The Shallow End

Oh! Ho! That Was Fun!!

I'm not sure whether to post this in the form of a public service announcement a la Katie Couric, or the usual tongue in cheek (um, suddenly that sounds really bad) humor associated with this standard medical procedure. Heh, if I really wanted to spoil your appetites, I'd throw in the 8x10 color glossies with the circles and arrows that document this "three hour tour." Instead, just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip. Fortunately for me, the brave mate here was my beloved husband. I was just the designated driver.

I'm told it "really wasn't all that bad," and given the possible alternative of undetected colon cancer, I'd say that's a pretty hearty endorsement to jist git 'er done.

It goes something like this...

First, you starve yerself for a day and then you gather up all the necessary supplies, starting with a couple small bottles of Plumber's Helper* concentrate (and maybe some Depends). Begin slugging this down at about 7:00 pm the night before "the procedure." Spend the rest of the night wishing you could just have your bowels removed but instead spend the night on the toilet. Swig down the last of this stuff at about 5 am, three hours before the deed, and spend the rest of the morning moaning and sitting on the toilet.

Next, show your wife the doctor's note that proves that yes, she really does have to drive you there and wait for the duration and then drive you home and spend the rest of the day with you. This is humiliating and it takes precious time out of your wife's busy schedule, but how many opportunities do you have like this? Don't lose this note when the doctor gives it to you, or else your wife will tell you to jist drive yerself and spend the night in the hospital if you have to, to sober up.

Next, load up pillows and such in the car just in case you have to ride home in the prone position. This probably won't be necessary as it turns out but you can't be too prepared.On the way to the hospital, ask your wife to "please hurry" because, well, you're not sure that everyone has had a chance to "exit the building" yet.

Check into the hospital, sit down in the private admitting room so no one else can hear the overly friendly "digestive unit staff" asking you all those private questions, like "Who are your next of kin?" And "Do you have a living will?" and "If you have to spend the night, would you like to be visited by the clergy?" Now start to wonder if you'll make it out of the hospital alive and begin praying that clergy won't be necessary, but also be thankful that they're available if needed.

Then wait...and wait...and wait...

Finally, when your name is called, give your wife a kiss because this might be your last chance. Then try not to slap her when she tells you to "have fun." [hey, I was just copying the 85 year old man sitting next to me who wished the same to his elderly wife...we thought it was cute]

Then comes the "fun" part. No, really. Next comes La-La Land. Just as the doctor finishes explaining how he plans to insert the gastroenterologist's equivalent of an All-Purpose Swiss Army Knife (equipped with camera, lights, blow torch, laser, lasso, and a broom) and an industrial sized air compressor up your you-know-what, you drift off. Ahhh, none of that scary stuff matters anymore because you are on some serious hallucinogens and have already begun dreaming of sailing away to the South Pacific, and are seeing pink dancing dolphins and flying fish.

The next thing you'll remember is babbling to the nurse, or is it your wife? You're not sure which, but you're in between the South Pacific and downtown Detroit about now. A little too pleasant, a little agitated. The nurse will tell you to "feel free to fart." You wonder if this is a professional thing to say. Your wife will tell you that you look like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, what with all that air pumped in since she last saw you. Ignore your wife and follow the nurse's instructions.

Wait for the nurse to issue her release command, accept your photos graciously (thankfully, you've no food in your stomach to come up, otherwise, you could not be held accountable for what might happen upon being forced to look at the inside of your colon) and then bolt out of the hospital as fast as you can, refusing to sit in the wheelchair escort for fear this might further reduce your manhood. You'd rather not think about what has just happened to you.

Tell your wife you are hungry and want an extra-extra large manly bowl of War Won-ton soup at the Chinese restaurant, but you'll have to take it home to eat because you have been overinflated and need a safe place to decompress.

Once the sedatives have worn off and the air has been released, you will feel good as new. Surprisingly, there is no painful evidence of all the work that was just done to your nether regions.

So there you have it. Just do it! It's good for you. :-)


* Just kidding! Do not drink this! It will kill you!!

posted by Gwynne @ 5:49 PM