The road to old age is fraught with danger and excitement.
My primary care doctor has been nagging me for at least 10 years to get a colonoscopy. I was a little disgruntled to learn that a colonoscopy is the act of threading a camera on a 20-foot hose up your bum and taking a look-see. Can we say, “extreme peek-a-boo!?” You’d think with a name like Pap Smear, I’d be used to invasive bodily procedures. You would be wrong!
I’ve heard such horror stories about the preparation for the procedure that I just kept putting it off. At one point, I even asked the doctor if I could do a D.I.Y. colonoscopy by gluing a GoPro camera onto the end of a dildo and making my own “homo-movie” of my poop chute. He quickly pooh-poohed that concept. (See what I did there?) So last month, I finally relented and scheduled an appointment.
They told me not to eat solid food the entire day before. I’m a substantively gravity-enhanced queen who rarely misses a snack, let alone a single meal. The fact that I was going to miss four meals in a row was a cause of great concern.
I was given a gallon jug full of yellow liquid that looked suspiciously like urine and was told to drink a half-gallon of the concoction within an hours’ time the evening before the procedure. Then the other half gallon the morning of. Supposedly this is to “clean out” all the poop and enable the camera to get a better view of “The Journey to the Center of the Earth.”
So, I settled down to watch “Schitt’s Creek” (of course) and drink the first half gallon of “pee.” In the beginning, I tried to suck it through a straw so as not to mess up my lipstick, but as the hour proceeded, my sucking action was overwhelmed and I felt like I was drowning. It was just too much to drink all in one sitting. Jesus must have been performing a miracle re-enactment of the feeding of the 5,000 because, apparently, he had multiplied my drink to 50 gallons.
My husband, trying to be helpful, kept repeating “Drink your juice Shelby,” over and over until I forced it all down.
I thought so far so good, then suddenly, the inevitable result of the laxative took effect. For the next three hours, I couldn’t get more than ten feet from the bathroom, as my body was only giving me a five-second warning before there was a “whoopsie daisy” event all over the floor.
The next morning, after drinking the remaining half-gallon and sitting on the toilet non-stop for two hours, I arrived at the hospital a little bit cranky because I was starving and my asshole was chapped. A rather attractive male nurse instructed me to get totally naked and put on a hospital gown. Well, the gown he gave me had a broken tie so it would not close in the back. Then he came and led me down a long, long hallway to the operating room. All the while with my bare-naked ass prominently on display in front of God and everybody! How is a queen supposed to flirt with a hot nurse under such conditions?
Upon entering the operating room, cutie pie instructed me to hop up onto the table and lay on my left side. I thought, “Oh how cute, they think I can just hop my substantial buttockus maximus up off the floor without a gantry crane. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to mount the table, the cute nurse took pity on me and placed his two hands on my two cheeks, and gave a mighty heave-hoe. I inadvertently blurted a great umph as my bodus rotundus plopped like a beached walrus onto the table.
So, there I am, lying on my side, my bare ass prominently displayed to the room. Suddenly, I heard a husky male voice from behind, announcing that he was the doctor. I craned my neck to get a glimpse of who was “going deep.” I was delighted to see that he was a stud muffin. I thought, “Damn it. If I had known the doctor was going to be this hot, I would have shaved my ass!”
I made a feeble attempt at levity and told him that at least I was presenting him with my best side as I gave my bare hippoglottamus a loud and proud slap. And that was the extent of all the foreplay I could accomplish because the propofol sedative put me out.
I woke up in the recovery room. Dr. Stud Muffin came in to give me a report and to show me some of the video. I might have been a little bit groggy because I could swear that he confidently announced that he found no signs of brain damage, which of course I was glad to hear.
As I was leaving the hospital, the cute nurse gave me an all-knowing and very flirtatious wink. I had the sudden realization that I’ve never been touched so deeply.
The day after the colonoscopy was heaven. The best, sharpest farts ever!
This story leaves us with several important questions:
- Now that I’ve drunk one gallon of pee-like liquid, will I have a new desire to engage in water sports?
- When the handsome nurse told me to get naked, was he flirting with me?
- Should I nominate the doctor for an Oscar for best cinematography?
- Should I have asked the doctor to write a note informing my husband that in fact my head was not found up my ass?
- Should I begin showing my colonoscopy video at parties?
- Should I use the video to prove that I have inner beauty?
These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.