We do things over and over that we don’t seem to learn from. I fell for the logic that a colonoscopy every ten years or so is a good idea. At my age my memory is short. There, now that most of the sensible readers are gone we can get back to talking about sex, or we could if I did that more than once a decade. Maybe I’ll just continue exploring the original subject since you aren’t too squeamish or don’t have to eat a meal right away.
First of all, I can’t figure out how there is anybody to go to to get one of those done. The procedure was invented during the inquisition, I think, and it should have gone the way of the rack and the iron mask. Were these the bottom doctors of their med school classes? I’ve experienced a lot of things in life I have figured I could do better than the average person does. My first memorable auto accident convinced me a car could be returned to is former condition in less than ten days or so with my leadership in a body shop. If I was a general contractor workmanship on new houses would be better and shortcuts and cheap materials wouldn’t cause my customers anguish. Why does, Baskin and Robbins only have 31 flavors, most of them questionable choices, when I know how to make over 150 of them?
At no time yesterday did I consider filling out an application for a job in the colonoscopy industry. If they have lunch hours, how can they enjoy them? I’d need a lot more vacation time than they probably offer, about 50 weeks more per year of it. There’s not enough brain bleach in the market to allow me to sleep at night after a day in those mines. The one consolation, I will admit, is that the video can’t be any worse than reality TV.
The preparation for one isn’t as bad as it used to be. Then, it helped that I had been in the Navy and expanded my vocabulary a bit. I had to drink a gallon bottle of something that tasted like it was left over from someone’s previous colonoscopy. That was after downing a liquid enema that didn’t taste any better. I spent the day learning that toilet paper is indeed a wood product, and much less entertaining than the sears catalog. Whoever thought up the regime should have been shot, and probably was.
This time I just had to down two bottles of something almost as bad as that Maine specialty, Moxie. If you haven’t experienced that, just volunteer to prep for a colonoscopy. You’ll be much more satisfied, for a while. Instructions said to drink 16oz of clear liquid after downing the Lemon Delight or whatever they call it. Yukon Jack worked fine. The ‘for a while’ part didn’t. I went through six pair of shorts before I understood what magnesium can do for you. Let’s just say it is not a mineral I am ever going to prospect for.
Surviving that experience, I was ready to face day two. I hadn’t sobered up enough to change my mind. I’d not recommend driving more than ten miles to the clinic unless you have at least one backup pair of underwear. When you get there you’ll probably have to go through a gate, as the place will most likely be surrounded by a tall electric fence topped with razor wire. They will be designed to keep people IN the compound, in case they sober up. Right next door to the place I went, the EPA had an office. I guess they figured locating there would be a cost saving measure.
The gown they gave me was a cute backless thing, but light blue isn’t really my color and they wouldn’t let me keep it anyway. Once they got me into that thing I guess they figured I’d be too embarrassed to run away (They don’t know me very well). The nurse seized the opportunity to stick a needle in my arm. I noticed the tubing attached to it didn’t lead to another bottle of Yukon Jack. The bag it was attached to didn’t do much for me but after they lashed me down and wheeled my bed into another room they added something else to it. Then they told me to count backward from nine to seven. It might have been concentrated Yukon Jack and I’ll have to check the stores to see if I can find some. Like most Saturday nights, I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I think I was violated though.
What they call recovery was not bad. There was no hangover and it was the first time in years I’d been able to fart for longer than it takes to count backward from nine to seven, and not pass out. I’m almost looking forward to my next visit for one of these anal lobotomies or something because.