“Don’t worry, I have small hands!” This remains one of the more memorable quotes from my DC trip and was spoken to me by my cute little, blonde physician’s assistant before she pulled on a medical grade, tight fitting rubber glove and got to know me a little better. I was humiliated, but there is little dignity to be had when your britches are around your ankles, so I tried to play along, telling her that I’d rather it be her than Kareem Abdul Jabar. It could’ve been worse and, two weeks later, it was.
After getting probed by the southern belle and having to do submit a few unmentionable samples, it was recommended that I see a specialist. I met with the specialist and he assured me that he was very confident I was healthy, but that we should do a colonoscopy just to be on the safe side. Oh boy. I’ll keep this short and sour. For those who have never had to prep for one of these foreign invasions, let me just say that it is, for lack of a better word, unpleasant. I met with the Dr.’s nurse and was given a solution that was to clean me out…thoroughly. I was also given very specific directions about how to approach the couple of days leading up to the procedure. After a very bland breakfast Sunday morning I was told not to consume anything other than water, gingerale and the solution until my exam was finished the following morning. My first dose of the concoction was taken at 3pm, a full three hours before I was meant to, which only served to prolong the nitemare. The second dose came at 3am. It was a long day and an even longer nite.
The procedure itself wasn’t that traumatic and was over in the blink of an eye (no pun intended) and when I came to , all I could think about was food and wanting to take the longest, hottest shower of my life. Unfortunately the PC got a little mixed up and thought I was finishing at a different time, which was a problem because, apparently by law, you are not allowed to leave the office alone. I waited around for a while, but I made a run for it when no one was looking, hoped into a taxi and went straight to the store to buy a huge Italian sandwich. The silver lining in all this is that, for all intensive purposes, I am healthy. My next procedure is set for when I turn 50, so I have something to look for.