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Honolulu Lite
I'VE had a newspaper clip on my desk for several days. I've been trying to convince myself that it is column material but I'm afraid the subject matter might make readers a little squeamish. All right, a lot squeamish. Lights, camera,
colonSo every day I push the clip around on the desk with a pencil, prodding and examining it, like one of those chimpanzees in the opening shots of "2001: A Space Odyssey" where they run up and touch the mysterious obelisk.
One day I steadfastly decide to write about it and the next day I steadfastly talk myself out of it. One minute I'm thinking it is possible to write with sensitivity and grace on any subject and then I think, "Are you nuts? There's no way you can write about this without grossing people out."
Even now, I'm avoiding making a decision, typing away, trying to figure out how to write about this without having to take the blame for putting something disgusting in the paper. Hey, I got it. Why should it be my decision? It should be up to you, the readers, to decide if a certain subject is too gross to write about. So I'll tell you what it is I'm thinking of writing about and you email me your decision on whether it's the kind of thing that should see the light of print.
The subject of discussion is the M2A Swallowable Imaging Capsule, a tiny video camera that takes pictures in parts of your body, where, as scientists say, "the sun don't shine."
You might remember the movie "Fantastic Voyage," about a submarine full of scientists that was shrunk and injected into a human body. The sub cruised through the blood system, pursued by angry white corpuscles. Well, the M2A is designed to explore less scenic avenues, which most tastefully could be described as the "gastric tract," or less tastefully as "your guts."
The teensy video camera pill passes through your system but does not exit, as the submarine in the movie did, through a tear duct. The video pill also isn't microscopic. In fact, it's what you might call large. It is an inch long and a third of an inch in diameter, which is testing the outer limits of the meaning of "swallowable." Once you've managed to ingest the digital appliance, it takes pictures of your intestines as it goes on its merry way, a trip of about four hours.
THOSE quoted in the wire story don't say what happens to the apparatus after it exits the body, like, can you use it to video your kids' soccer games. We can only hope that they don't expect you to swallow it a second time.
Not all doctors think this is such a neat little gizmo. The reason people don't go around gulping down chunks of electronic equipment is that there is a real possibility a chunk will get stuck somewhere along the way. It's bad enough to have problems with your innards without also having a camcorder lodged in there somewhere.
The quality of the pictures also is not as good as those taken via fiber-optic scopes that already are used. The fiber-optic rig allows doctors not only to scan your insides, but also to snip away at polyps and other obscurities with tiny remote-control snippers.
I know that this technology is important and that anything that can be done to stop cancer and other diseases in the early stages is a good thing. I just wonder whether swallowing a video camera the size of an M-80 firecracker is the way to go.
So, there you go. If you think I should write a column about this apparatus, email me at the address below. It's your call.
Charles Memminger, winner of
National Society of Newspaper Columnists
awards in 1994 and 1992, writes "Honolulu Lite"
Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Write to him at the Honolulu Star-Bulletin,
P.O. Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802
or send E-mail to cmemminger@starbulletin.com.
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