I Sphinc Therefore I Am

I can't count the number of times people, total strangers, at that, have come up to me and said something like this, "Steve, I love your column, but I'm worried about your gastro-intestinal tract." Finally, after hearing that over and over, and partially because my doctor forced it on me, I decided to schedule a colonoscopy. Let me tell you, if you have never had one, do so today. Before I share all the exciting details of mine, let me share an interesting little tidbit of trivia, I picked up while waiting in the doctor's office. If you, like me, think colonoscopy is a hard word to say, you may be interested in knowing that several years ago, the name was briefly changed to Colon Rectal Area Photo Scan. But the Acronym Sanctioning Society rejected the name. Food for thought?
Although the procedure wasn't done until this afternoon, I enjoyed all the preliminary events starting yesterday. It's kind of like the Superbowl. It's a one-time thing, but in the days preceding it, there are so many festivities. My 2 days of celebration began yesterday morning with a light breakfast. I knew, based on the information the colon guys had sent me, that this was to be my last meal for over 24 hours. So, I cherished each bite. It was a sweet meal, but ended much too soon. At eight yesterday morning, I picked up my plate, licked the last morsels of egg yolk and paid my bill at the Cracker Barrel and left.
Next stop: Walgreen's. I had to pick up my medicine, better known as Go Juice, if you get my drift. And just to make sure that the preliminary celebrations would be a moving event, I also had to purchase some laxative tablets. I took my magic potion home, mixed it with water as well as a flavor packeting the drug store included for the mixture. I chose the lemon-lime flavor. Unfortunately my packet had been mislabeled. In reality I got the duck feces flavoring. Not bad, but not lemon-lime either.
At two yesterday afternoon, my wife blew the whistle. "Let the games begin," she declared. And they did. I started with 2 laxatives. And shortly thereafter I chased them with the first of what would prove to be twelve glasses of the motion potion.
"Ah," I exclaimed after greedily gulping down my first glassful. This is going to be a breeze. I could hardly wait the prescribed twenty minutes, when I was allowed my second 8-oz serving. For some reason, the second glass didn't have the go-down goodness of glass number one. But, I drank it...devoured it, in fact.
My instructions had told me that within the hour, the magic in the mixture would kick in. I won't bore you with the details. I will say that the instructions included the warning, "Stay close to a facility." As I headed to my car, my wife asked, "Where do you think you're going?"
"To Fort Lee," I answered. That was the closest facility I could think of. After she explained the meaning of the term as used on the bottle of my KickaPOO Joy Juice, I stayed home. I have to remember to thank my wife for clarifying that.
Twenty minutes later, I steeled my nerves and poured a third glass of my flush slush. "Only five more after this one," I encouraged myself. (Servings nine through twelve were to be saved for the morning of the big game.)
About the time I was finishing my 24th ounce of this lavoratory licquer, the magic began to work. I headed for the facility. I marveled at the accuracy of whoever had predicted my time schedule.
Glass number four was approached with some trepidation. By this point, my stomach felt as if I might be with child. And while virtually everything I had ever eaten was vividly recalled last night, I am happy to say that I didn't give birth. I finished the fourth glass, but knew by this point, that the festivities were not going to be as festive as I had originally hoped.
Thirty minutes later, I crawled out of the facility, slithered down the stairs and poured my fifth glass of what I had begun to call Poopsie Cola. I gulped and gagged, gulped and gagged. I finally finished it off and headed back upstairs. There was a small white flag on the toilet lid. The Tidy Bowl man had surrendered and gone home.
As I drinking glass number six, I began to see some light at the end of the tunnel. "Thank goodness," I exclaimed, "I'm dying." But before I could enter the light, I had to run back upstairs.
I was down again in twenty minutes. "Only two more glasses," I told myself. "You go Steve." And I did. Twenty minutes after that, I literally rushed down the stairs, flushed with excitement. The end was in sight. Sorry, bad choice of words. Somehow I had finished my Loo Brew. In about two hours, I had consumed sixty-four ounces of some really nasty stuff. It was kind of like spending the entire day at the Shoney's Buffet.
Anyway, come this morning I was up and again on the move. I had one more quart to go and I could hopefully say good-bye to what should have been named Seven UpChuck. I really spent the morning engaged in two primary activities, drinking this stuff being one of them.
At 11:30, I headed to the doctor's office. "I'm here for my portraits," I told the receptionist. She didn't seem to find that as amusing as did I, but, hey, it takes all kinds...one of those kinds being dull and humorless. Actually, the woman was nice enough, she just doesn't enjoy rich-bodied humor. Or, maybe she's heard that joke a hundred times. Who knows?
I was soon escorted to a small examining room and told to take off my shirt and put on a gown. "Just my shirt?" I asked.
"Just your shirt," the nurse told me.
"Are you sure?" I asked in my typical pleasant manner. It's not that I was hoping to get naked, but if I was going to get a colonoscopy without removing my pants, I was ready to praise the marvels of modern medicine. This I had to see.
"You'll take the pants off later," she told me. I guess she just wanted to gaze admiringly at my washboard like body.
Anyway, soon a really nice nurse (In my own sexist way, I call them all "nurses." This lady, Robin, may own the place for all I know, but she was very nurselike, and very pleasant."
She also did a most wonderful thing for me. She gave me drugs. I saw the big monitor sitting there and knew that within minutes my colon was going to be the star of the show. And, while I like TV, this was one program I was hoping to sleep through.
I had had a colonoscopy several years ago, and it was kind of like someone trying to pick your teeth via a rear entry. "The procedures are much more modern nowadays," Robin told me. "But," she said, "you'll probably feel some discomfort."
That was reassuring. At least she didn't tell me I would be writhing in pain. She said I'd be in a somewhat twilight state. She didn't seem too worried, but then again, it wasn't her colon that we were all interested in, was it?
While we waited for the doctor to arrive, Robin asked me if I needed anything. "I was hoping you were going to show the movie, 'I am Joe's Colon,'" I told her. I'd seen that show several years ago and it was fascinating.
Anyway, before we got around to seeing any filmstrips, the good doctor arrives. Robin had me turn on my side and told me, "Here's your favoite cocktail," as she administered the drug.
"Can you put one of those little umbrellas in it?" I asked. I was trying to calm my nerves. I knew that within moments I'd be experiencing unbelieveable pain. "I really don't think this drug is going to work on z z z z z z z."
Next thing I know, Robin is waking me up. "Is he about to start?" I ask her.
"It's over," she told me.
Probably the two most wonderful words I'd ever heard. Anyway to make a really long, boring story, just slightly shorter, the doctor calls me this afternoon and tells me my colon is perfect.
Perfect! Think about that. In all my years, I've never had a perfect anything. And now I have a perfect colon. I'm hoping to get some prints from the doctor and have them framed. If you'd like one to hang in your home, just let me know.