HE PRETTY WELL TELLS THE STORY.
This is from Dave Barry's colonoscopy journal:
I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, 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 'Movi-Prep,' which comes in a box large enough to
hold a microwave oven. I will discuss Movi-Prep 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 Movi-Prep. 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 Movi-Prep 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 Movi-Prep, 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.
Movi-Prep 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
Movi-Prep 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 start 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 Movi-Prep 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.
When 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' had 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.
This is from Dave Barry's colonoscopy journal:
I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, 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 'Movi-Prep,' which comes in a box large enough to
hold a microwave oven. I will discuss Movi-Prep 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 Movi-Prep. 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 Movi-Prep 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 Movi-Prep, 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.
Movi-Prep 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
Movi-Prep 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 start 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 Movi-Prep 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.
When 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' had 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.
