My doctor told me during the exam it was time.
I took a deep breath. I knew this day was coming. I resolved then and there to cowboy up and get it done.
I’ve been flying under the radar for several years. No problems. No issues. No medicine. Just the way it should be!
But this year, instead of the vampire nurse just draining a week’s worth of bone marrow work from my arm, the doctor tells me he wants to check out several other things.
First, a sleep apnea study — No problem. Sleep is my one of my natural talents! Passed with flying colors!
Second, a stress test — It’s cool to see your heart pumping on the screen during the sonogram, but then they hook you up with more wires than an aircraft carrier and put you on a treadmill. It’d be easier if they could do that laid back in a recliner with a remote control in your hand. Instead, they start at a snail crawl, gradually increasing to running from a werewolf speed. All the while, the monitor spits out more paper than a government bureaucrat.
In the end, the heart doctor looked disappointed and said, “You’re perfectly normal. See you in five years.”
Well, golly gee Wally! Sorry to disappoint you! If business is that bad I can pass out your business cards at the local pizza buffet!
BUT, he did say I was “normal”! I don’t hear that much, so thank you, Mr. Disappointed Heart Doctor needing another payment for your Mercedes.
I went back to my doctor with the results in hand and we reviewed blood work. He was pleased with all the results, but still insinuated I should lose some weight. How rude!Then, he scribbled out one more test order. My heart almost did stop! He wrote, “Colonoscopy”.
It’s one thing to sleep and get tested. It’s not even bad to walk and get tested, but getting Old Faithful tested while laying naked as a jaybird on a table, that ain’t right!!
The evening before you drink three bottles of magnesium citrate. The result is an intestinal tsunami!! If I knew then what I know now, I’d just wire a TV in the bathroom! On top of it, I was afraid to go to sleep that night. I mean, what if I sneezed?
Janet drove me to the house of humiliation the next morning. I envied the other patients checking in – a knee surgery, a gall bladder removal, an old fellow getting his tonsils out. Me? Discovering what it feels like to be Kermit the Frog or one of the other Muppets!
The lady checking me in was running behind (no pun intended). She said the day before a colonoscopy was the worst part. Easy for her to say. She hadn’t sneezed.
I hoped I wouldn’t know anyone except the doctor, but when they finally called my name, the young nurse got excited and asked, “Are you Blake’s dad? You look just like him!”
I assured her my son actually looked like me. Then she told me how she loved my daughter-in-law, Ashley, and how she’s one of her best friends, and she knew everything going on with all the grandkids! She looked familiar because she’s been at ALL the grandkid birthday parties!
Well, isn’t that just peachy?!
On her way out, she handed me a hospital gown with no back. A few minutes later my clothes, boots and dignity were all in a chair across the room. I had nothing on but a gown with no back, socks and a frown!
She came back in and told me everything that was going to happen, and how gas would be pumped into, well, you know. She said the gas opens things up to give the camera room to look around.
It sounded like an episode of Star Trek where they got lost in a black hole with no way out! And my doctor was about to go where no one had gone before!!
It got worse when I asked a stupid question! “Does your body just absorb the gas?”
She smiled slyly and said no. That’s when I realized that afterwards you sound like a motorcycle with no muffler.
I wanted to run, but it was too late. If I got up and ran out, I’d be mooning everyone. And anyway, it would be hard to run with both hands behind your back trying to hold the gown shut.
There’s probably some kind of backwards NCIS police lineup anyway where instead of looking at your face and horizontal smile, they ID your back and vertical grin.
I can just hear the nurse saying, “Umm, Officer, can you have #3 in the lineup turn sideways? Ok. And now face the wall again? Yep! No question! It was #3’s rear I saw running away!”
She put an IV in my hand, and then a very happy go lucky Anesthesiologist came in and said he was going to put me out like a light. Thank you, Lord Jesus! That was the best news of the day! At least I wouldn’t remember what it feels like to be a Winnie the Pooh kite.
He didn’t tell me he was sticking anything in the IV, but the last thing I remember for sure was him telling me to lay on my side with my right leg over the left …
I do, kinda, remember … I think I remember … or maybe it was a dream … but I’m pretty sure I remember … talking to another nurse while laying on the bed like a drugged rhino …
… And I remember … or maybe it was a loose dream … when my doctor, a devout Christian, came in … he smiled … said, “You’ve got the ‘A-Team’ in here today” … in a jumbled state of consciousness … wondered if he was making a play on words … and somewhere … off in lala land … wished I had left him a safety sign from work back there that said, Exit Only … and everything … drifted … away …….
Butt finally, it was done.
I don’t remember this at all, but Janet said when I first woke up I asked the nurse if I could have some cans of anesthesia to take home with me. They didn’t give me any. No door prizes. Nothing!
I do remember being loopy, however, when my peeping Tom doctor came in and said everything looked great, which is a little disconcerting in a way. He said there were no problems at all and I wouldn’t have to have my heinie in there again another colonoscopy for ten years!
Note to self — Remember! Wear disguise to the next birthday party for one of the grandkids!