentioned that the pandemic forced me to postpone my 50-year check of the pipes. But I finally got my referral and went under the camera this past Monday.

Under pandemic protocols, I did have to get a negative Covid-19 test (no pictures, I'm afraid) the Friday before, quarantined for the weekend, and wore a mask the entire time I was at the hospital (though they did insert a nasal canula of oxygen for my sleep apnea).

I will not go into details (he can learn!), but -- as many had told me in advance -- the prep was far worse than the procedure itself, though it seems even the prep has improved over the years in terms of taste and volume of laxatives.

I'll admit I was a little nervous due to a bit of family history, general anxiety over anesthesia (mild as it was), and potential Karmic irony that my semicolon might take a literal turn toward colon cancer.

Fortunately, as you can see in the pictures below (if you have the stomach for such things), I was clean as a whistle. No polyps, no masses, no foreign objects.


Saturday, October 03, 2020

Turning Ten

Time is arbitrary. One set of 365 days  is not the equivalent of the next.

Take 2010 for me and 2020 for everyone, please. It's hard to believe, yes; and if you're reading this post, you've probably been on this wild ride with me the entire time (thanks!), but today is (around) the ten-year anniversary of my stroke! I've called it my aneurversary, some in the BI community call it a brainiversary, some a re-birthday. I see it mostly as a waypoint. It's a great signpost to the moment my life took a sharp turn, but I don't celebrate or mourn that day so long ago.

The extreme measures of my experience at times made me oddly optimistic during this past decade -- mostly in a comforting, New York, New York, "If I made it through that, I can make it through anywhat," way. This past year, however, has stripped down much of that can-do spirit back to cynicism of old. I've needed to do a fair amount of soul searching about planning in advance and trusting my instincts about maintaining control and problem solving.

To that end, I found this article reassuringly simple to follow. I've also tried to focus on problems with clear-cut solutions.

As I've hopefully expressed clearly, one of the proudest and most fulfilling accomplishments of my semicolon has been forming and supporting the Ability Employee Resource Group at work, for employees with disabilities and family caregivers. October being National Disability Employment Awareness Month (NDEAM), we're holding our second annual (this time virtual, pre-recorded) talent show emphasizing ability over disability. I touted last year's performance in May (Disability Insurance Awareness Month), and Part 2 of my Half-Brained Magic Act is below: