“Don’t worry, I have small hands.” This remains one of the more memorable quotes from my DC trip, and it was spoken to me by a cute and petite, blonde physician’s assistant just before she pulled on her medical grade, tight fitting latex glove, and, well, got to know me better. I was humiliated, but there is little dignity to salvage 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 meant 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 chalky 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 (whoops), which only served to prolong the nightmare. The second dose came at 3am. Needless to say, 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). 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 an issue because, by law, you are not allowed to leave the office alone after such a procedure.
I waited around for a seven minutes or so and then made a run for it when no one was looking, hopped into a taxi and went straight to the market to buy a massive 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.