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 '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, and 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
shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from 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.