It's the day before my colonoscopy and I have just gotten off the phone with the nurse who was going over the final details with me.
"Be sure to wear loose clothing," she said.
"Didn't you read my last blog entry?" I inquired.
"Your last what?"
"Never mind."
"Enjoy your prep drink," she smirked.
I should have realized I wasn't in a position of strength here. I know many of you have gone through this delightful procedure; some, like me, more than once. It's all about the prep drink. I'm staring at what looks like a 50-gallon tank of the vile stuff right now. Once I down that first eight ounces, assuming I don't gag, there will be no going back.
Just a lot of going.
I had heard that some people are able to prep for their colonoscopy by drinking much less of something other than this nasty stuff, but evidently my gastroenterologist feels strongly about the super-sized stuff. I like a doctor with strong convictions. I'm taking small sips and thinking of unicorns but it's still really nasty stuff.
I'll spare you all the details of the rest of this free flowing evening except to tell you that it's hard to enjoy a playoff hockey game on tv when one's attention is so,ummm, divided. I'll also reveal that I wish I had purchased one of those soft, cushy toilet seats prior to this ordeal.
And that's all you're going to get out of me on this particular subject.
The actual colonoscopy was completely and, thankfully, uneventful. I was given a deep sedative and have no memory of the procedure; just as well, since I assume I spent the better part of a half hour mooning the entire operating theater. I can only hope that this wasn't "Come and Watch a Colonoscopy Day" at the surgical center. If it was, I doubt I'll be invited to any Destin cocktail parties any time soon. Of course, there was a time back in my youthful Dorchester days that I would spend the better part of a summer's evening sticking my prodigious, uncovered derriere out of Razin's Buick window hoping for a reaction from the unsuspecting pedestrians nearby. I realize now that one is best served in public if one's buttocks remain in some kind of container.
Life's lessons learned.
In a week I'll be moving about 20 miles west of here to a furnished townhouse about two blocks from the Gulf. This will be my fourth address since moving down here two years ago. That's more than all the moves I made during my 41 years with Ada. I wish I knew the significance of this fun fact. I'll leave it up to the brightest of you to figure it out. And that includes the esteemed driver of the aforementioned Buick.
These new digs should prove interesting. They are located in the heart of the summer vacation rental section of Destin. For the next three months, most of my neighbors will be young families from places like Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana who have flocked to the beach for a week or two. I imagine there will be lots of barbequeing, y'alling, and guzzling tremendous quantities of cold beer.
Looks like I had my colonoscopy just in the nick of time.
Ain't life grand?
J
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