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 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 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.
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' 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.
I think this was the act that got the Gong Show canceled.
