I have a new tattoo
It’s little and it’s blue
I got it after 60 years
I didn’t get to choose.
I have a little blue tattoo
Not one I have with pride
You can’t even see it
As it’s on my inner side.
I have a little blue tattoo
It’s not a dog or dancer
It’s to tell a clever doctor
Where to find the cancer.
I have a new tattoo
On a tumour like a pebble
I am thinking I should name it
Maybe, Stan or Keith or Neville.
I have a little blue tattoo
It’s small but it seems heavy
They’ll cut it out and I’ll be fine
And back to being merry.
I have a new tattoo
And soon it will be gone
Then I’ll live for 30 (or 40) years
Without the ink or stone.
Bowel cancer
Testing for bowel cancer uses a simple, at-home test called a faecal occult blood test (FOBT). This test looks for traces of blood in your poop which are invisible and could be a sign of bowel cancer.
People aged 50 to 74 will automatically receive a free test kit in the mail every two years – although there is a rumour that this age may be reduced to get your poop checked earlier.
I am so full of shit
I might be full of shit but I don’t know a lot about poop. Ten years ago when my first screen arrived I looked at it and laughed and thought to myself, ‘I definitely won’t be doing that’. I’m not sure whether I threw it in a drawer or threw it in the bin. Turns out I am a not-so-smart-arse AND full of shit.
The same thing happened every two years after that although as the years passed something in me thought, ‘I probably should do this. I’ll get around to it next week’.
I hit the trifecta
Well, ‘next week’ didn’t arrive until I turned 60 last year and I thought I better do the three big tests, the breast screen, the cervical screen, and the poop test.
Lucky me got a positive result for all of them!
Going back for the follow-up breast screen was really scary. If you know me you know my boobs are massive and the idea of losing one or both of them was terrifying – not because of how I’d look, but because I’d probably lose all my balance and fall over.
The cervical screen came back with a positive result and I have to say, I am very disappointed that after six months I’m still on the waiting list for the follow-up for that surgery – I did actually ask someone who knows about these things, if it’s possible that women are dying while they are waiting – and they said unfortunately, yes. (sad face emoji).
This never happens to me
When the poop test came back positive I was actually really shocked. I thought ‘WHAT! This shit never happens to me – aren’t I ten foot tall and bulletproof?’
Apparently not.
As I’m a fucking annoying vegan, I just assumed that I’d be fine. There is some research that shows that a plant-based diet can reduce cancers but according to my gastroenterologist (who came into recovery with photos of Neville and showed me the tattoos he put on him) the tumour I have growing has probably been around longer than I’ve been a vegan. If I’d done that initial poop test when I was 50 they probably could’ve snipped them off. Instead of being in surgery today, I’d be at the Billinudgel pub trying their vegan chicken schnitty!
It appears that Neville’s story may have begun before I stopped eating death – maybe ten or 12 years ago – possibly, there are no definites.
Since my diagnosis I have had to tell several people as I will need time off to recover – surprisingly, about half of those people responded with, ‘oh I have one of those in the drawer. I have been meaning to do it…’
But wait…
The really, REALLY scary thing is – I had no symptoms. I noticed no blood in my poop, no pain in the gutzes – zip, zilch, nada!
If I hadn’t ever done the poop test and only went to the doctor once Neville had erupted, this story may well have been my obituary (very sad face emoji – with tears).
So why am I telling the world about what’s up my butthole?
This whole thing could most likely have been avoided, or at the very least, dealt with easily, if I had just done that bloody test!
She lives!
While you have been reading this I am recovering in Lismore Base hospital from the surgery I had yesterday and Neville has been sent packing, and the earth is back on its axis.
I told my surgeon that he had an uncanny likeness to my nephew – a man who likes to drink and dress up like a Viking. He responded, ‘Great, I’ll sharpen my axe for the surgery!’ This cemented my faith in his ability to do an awesome job, because if you can’t access your humour in this situation, I think you’re probably lost.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
