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.
