Up Periscope

Some time ago, during a routine medical exam, my doctor suggested it would be a good bit of fun to have a camera shoved up my butt. And, if that wasn't bad enough, due to spending cutbacks, they were going to use a Kodak Sure Shot.

In these sorts of instances, the NHS is good because this procedure was requested so long ago that I had completely forgotten about it. The bad thing about the NHS is, they eventually do get around to pulling their finger out and actually get something done and, consequently, a few days ago, I got "The Letter."

So now I'm sitting in a hospital ward wearing a fetching gown waiting to be brought into The Theatre, as they call it here (though I don't think we're going to be eating popcorn and watching Shrek III) and wondering what brought all this about in the first place. I have to wonder if it isn't simply the fact that I'm over 50 and no one has done anything like this to me before, as there seems to be some sort of professional pride among doctors that no one makes it into their 60s without having an embarrassing or uncomfortable procedure inflicted upon them. On the other hand, it does occur to me that I have not always cast the NHS in a favorable light and this may be a form of payback. But most likely, it's an initiation ritual for new UK citizens that harkens back to some boarding school prank.

Whatever the reason, I'd be having a better time of it if I were in a private room, like in America, instead of in a communal area known as a 'Ward' where we all get to witness each other's private hell. I know I shouldn't have expected anything different but, because my case is being handled by BUPA, I had been harboring fantasies of a semi-private room, at least.

BUPA, for those of you on the far side of the Atlantic, is a private health organization. If you want timely and efficient healthcare here, you pay through the nose for a private health service, on top of the money taken out of your pay for the National Health Service. This would be fine if it was left at that, with the rich getting good service and the poor having to scramble for leftovers, as God intended, but Britain, like China, is going through an ideological identity crisis and can't decide if it wants to be socialist or capitalist. This is why I'm sitting in a BUPA ward in an NHS hospital and not having to pay BUPA because the NHS is paying them.

This is Britain's answer to its identity crisis: try to please everyone, which, of course, pleases no one.

If I were a BUPA member, I would be decidedly displeased to find BUPA facilities in NHS hospitals. While this wouldn’t impact on my healthcare or provide noticeable improvements for NHS patients, it still blurs the line between the classes, and that’s just not on. Alternatively, as an NHS member, I am outraged that the government won't pay its NHS employees a decent wage or hire enough staff to keep their own hospitals clean, safe and efficient but is willing to pay over-the-odds for contract services.

See, nobody's happy, except the staff, who seem secretly pleased at what they are about to put me through. Perhaps this is what they mean by non-monetary compensation.

I was told not to eat or drink anything all day and I'm not quite sure why except it will probably make me too weak to fight them off when they get me on the table. The only thing left to do is wait, and try to keep my imagination in check.

For instance, did you ever wonder about the first guy? That poor unfortunate with a spastic colon and an inventive doctor with a photography fetish who said, "You know, Bob, I think we need to take a picture of the inside of your bowels. Bend over while I take this Brownie and ram it up your ass with this broomstick. Relax now, you might feel a bit of discomfort . . ."

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It's over, and, really, it wasn’t that big a deal. They didn't even offer me the sedative they had promised. I was sorely disappointed because I wanted to turn it down so I could feel like Braveheart when he spat out the potion that would make him numb during his death by disembowelment party. Yeah, we're hard over here, Sparky.

As it was, they distracted me by letting me watch it on the telly. There's nothing like a live action, full-color motion picture safari through your lower intestine to make you forget about the camera and several feet of fiber optic cabling being shoved up your butt. And the best thing is, I can now truthfully confirm that my head isn't up there, which will prove handy next time that particular suggestion comes my way.

If you really care to see a picture of what it looks like up there, here you go:
 

Photo copyright 2007 by The National Health Service, a subsidiary of BUPA