Don't laugh. This isn't funny.
This was forwarded to me and all I could think was how shockingly
accurate this is.
Don't laugh. This isn't funny.
Subject: Fw: Colonoscopy
I called my friend Doctor 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 Montreal and Toronto.
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, quote, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000
FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'
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 Canada'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 two-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. These are times
when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several
hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. 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 this action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep, and the
next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was sweating and
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 is, but then I pondered
what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it
to the bathroom, 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' had 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 yelling 'Dancing Queen, feel the beat of 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.
Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam
are quite humorous..... A physician claimed that the following are
actual comments made by his patients (predominately male)
while he was performing their colonoscopies:
'Can you hear me NOW?'
'Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
'You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out...'
'Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.'
And the best one of all.
'Could you write a note for my wife saying that my
head is not up there?'
