by Tonia
I finally decided to get a colonoscopy. Eleven years overdue, I’d
run out of excuses. I know what you’re thinking – how come she has all the fun? Ugh. I’ve
been looking forward to this about as much as a root canal or an IRS audit - even being buried alive in sand with ants crawling all over my head somehow
seemed less dreadful.
But I did my research and found the cutest…..I mean, most competent gastroenterologist I could
find. He had excellent reviews. Too bad he was just going to see me as an
asshole.
I told
some of my girlfriends I was going (BIG mistake). They joked that they
couldn’t tell the doctor to go boldly where no man had ever gone before because
that just wasn’t true. Dammit! I tell them WAY too much……
So the
time got close and I started on my day of clear liquids. Chicken broth, tea,
apple juice. Vodka. (KIDDING!) I can’t tell you the
number of times I went to the pantry and ‘frig to get something to eat and then
remembered that I was grounded. Grrrrrr…. Anyone who says fasting draws attention away from physical needs to
spiritual concerns didn’t have MY growling stomach!
Then came
the time to drink my first prep. Holy Mother of God, that shit was DISGUSTING!
It tasted like some kind of salty, fermented cyanide……except that I didn’t die.
I only wished I could.
And it was
about then that I realized something was wrong with my car and I needed to call
a tow truck. It took the guy awhile to arrive and during that “while” my
intestines began to explode. Seriously. It made my most urgent urine stream
seem like cute little dribbles. I can only describe it as the kind of force
that one sees when testing fire hydrants. If I had been outside and bent over,
it would have knocked down large pets and small children.
But the tow
truck guy was knocking at my door. As soon as I could, I got up from the toilet
and explained where I wanted my car to go. I said I would not be accompanying
him, however, because I had to stay close to the bathroom. And THAT understatement, my friends, ranks
right up there with Astronaut Jim Lovell’s, “Houston, we’ve got a problem” when
Apollo 13’s oxygen tank exploded.
I’ll
spare you the description of the next 14 hours but, let’s just say that at the
end of it, no one could tell me I was full of shit. It just wasn’t true.
Anna
drove me to the procedure. I wanted to draw a bull’s-eye around the target so
the cute doctor wouldn’t mistake one of my cellulite dimples for my asshole. Or,
at the very least, I wanted to write a message on my ass, “This isn’t my best
side.” But, alas, it all happened so quickly that I had no time. I woke up and
it was over.
And, in
honor of colonoscopies, for your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a Healthy
Gut potluck. Ask everyone to bring fiber-rich foods, citrus fruits, and foods
that contain probiotics (yogurt, miso, etc). Then honor the wisdom of your “gut”
by talking about times when your gut feelings were accurate despite evidence to
the contrary!
1 comments:
Holy, jumpin' assholes Cat Woman you did it!! LOVE the colon pics, they add such credence to the whole story.
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