My endoscopy revealed ...

A ascending love of bok choi.

A polyp in tango with rolled oats.

Bleeding ulcers fascinated with the

digested remains of seedless red grapes.

"Amo bishop roden" was what it whistled

up at the snake-like peeping pervert.

The doc and I had a hard time believing

a colon could whistle something aside from

the usual bombastic claps. A quick rewind

brought us proof and another glimpse of a smiling

left lumbar.

He told me he'd never saw such a beautiful smile, and how he would post it on his wall of success stories. To be sure he would forward my progress onto children and adults battling with the downs that come with the chronic outs, of Crohns.

I high-fived the optimistic doc, and bid him farewell. For I felt good about my progress and he too. Maybe I thought my rapid recovery could aid others, when all hope was lost.

Pondering past mis-adventures, catastrophes, and soiled undergarments, what could aid my fellow intestinal inmates?

Maybe I could share the re-discovered beauty of baby-wipes, when toilet paper loses it's silky white three-ply image, looking more like a rough roll of sand paper.

How baby wipes brought back memories of the cool wipe and warm love of mothers caress, sweet relief.

How about some tricks, how flexing your stomach muscles, when the road to the toilet becomes out of focus and just too far away, can save your guests a smelly surprise.

How to this day I wonder why after walking three kilometers, sweating, and silent, looking like a man or women possessed by the greatest of goals, you finally make it to the bowl. Only to lose control one second before reaching your final destination.

How you talk to your bowels like it wasn't apart of you. Like they were a monster out to get you, a scoundrel out for the soul you sold at the crossroads. Alor! Instead of collecting your soul the devil thought it drôle to play a little game and replace your healthy insides with that of an octogenarian's crippled calamity.

Napalm, when the bombs activated and mutilated you lost control.

I often wonder how these diseases came to be. How as I traveled from Gastro-physician to Gastro-physician across this large country called Canada, I never saw anything other then a two hour wait to see the doc.

How when I went to Australia and was forced to see the Gastro, his office looked like an old western ghost town. The Australian doc was fascinated by me, like he only read in stories about cases the likes of mine. "Must be the water." he told me before he told his secretary "no charge" as if I made his day, and he mine.

How auto immune disorders are on the rise and no one seems to have the foggiest idea why. How there are people walking around with bags instead of colons, and how that's my worst nightmare. There must be some other way?

How I'm told it changed their life for the better, and how my goal in life is to attain total freedom, and how it would take just that away from me. fear, paranoia, old Chinese proverbs haunt my dreams.

How I wonder what will happen to me when I am an Octogenarian, and the many fears that come with age.

How my only comfort is living as healthy a lifestyle as I possibly can. Sprinting at my goals and dreams as if I could internally combust tomorrow.

How I walk through grocery stores in my home town and marvel at how healthy people squander their health with giant shopping carts full of frozen pizza's and microwavable heart-attacks.

How the drive-in's at fast food restaurants have a line up half the day.

How cooking a meal instead of watching television can benefit their lives.

How and when they lost their dreams.

I wonder, as I sit on the toilet questioning it all.

I wonder where it all goes,

whoosh.