The Secret To Surviving A Colonoscopy

I had a colonoscopy before it was the “IN-THING” to do.  Now it seems like everyone my age is getting one and then they tell two friends, and then they tell two friends, and so on and so on, and before you know it, every *rectum* in the universe has been violated in the name of health. 

My personal opinion is that we are just creating smarter polyps.  They are mocking us.  They’ve learned how to hide when they see the garden hose coming their way – scurrying like bugs from the Orkin man.  My personal opinion of polyps is not in any way related to this story.

I went to Mexico when I was 21-years-old and somehow contracted some dreaded Mexican disease (No, it was not related to tequila).  As a result, I lost a gianormous amount of weight, and gained other unpleasant side effects that I will just leave up to your imagination.  I had no health insurance, but my Aunt Pat worked for a group of doctors and one of them apparently went to school for years and years to learn how to stick a garden hose up my ass. 

*The Doctor on Star Trek had virtually no training to look at Spock's ass.   Look at the horror on everyone's faces...*

For all of you who have had this experience, you know the day of the procedure is not a pleasant one.  After 439 enemas and drinking a liquid that was surely eating the lining of my esophagus, I was as clean as a chickenbone on an anthill.  Because I was getting a FREE colonoscopy, I had the LAST appointment of the day.. so I was cleaned-out, hungry, and nervous.

Yes, I was VERY nervous, because, quite frankly, I am a believer that my body part scheduled to be violated should be reserved for *out-going* only.  That's just ME. You may feel differently - It's all good.

 I was cleansing myself at my great-aunt Flora’s house because for some reason I thought it would be an awesome idea to let a 103 year old woman drive me to my death. 

She saw my anxiety, and explained that she had a “cure” for my nerves.  She left the room, went into her closet, and pulled out a purple velvet bag with her crooked, old fingers.  I think I heard angels softly singing as she slowly she removed the magical cure, and poured me a shot of Crown Royal. 

OK.  Weird.  I’m not sure I’m allowed to have alcohol before this procedure; however she assured me that everyone drinks heavily before medical procedures.  WHO KNEW?  After about 8 shots of Crown Royal, and no food, I felt confident that I could give myself my own colonoscopy. 

I show up in the waiting room and saw the remnants of very very very old people.  Wrinkled, unattractive old people.  They stared at me.  They whispered.  I think they thought I was in the wrong place. I may have appeared to be a bar-wench, temporarily lost.  I stumbled over to an empty chair and picked up an AARP magazine.  In my state of drunkenness,  I was on the verge of tears looking at my own bleak future sitting in a waiting room with old people… waiting to be violated.

YAY!  It’s finally my turn.  As I lay on the table, stripped down to my bare soul, I took the garden hose like you would expect a drunk, 21-year-old would. 

Slurring my words, I turned my head towards the doctor and enthusiastically announced:

“I BET thizzz izzz probabbably the NICEST ASS you’ve seen   ALLLLLL day.”  

I'm not sure if he was amused, but he knew it was true.  I’m sure that Blanche and Gertrude’s asses weren’t even in the same league as MY 21-year-old ass.

Good news is that he didn’t find anything up there.. not even a side-ways stuck taco (I ate a lot of Mexican food).  And afterwards, I did feel magically healed.  I strongly believe my cure could be directly attributed to that delightful Crown Royal my great-aunt gave me.  That’s when I learned a valuable life lesson:

  Crown Royal CAN be your friend.