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A ROUTINE COLONOSCOPY...TOOOO FUNNY!!!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
5:25:00 PM EDTA ROUTINE COLONOSCOPY...TOOO
Dave Barry's Colonoscopy
(Dave Barry was a nationally syndicated humor columnist)
A Routine Colonoscopy
I went in for a routine colonoscopy to check for the possible dreaded
diagnosis: cancer. I was told that if it's early there is a good
prognosis that they can get it
all out, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that. And of course
they told me to tell my
siblings to get screened. I imagine they both have.
Um. Well. First I called my brother, Sam. He was hopeful, but scared.
We talked for a while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy
Sable, a gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office,
Andy showed me a color
diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the
place, at one point
passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the
colonoscopy procedure to me in a
thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear
anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, "HE'S GOING TO STICK A
TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!" I
left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription
for a product called "MoviPrep," which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave
oven.
I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that
we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.
I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.
Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In
accordance with my
instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was
chicken broth, which is basically water,
only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep You
mix two packets of powder
together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm
water. (For those unfamiliar with
the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink
the whole jug. This takes
about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind --
like a mixture of goat
spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon. The instructions
for MoviPrep, clearly
written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you
drink it, "a loose watery bowel
movement may result." This is kind of like saying that after you jump
off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground. MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I
don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space
shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a
seat belt. You spend several
hours pretty much confined to the bathroom. You eliminate everything.
And then, when you figure
you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep,
at which point, as far as I
can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food
that you have not even
eaten yet.
After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next
morning my wife drove me to the
clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the
procedure, but I had been
experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was
thinking, "What if I spurt on
Andy?" How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood
and totally agreed with
whatever the hell the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of
other colonoscopy people,
where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and
put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you
put it on, makes you feel
even more naked than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand
Ordinarily I would have
fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie
also told me that some
people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I
hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make
it to the bath room, so you
were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice
but to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where Andy was waiting with a
nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but
I knew Andy had it hidden
around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy
had me roll over on my left
side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle
in my hand. There was
music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was "Dancing
Queen" by Abba. I remarked to
Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, "Dancing Queen"
has to be the least appropriate. "You want me to turn it up?" said
Andy, from somewhere behind me. "Ha
ha," I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for
more than a decade. If you are squeamish,
prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail,
exactly what it was like.
I have no idea.
Really. I slept through it.
One moment, Abba was shrieking "Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the
tambourine . . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room,
waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking
me how I
felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me
that it was all over, and
that my colon had passed with flying colors.
I have never been prouder of an internal organ.
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5:25:00 PM EDT
A ROUTINE COLONOSCOPY...TOOO
Dave Barry's Colonoscopy
(Dave Barry was a nationally syndicated humor columnist)
A Routine Colonoscopy
I went in for a routine colonoscopy to check for the possible dreaded
diagnosis: cancer. I was told that if it's early there is a good
prognosis that they can get it
all out, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that. And of course
they told me to tell my
siblings to get screened. I imagine they both have.
Um. Well. First I called my brother, Sam. He was hopeful, but scared.
We talked for a while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy
Sable, a gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office,
Andy showed me a color
diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the
place, at one point
passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the
colonoscopy procedure to me in a
thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear
anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, "HE'S GOING TO STICK A
TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!" I
left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription
for a product called "MoviPrep," which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave
oven.
I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that
we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.
I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.
Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In
accordance with my
instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was
chicken broth, which is basically water,
only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep You
mix two packets of powder
together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm
water. (For those unfamiliar with
the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink
the whole jug. This takes
about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind --
like a mixture of goat
spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon. The instructions
for MoviPrep, clearly
written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you
drink it, "a loose watery bowel
movement may result." This is kind of like saying that after you jump
off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground. MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I
don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space
shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a
seat belt. You spend several
hours pretty much confined to the bathroom. You eliminate everything.
And then, when you figure
you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep,
at which point, as far as I
can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food
that you have not even
eaten yet.
After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next
morning my wife drove me to the
clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the
procedure, but I had been
experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was
thinking, "What if I spurt on
Andy?" How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood
and totally agreed with
whatever the hell the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of
other colonoscopy people,
where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and
put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you
put it on, makes you feel
even more naked than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand
Ordinarily I would have
fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie
also told me that some
people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I
hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make
it to the bath room, so you
were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice
but to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where Andy was waiting with a
nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but
I knew Andy had it hidden
around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy
had me roll over on my left
side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle
in my hand. There was
music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was "Dancing
Queen" by Abba. I remarked to
Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, "Dancing Queen"
has to be the least appropriate. "You want me to turn it up?" said
Andy, from somewhere behind me. "Ha
ha," I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for
more than a decade. If you are squeamish,
prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail,
exactly what it was like.
I have no idea.
Really. I slept through it.
One moment, Abba was shrieking "Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the
tambourine . . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room,
waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking
me how I
felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me
that it was all over, and
that my colon had passed with flying colors.
I have never been prouder of an internal organ.
Written by mlrhjeh Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | digg this
This entry has 2 comments: (Add your own)
-
Good old Dave Barry. That's funny! But colon cancer isn't. I personally think they should start screening people earlier. We have a friend who's just turned 52 and he was diagnoised with colon cancer 4 years ago which by that time had already spread. Last week he had part of his liver cut away because the cancer had attacked that organ. So I hope everyone out there that's about to turn 50 schedules one of these exams. I had one a couple years back and it wasn't that bad. The few days pre-exam prep is not fun but again, colon cancer isn't fun either. Thanks for sharing, Linda in WA http://journals.aol.com/lsfp1
960/LindasWorld/
6/22/08 12:25 AM
http://Journals.aol.com/onmio