Life in the Rearview
Life in the Rearview
By E.M. Fredric
As life is currently in a state of constant change and emotions I’ve taken much time to not only reflect, work on me – always – but have discovered some writings from years ago and this piece is typical of how my mind works on the fly. So, to those who remember or know about colonics and the huge deal they were and may be again – I don’t pay attention – this started with a meal out with friends at an Indian restaurant in the Palisades a decade ago as I sat in quiet observation - at first.
Beginning: This blog (my old one) is sincerely about unclogging my head, no easy task. My mind often erases the most serious of snakes that any Roto-Rooter dude can tackle… yeah, perhaps a bit too visual but after having Indian food with two girlfriends and their very good looking biker guy friend who proceeded to discuss the benefits of colonics in vivid details while eating… it left me sleepless in Studio City, on the edge – just in. If you have a parent from a European country you already grew up with their mistaken belief that (forgettabout starve a cold, feed a fever or vice versa – discussions) you knew what was coming your way. My mom would whip out a douche bag quicker than a gunslinger's showdown to reduce fevers. Some people swear by the whole colonic therapy, cleansing, and detoxifying experience and with an enormous grin will excitedly relay in graphic details how they benefitted from it.
I personally don’t recall ONE good experience with an enema bag, having lived through more than a few experiences of water rushing up my bum making my stomach feel like it would burst. Makes me wonder if having had three brothers that perhaps it was why they tended to be a bit on the homophobic side… just a thought – not fact… can they sue me? They would if they could… I used to call them eenie, meanie & mine, more, the mostest.
Yes, love your family from a distance some times - Christmas is coming! - or just plain accept their eccentricities because I certainly have my own… If reading this confuses you, well there you have it, right? I’ve been asked since I can remember, “Does your mind ever stop? How do you sleep?” In living color, baby… (when I do - insomnia visits nightly since a child)… which I prefer because I also remember when I couldn’t dream at all… Or when the big people looking down at me would constantly tell me what I could or couldn’t do (while asking, “How old are you? Where are you from? No, not this town, where in the world?”) My parents used to ask me what planet I came from because I apparently was so starkly different than my siblings. What does that even mean - they made me. Adults rarely encouraged me with things that I could do or explained how limitless that “can” really is. In hindsight, I don't think they were very aware but I didn't know that as a child.
The way I see it, if a can is full of worms – I would be catching a lot of fish or sitting on the bank lost in thought dreaming of not having to be where I’m at – so they serve multiple purposes. Plant that next seed, one never knows where things pop up and grow and when your field is just spinning with various ages and stages of ideas – it seems like a miracle but you just forgot and moved on. Lesson learned.
Wow, I just recalled what I added to that dinner discussion which had everyone at our table laughing… oddly enough, the rest of the restaurant was pretty subdued compared to the four of us and I know they heard the tales. Moving along… when my kid was around 12ish, the school rang with and yet another “I’m not feeling good, gotta come home story”… You know that one, the trying so hard to be sick you almost make yourself so? It reminded me of the time I made a concoction of raw eggs mixed with every spice in my mom’s kitchen cabinets and drank it to try to upchuck, look ill and get out of another boring day at school - I wouldn’t recommend it – doesn’t work, tasted awful and left me feeling off for the better part of the morning as I was told to get on the school bus, "Now!".
I raced my boy to the doctor and get an opinion of, “Well, he could have appendicitis." I had mine out, it hurts – a lot before you end up in the emergency room headed for surgery. The doc continued with, “Well, his white blood cells are a bit low, we might want to do some tests to be sure…” So, off (kachink, kachink) we went and I was so behind in my writing that day for some actual paid work, hadn’t eaten which tossed my blood sugar off, forgot my wallet on top of having only one partial cup of caffeine – I require at least half-a-pot of coffee - if not more depending on what I’m doing. Habit and do love the taste but it amounts change like I do.
So, while in this off-centered induced state of hunger and concern, I confess I told my son, a bit harshly, that I didn’t believe it was anything other than his skipping a meal again or not drinking enough fluids and that it was costing me a LOT of money to be there, so – this better be good... and real. He just gave me that look, the one that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re wrong and wish you hadn’t said things quite like that or how much you truly just love him and are scared – in spite of the fact that my gut was telling me the little shit was probably making the entire thing up to avoid a school test… sorta like I did when I was small but I was too afraid of doctors - thanks to my mother - which had me reverse raise mine to think a trip to the doctor was like going to Disneyworld… especially if the doctor was female.
What started out to be a smooth welcome, turned into an all-day nightmare which I did my best to make light of (remember I hadn’t eaten, just was beginning to get caffeined out) by wheeling my son around the hospital in his temporary wheelchair, singing, making dumb jokes and giggling from test room to test room. Then I got the info that he was about to receive his first enema in order to take an x-ray. Oh no… man I felt awful but no time to look concerned, I knew that feeling all too well and I thought okay, I have to make this boy laugh because it won’t be for long. In the most dire of situations I learned that humor had to be a part of easing the blow.
I leaned over as he was in the x-ray bed and sweetly asked, “You know how you’ve been wanting your voice to change?”
He innocently replied, “Yeah…”
“Well, baby, it’s about to really change but I’m right here and not leaving, k?”
The young male nurse about to do the procedure burst out laughing but managed to say, “You’re just like my mom, you’re cool.” My son wasn’t about to think so.
After the insertion the water hit and POW! The tears and crying erupted and it took all I had to hold myself together because I truly know that feeling of violation… OUCH! I won't go into how they fed him dinner and I got nothing after 10 hours of being there and then trying to leave the parking lot with a pass that wouldn't let me pass the female guard... that's another talk-show. We got out and home.
To hell with colonics. Drink or take herbal supplements to cleanse, it’s easier and more importantly – painless in comparison. Certainly not invasive… what got me onto that story was how my friends kept reiterating how wonderful the process of colonics was! I just had to try it and wow their skin had changed and they all felt like they looked 20 years younger as a result. When the good looking biker guy looked at me and said that after the women - he became just a regular Joe. Hmm… maybe in 20 years I’ll think about it – doubt it but I realized that no one had ordered dessert and not one of them looked younger than their respective ages - if anything they all looked older than their birth years. Confusing at best. To this day I've never been exhilerated by the sight of any kind of enema bag or bottle coming my way.
I don’t think you’re supposed to randomly choose to shove things up where things come out unless it’s a doctor’s ordered medical test, k? Or a lifestyle call, no judments here, they're two separate conversations not to be mixed or offended by.
My son never made a story up about a tummy ache to get out of a test again... that was part of a happy ending.
Yes, time to play again.
Oh, this just entered my brain, no matter what’s going on in your life in this precise moment, take time to really enjoy it. Hell, I grew up with a dad who worked the prisons and even prisoners have fun – kids of those who work there? Nott so much. My father used to complain how they would burn their mattresses… and to think, women just burned their bras - but both had reasons for it and made a point. I think they all had fun. So, have some. My personal choice? Some Curly or Chappelle.