All companies are obliged to provide yearly health checkups to all employees. Think of it -- the entire workforce -- it's a staggering figure. And Japan has a whole industry of "health check-up" places that exist just for this purpose. And I visited one this year.

Two weeks before my visit, I received an extremely detailed list of questions. They ran from what you'd expect (any cancer in your family? taking any prescription medicines? how much do you drink per week?) to lifestyle questions (how much green leafy vegetables do you eat? any major changes at work lately? how much sleep do you get?) to an exhaustive list of symptoms to check off (how's your menstrual flow? get up to pee at night? gums bleeding?), etc.

Along with this survey I got a little green plastic bag that contained two small vials. This was for the fecal occult blood test. Included with this were very detailed instructions for how to take a sample:

1. "Place 'poop catching paper' in bowl. Poop directly on top of bull's eye." (This bull's eye -- kind of hard to aim for -- is, incidentally, a friendly-looking, smiling, hand-waving pile of poop.)

"Remove wand from vial. Scrape wand along the surface of entire poop evenly. Do not take too much."
2. "Return wand to vial." (Note that the opening to the vial is EXTREMELY small, effectively limiting the amount that will go in.)
3. "Store in a cool, dry place. Ideally, samples should be from the day of and the day preceding your visit, but samples from five days in advance will be accepted."

And for the ladies, these instructions:

1. "Do not visit us during your period. Anyone showing up having their period will be rescheduled and sent home."
2. "Do not wash vagina the day of or day before your visit."
3. "No sex for the two days preceding your visit."
4. "If you have passed menopause, or have never had sex, you can skip the pap smear."

And the final parting shot: "No food or drink after eight PM the day before your visit."

On the big day, my appointment was at nine; and when I got there, the eight AM appointment gals (today was ladies only, thanks) were moving right along through the labyrinth of tests. I check in and try to give my poop sample to the receptionist, who politely hands it back and gives me my clear plastic folder holding all my information, to be handed to doctors and nurses at each stop.

First I change into comfortable cotton draw-stringed exam wear. A smiling white-coated gentleman directs me down a hall where a smiling nurse is waiting. "Take a locker and strip down to your panties, please." As I get changed, a soothing recorded voice pipes in from a nearby speaker, telling me to (again) strip down to panties, take my locker key, and don't forget the poop sample. So! Changed into comfy clothes, sample and clear folder in tow, I am ready to begin!

First stop: nurse consultation. Finally I am relieved of my sample, which she casually tosses into a large plastic bucket along with everyone else's samples. She briefly skims my patient survey and asks if I have any health concerns. Everything I mention she answers with, "Well, I wouldn't know, dear. You will have to ask the doctor." I wish I had known this before I started detailing embarrassing symptoms clearly audible to the other patients, sitting on either side of me, also talking to their nurses.

Second stop: urine sample. As I make my way down another hall, the aforementioned white-coated gentleman yells to the nurses ahead of me, "Her top is too big; get her a smaller size." Apparently they had prepared a monster-large size, not knowing just how big this foreigner was going to be.

A nurse ushers me, a paper cup, and a new top into a lavatory stall. "Don't use the first pee that comes out. Pee a little into the bowl, then stop and fill this cup to between 25 and 50 milliliters." A lot of information to process, but no worries -- instructions are tacked to the walls and door of my stall, along with a friendly reminder to please wipe off the top of my cup. After I drop off my sample, I am ushered to a sink to wash my hands.

After twelve other stops, including an EKG, an eye exam, a glaucoma test, a gyno exam, an ultrasound, a hearing test, a breast palpitation, and a chest X-ray, here it is. The fourteenth stop. Dante's little corner of Hell. The stomach cancer screening.

I've been warned by friends.

The doctor politely introduces himself and shows me a cup of very thick, white liquid. "We're doing a barium swallow. But don't worry! It's so much better than the olden days! It used to be chalky and gross, and you had to drink 300 ml. Now it's tasty, and you only need 150 ml!"

I'm thinking that I can handle this, no problem, until he hands me a rather large vial of crystals. "These are carbonation crystals, to puff your stomach up so we can see better. Now pour these crystals onto the back of your tongue, and drink this extremely small cup of water immediately, or the crystals will foam up inside your mouth and you'll have to do it again."

I tell him I can't swallow powdery medicine -- that I come from a country where all medicine is in either pill or liquid form. Does he have anything else?

He smiles politely and hands me the vial. I have the predictable reaction to having powder poured into my mouth: I gag. He hands me the woefully inadequate cup of water, which I gulp down. I'm now literally frothing at the mouth, my eyes tearing up, begging for more water, complaining of sudden sharp chest pains. He smiles and says, "OK, I think you've swallowed enough. Come with me."

We go into the X-ray room. I stand up against this glass table (which will begin to tilt back shortly) and get my big cuppa barium. The doctor has now left the room. He talks to me via intercom from next door, peering in through the glass window. "Take one sip please. OK, now drink the rest. Take your time, and DO NOT STOP DRINKING, and DO NOT SPILL ANY! Hold the cup with both hands, please." Quivering, I do as I'm told. This stuff isn't half bad. It's the first thing to pass my lips in twelve hours, and it tastes vaguely of bubblegum.

"Bubblegum, bubblegum," I repeat to myself, over and over.

With the carbonation crystals doing their magic, and having just finished a Big Gulp's worth of barium, my first reaction is a large, quiet, refreshing belch. "NO BURPING PLEASE!" booms the voice from next door. Oh yeah. A friend told me that she burped too many times and had to repeat the whole crystal/barium cocktail. I hold it in.

The machine begins to tilt back, and I hold on to the rails. The doc has me hold a variety of different poses, turning this way and that, stuffing a pillow under my abdomen for an even better shot, and holding my breath as directed. After about ten minutes, we're done. "Now you can burp all you want," he assures me. "And don't forget your laxative!"

My last stop on the grand tour is the laxative desk. The nurse tells me that if I don't expel the barium quickly, it will harden right up in my intestines and cause a blockage. I get six innocuous-looking red pills, with instructions to take two now (NOW!) and the rest later -- no more than four per day.

Now, I've been looking forward to the white poop. My friends told me that after having fasted for twelve hours, and having nothing but barium in there, my first poops would be pure white! I happily take my first laxative dosage and look forward to the big event.

I'm done! I am ushered back down to the changing room, where the recorded voice is now telling me what to do with my exam wear and locker key. As I head out, the good folks tell me to help myself to a nice cool can of refreshing sports drink, and give me a lunch ticket for the cafe downstairs.

I return to work and wait expectantly for the arrival of Great White. But alas, I have seriously miscalculated the efficacy of Japanese laxatives. Cold medicine here does nothing for me. Japanese pain medication of any sort is a joke. But laxatives are a whole different ball game. Suffice it to say that, after having taken only two pills of the six-pill dosage, I spent most of the afternoon rushing betwixt office cubicle and bathroom, sometimes sneaking down to the next floor to void anonymously. Sadly, I missed Great White, and will have to wait until next year to try again, obviously with a greatly reduced dosage of those industrial strength Drano laxatives.

My test results arrive in two weeks.

-- Great White