Your Mental and Physical Health are Your Wealth.
Going Broke?
Going Broke?
They are Putting a Scope up my What?
Hey, Preppie. If you are over 50, a Colonoscopy is in your future. It is the test for the number 2 cancer killer, Bottom Rot.
Get Me Ready
(this really sucks)
Clear Liquid Diet for a day before the test.
Drink one gallon of COLYTE (bowel prep), an 8oz. glass every ten minutes to cleanse the digestive tract. That's 16 glass fulls! Tastes suspiciously like seawater and impossible to drink that fast.
No food or drink after midnight.
Remember to stay within ten steps of the bathroom.
(cleanse is a misnomer)
(this really sucks)
Clear Liquid Diet for a day before the test.
Drink one gallon of COLYTE (bowel prep), an 8oz. glass every ten minutes to cleanse the digestive tract. That's 16 glass fulls! Tastes suspiciously like seawater and impossible to drink that fast.
No food or drink after midnight.
Remember to stay within ten steps of the bathroom.
(cleanse is a misnomer)
Test Day
Allow at least three hours from the scheduled arrival time until you are released.
Higher than a kite from intravenous sedation, you need a ride to get you home. No driving. Taxi or bus is not adviseable.
Allow at least three hours from the scheduled arrival time until you are released.
Higher than a kite from intravenous sedation, you need a ride to get you home. No driving. Taxi or bus is not adviseable.
Colon Cancer is very treatable if caught early.
Hoping there would only be a lone doctor working on me (dignity inspired), I was surprised to find out the medical staff were serious about the upcoming event with a big crew to attend me during the testing. A seasoned surgeon, a young doctor in his internship, and three or four nurses. Keeping this a private matter was obviously out of the question. The sedation nurse walked me through the sequence of events, stating that I would be in a dream like state during the probe, which was quite all right with me. Sarah was the type of nurse who is soft and gentle, has a very calming and continuous smile, and gave the impression that she really enjoyed helping me. The surgeon was no-nonsense efficient. When introduced, I had the feeling he either had scores of tests to perform that day and had little time for chit-chat, or there was a strong chance that I wouldn't survive the procedure and he was emotionally preparing himself by not getting to know me.
.
I recommend curbing your curiosity to see the Rear-Endoscope.
A nurse was more than happy to demonstrate. The length and bore of that thing, Holy Spit! ...Becoming a little dizzy, the sedative must have chosen that precise moment to kick in. The picture of the nurse holding that thing like a weapon and a quick glance at her eyes stayed with me momentarily as I drifted away. Did I see "Man Hater" there, or had the dreaming begun?
I awakened in Recovery, all fuzzy and warm. A new nurse was fiddling with paperwork off to my left. The whole thing was over and I hadn't felt or remembered a thing. The nurse noticed that I was awake and asked how I was doing.
"You and I have just spent hours with friends in a tavern somewhere and I am feeling no pain. Can you drive?" ... I believe I may have also asked her out.
The entire hospital experience was very positive. Effortless in fact. Check-in, a short waiting time, and a helpful staff contributed to a pleasant stay. All concerns and anxiety had been wasted effort on my part. The operating team was experienced and confident, and the gurney was very comfortable. Afterwards, my daughter showed up and took me to get some food, the first priority. I then made it home and immediately crashed into a sound sleep for about six uninterrupted hours.
(I wonder what that sedative was? That was really good stuff.)
"Gee, Doctor. Do I have to wait another 65 years to do that again?"
"Ten."
"That soon, huh?"
.
I recommend curbing your curiosity to see the Rear-Endoscope.
A nurse was more than happy to demonstrate. The length and bore of that thing, Holy Spit! ...Becoming a little dizzy, the sedative must have chosen that precise moment to kick in. The picture of the nurse holding that thing like a weapon and a quick glance at her eyes stayed with me momentarily as I drifted away. Did I see "Man Hater" there, or had the dreaming begun?
I awakened in Recovery, all fuzzy and warm. A new nurse was fiddling with paperwork off to my left. The whole thing was over and I hadn't felt or remembered a thing. The nurse noticed that I was awake and asked how I was doing.
"You and I have just spent hours with friends in a tavern somewhere and I am feeling no pain. Can you drive?" ... I believe I may have also asked her out.
The entire hospital experience was very positive. Effortless in fact. Check-in, a short waiting time, and a helpful staff contributed to a pleasant stay. All concerns and anxiety had been wasted effort on my part. The operating team was experienced and confident, and the gurney was very comfortable. Afterwards, my daughter showed up and took me to get some food, the first priority. I then made it home and immediately crashed into a sound sleep for about six uninterrupted hours.
(I wonder what that sedative was? That was really good stuff.)
"Gee, Doctor. Do I have to wait another 65 years to do that again?"
"Ten."
"That soon, huh?"
ARE YOU ONE OF THOSE WHO WANTS TO WAIT TO BE TESTED UNTIL AFTER YOUR BUTT FALLS OFF?
THAT IS A HALF - ASS IDEA.
THAT IS A HALF - ASS IDEA.
Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami Herald.
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.
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.
Another Man's Experience
I Want To Lookus
Up Your Tookus.
Up Your Tookus.
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