When a Colonoscopy is the Lesser PainMy dear husband of sixty-five years suffered the indignity of the big C this morning. No, not that big C, the little big C as in ‘colonoscopy’. This is a no-fun event whichever way you look at it, and one he’d avoided until reaching his eighty-ninth year. My concern was that I would be obliged to drive my debilitated, unhappy and very worried husband to hospital. His sense of humour was somewhere else, probably on a different planet going by the miserable look on his face.