The Condemned Man Very Much Enjoyed His Last Meal...

Being middle-aged and beyond is not for the faint-hearted. I understand that we are living longer and that medicos are having a field day in keeping us alive. At sixty-one and almost fifty-six, Michael and I are discovering that even when the spirits are willing, the bodies are often quite uncooperative.

Given the amount of medication we take, one could be forgiven for thinking we are on death's door. And bits of us have become seriously dodgy or require regular intervention of some sort. Ben Kimberley (orthopaedic surgeon to the stars) is known to us as the Boy Wonder. Over the last seven or so years, he has put us together again on a number of occasions. Our visits to the GP are lengthy and legendary. Off his own bat, Michael has collected a respiratory specialist, a vascular surgeon and a gastroenterologist. We have both used the services of a wonderful shrink and a gorgeous dermatologist. Finally, we both regularly are grateful for the expertise of our dentist to try and keep our teeth intact.

Next week, Michael is facing the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Twice. Thursday should be a shoe-in as Michael gains his new front crown, two years after the process began. Monday is one of those procedures we all endure as we age. Michael is having his three-yearly uposcopy and downoscopy. If having a tube popped down his throat and up his bottom wasn't bad enough, the preparation is just as unpleasant. As of yesterday, Michael is on a marvellous diet of white - chicken, fish, bread, pasta and rice.

Which is why we enjoyed a hearty meal at the Top Pub on Wednesday evening, rather than our usual Friday timeslot. Michael enjoyed tempura prawns with chilli jam and (*sigh of delight* salad). We were the only people in the beautifully toasty dining room, with our dinners washed down with a particularly delicious bottle of red.

Tomorrow is his last day of diet intervention alone. Sunday begins the Mother of all Cleanouts. The good news is that the derby between Fremantle and West Coast will be on the telly. The bad news is that Michael needs to swallow three bowel bomb tablets, followed by two litres of utterly revolting "prep".

Sunday is made even more miserable by a severely restricted diet as well. The piece de resistance is yet another litre of "prep" to be swallowed on an empty tummy on Monday morning. The actual procedure, under sedation, will be pleasant compared to the previous insults on his gut.

Monday is also my birthday, so I am crossing my fingers that Michael emerges from his sedation and the check-up unscathed. And hungry so we can have a congratulatory dinner.

In the meantime, gastroscopies and colonoscopies are important for us all. A few days of an ordinary diet and becoming best friends with the loo is still far superior to the alternative.

Stay tuned.