I CAN’T REMEMBER ANY OF THE BAD JOKES
My former Gastroenterologist told me.
It’s a shame, really.
He was a funny guy.
Someone you called Doc.
An Irishy Max von Sydow.
I haven’t seen him in over ten years.
He was a feisty Octogenarian then.
Not sure what that would make him now.
Old, I suppose.
Alive, I hope.
A drop of blood.
In the loo.
I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there before I squatted.
A solitary, undisturbed blot of crimson ink.
Suspended in the tepid water of the white porcelain bowl.
Never a good sign.
Except when its nothing.
Getting the Freaked-The-Ef-Out-Of-My-Mind on.
I’m scripting my Epitaph.
VOLUME 1.0 – CA. 2007
In to see my family physician.
I’m ordered to strip down to my socks.
On my side.
Knees to the chest.
On the examination bench.
Damn, its cold.
A pleasure in comparison to what follows.
Lube. Woosh, there it is …
UNDER CARRIAGE EXAM
The one test I hadn’t studied for.
Maybe, a Hymn, too.
Doc’s humming for sure.
“How you doing?”
Chit chat ends.
I’M BOOKED FOR MY FIRST SCOPE
Penned in for a quickie.
The deep plunge.
First Round of Backdoor Bingo.
Not the seminal Hallmark moment I’d envisioned.
A couple weeks away.
EXORCISMS ARE WAY MORE FUN
Than colonoscopy preps.
Pure evil inflicted on – and ejected from – the Deepest, Darkest Bowels of Hell.
Fasting by comparison is cake.
Is appreciably invasive.
Humbling to the point of vanquishing vanity for eternity.
As unwelcoming as a flexible
pipe tube – with a fiber optic camera – inserted oh-so-conveniently through the Ah-Noose, My Dahling.
Because that’s precisely how it works.
Into the “Hey, now … Ain’t No Sunshine When’s She’s Gone … “ nether-you-mind regions of the large intestine.
Deep enough to tickle tonsils.
And, scratch your septum.
Oh, its in there alright.
VOLUME 2.0 – SIX MONTHS LATER
Sequel to the Original Big Reach Around.
I’m back for a routine follow up.
Thinking about being a fool and canceling.
I always go.
Octo Doc reassures me by saying very little.
Like a grandfather.
Wisdom in silence.
Old Man Scotch-scented lozenges knocking on the back of his dentures.
Or just Scotch.
Glenlivet 12 Year Old Single Malt?
THERE’S SOME SCARE IN ME
My ass may catch a cold.
A medical first.
Pop a lozenge up there, Doc.
“Why does the OR smell like Christmas?”
My thoughts drift.
VOLUME 3.0 – A YEAR LATER
“Why are you here?”
Exorcist Warlock Shaman Good Doctor asked.
After he’d finished with the plumbing and planting the demon seed to complete the trifecta.
“I thought it was obvious,” I’d answered.
“Why do you keep coming back?
Is what he meant to say, but didn’t.
Oh, no he didn’t.
“I like it here.”
I feign a smile.
“And, your charming Instagram addicted receptionist?”
“Keeps booking me for follow-ups in between posting selfies of her Platinum-hued highlights and weekend hook-ups with Jason and Justin.”
Three colonoscopies in 18 months
Translates into a quarter-dozen Anal Exorcisms in 1-1/2 years.
Seems like a trifle – two too many – for a clean dude.
As in healthy.
A good thing.
They’re pure evil little bastards.
OH, THAT WAS A SCHEDULING ERROR
My ass – and everything leading to it – is paying the price.
administrative ineptitude unmitigated incompetence.
The way it was.
See you in a decade.
I’m back now.
Where’d those ten years go?
Medical technology hasn’t improved much.
Except for the proliferation of 4K Ultra HD TV in full-color imagery projected on barn-sized monitors in the OR.
I was fine with grainy black and white images of my colon.
Things – cold, long, invasive things – still go into your sacred body cavity.
“The Ah-Noose, Dahling.”
And, come back out.
Nothing like it, friends.
A laxative solution that does exactly what it claims:
“It stimulates – if ever a gross understatement – bowel movements, by increasing the amount of water in the intestinal tract.”
End fun part.
I’d suggest adding Chef Gordon Ramsay to their product consultation board.
The magical elixir of potassium, sodium and other unknowable minerals is liquid chalk bordering on viscous bile.
Diluted snot, if I had to guess.
I’m not a lemon guy.
Now, if the food techies ever develop poutine-flavored prep solutions …
AM I NERVOUS?
How I’m feeling.
The day-and-a-half off work doesn’t come at a good time.
I’d prefer to be there – who wouldn’t? – rather than playing a week of catch up when I get back.
MY GUT’S MAKING UNHOLY SOUNDS
I’m not tired.
I like to eat.
Its been a slim diet of Jell-O.
Orange and Lime.
And clear broth.
Purple and red colored liquids to be avoided.
Two half-cups of horrible black coffee at the office.
After a morning espresso.
All of it over the past 36 hours.
FUN FACT CONFESSION
I’d like to try fasting.
But, I won’t.
Change that to a prospective maybe I’ll think about it.
I fasted once when in my early twenties.
Got a headache.
The worst Sunday morning of my life.
Not this time, bud.
I lose interest as the IV hook-up is dialed in by the nurse.
Saline and something?
But, hey, it works.
To open the veins for the Anesthesiologist.
PLEASENTRIES ARE EXCHANGED
With new G-Doc.
So is the Anesthesiologist.
I like him.
We become Besties.
For the twenty seconds we talk.
AND, I’M OUT OF IT …
Fade to black.
Then back to florescent lighting.
In a different room.
WHAT’S THIS NOW?
My nuts and sacred cavity are greasy.
Not in a bad way.
But greasy still.
Someone’s been busy.
Not a Wet Nap in sight.