A Funny Perspective on the Colonoscopy

This is from newshound Dave Barry's colonoscopy journal:

.... I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenteritis, to make an
appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy
showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears
to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through
Minneapolis Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a
thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking,
quote, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a
prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box
large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in
detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to
fall into the hands of America's enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being
nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my
preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any
solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically
water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the
MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter
plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those
unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then
you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because
MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat
spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a
great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose watery
bowel movement may result.' This is kind of like saying that after you
jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here,
but: Have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much
the MoviPrep
experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the
commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined
to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And
then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink
another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your
bowels travel into the future and star t eliminating food that you
have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next
morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only
was I worried
about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return
bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on Andy?'
How do you
apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be
enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood
and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they
led me to a
room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little
curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you
put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually
naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left
hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I
was already
lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their
MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to
make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire
Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

W hen everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not
see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there
somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll
over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something
up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and
I realized that the song was 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA I remarked to
Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this
particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' has to be the least appropriate.

'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me. 'Ha
ha,' I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for
more than a
decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to
tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was
yelling 'Dancing Queen, Feel the beat of the tambourine,' and the next
moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.
Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt
excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that It was
all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have
never been prouder of an internal organ.

ABOUT THE WRITER
Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami
Herald.