I hoped my Dr. would forget about the whole thing. No such luck, because smack on the anniversary date I received the friendly reminder, time for the colonoscopy.
I asked her at what point one ceases to have the ordeal. Her response was “When the quality of life no longer supports the procedure”. When the feet on the banana peel and grave begin to totter, you get a pass card. Wishing to avoid the former and the latter, I scheduled my appointment.
The preparation is the worst part, most of which cannot be adequately described in this genre. The major requirement is that your colon is super shiny and there is a process to achieve that pristine condition.
Ingesting ten ounces of liquid magnesium citrate is the prelude to the protocol. (Google magnesium citrate, as I am not qualified to adequately illustrate its full scope). One of the side benefits of magnesium citrate is the bad taste shocks your taste buds into hibernation and you are somewhat prepared for the starvation diet the following day.
There is a bit of a caveat here, after your taste buds emerge, the umpteenth cup of beef bouillon is quite tasty. You try not to look at the big hunk of cheese in the refrigerator as you drink yet another 7Up. You may consume only clear liquids. Vodka qualifies, but 5:00PM is hours away.
Mid afternoon of the fast, you swallow a pill whose sole purpose ensures you will not advance from the water closet for a good hour. Those unfortunate enough to have one bathroom get to decide who spends the afternoon at the mall.
The pill is a prelude to drinking a gallon solution of HalfLytely, a huge contradiction in terms. One has to wonder what marketing mastermind came up with that name. The full affect of drinking HalfLytely is akin to launching a flamethrower. I wonder if there is such a thing as a FullLytely concoction, and if there is, I am truly blessed that I did not have to drink it. The commercial with guy in the airplane, sitting on a cactus is nothing compared to the results of a HalfLytely experience. Did the fast help me to lose ten pounds of fat and all the cellulite on my thighs? Nope, nary a pound or inch was lost.
At the clinic, medicated to a blissful state of nod, I sauntered along the beach while being serenaded by Sting. The procedure is over in minutes and the “all is well” report is well worth the assault to my digestive system. I am to return in five years confident that my quality of life will support the procedure. In the meantime, maybe someone will invent GoLytely and throw in a free iPod download of “Moonriver.”
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.