By Daniel Rigney
I recently underwent (or “went under,” after getting a knockout dose of Twilight Sleep) my second colonoscopy in ten years. For those of you who fear the one-eyed camera snake, let me assure you that your worries prior to the event are probably worse than the procedure itself.
In any case, if you’re like me, it’s an experience you’ll soon forget afterwards anyway. One of Twilight Sleep’s properties is that it seems to erase one’s memory of the event. I have only the vaguest recollection of a dull discomfort in my abdomen as the camera snake made its way through the dark and winding cave buried deep in the bowels of my torso.
Let me know if I’m getting too poetic.
I think the snake's head was wearing a little miner's helmet with a light attached, but I don't recall for sure.
In my last colonoscopy, I got to watch the procedure on a television monitor from the camera’s point of view for a few moments (before I conked) as it made its way through the nether passageway. This time, no TV. It’s just as well. If you’ve seen this show once, you don’t really need to see it again.
But this time I did get a set of souvenir photos suitable for framing. I decided not to illustrate this post with them from a sense of personal modesty (ever on guard against the sin of pride) and out of respect for those readers whose sensibilities are more delicate than mine.
You’re welcome.
As most anyone who’s been there will tell you, the least pleasant aspect of a colonoscopy is what medical authorities refer to euphemistically as “the prep.” In my case, “the prep” meant drinking about a half-gallon of thick, viscous lemonade the night before the morning after, and then visiting the john frequently for several hours until all my intestinal sins had been washed away, and I was ready to face the MDeity in a cleansed state of grace.
Afterwards I was happy to learn there were no polyps in need of removing, and that my divurticula (small pouches in the intestinal wall) were no cause for alarm. Chances are you’ll also get encouraging news. But in any case, you can relax beforehand, serene in the knowledge that if a problem is discovered, better to know about it now than later. You’re doing the right thing.
For professional humorist Dave Barry’s considerably more graphic take on colonoscopies, look here if you have the guts to.
Danagram
P.S.: Why not send this along to someone you know who needs a colonoscopy but fears the one-eyed camera snake, otherwise known as (I’m not making this up) the end-o-scope?
I recently underwent (or “went under,” after getting a knockout dose of Twilight Sleep) my second colonoscopy in ten years. For those of you who fear the one-eyed camera snake, let me assure you that your worries prior to the event are probably worse than the procedure itself.
In any case, if you’re like me, it’s an experience you’ll soon forget afterwards anyway. One of Twilight Sleep’s properties is that it seems to erase one’s memory of the event. I have only the vaguest recollection of a dull discomfort in my abdomen as the camera snake made its way through the dark and winding cave buried deep in the bowels of my torso.
Let me know if I’m getting too poetic.
I think the snake's head was wearing a little miner's helmet with a light attached, but I don't recall for sure.
In my last colonoscopy, I got to watch the procedure on a television monitor from the camera’s point of view for a few moments (before I conked) as it made its way through the nether passageway. This time, no TV. It’s just as well. If you’ve seen this show once, you don’t really need to see it again.
But this time I did get a set of souvenir photos suitable for framing. I decided not to illustrate this post with them from a sense of personal modesty (ever on guard against the sin of pride) and out of respect for those readers whose sensibilities are more delicate than mine.
You’re welcome.
As most anyone who’s been there will tell you, the least pleasant aspect of a colonoscopy is what medical authorities refer to euphemistically as “the prep.” In my case, “the prep” meant drinking about a half-gallon of thick, viscous lemonade the night before the morning after, and then visiting the john frequently for several hours until all my intestinal sins had been washed away, and I was ready to face the MDeity in a cleansed state of grace.
Afterwards I was happy to learn there were no polyps in need of removing, and that my divurticula (small pouches in the intestinal wall) were no cause for alarm. Chances are you’ll also get encouraging news. But in any case, you can relax beforehand, serene in the knowledge that if a problem is discovered, better to know about it now than later. You’re doing the right thing.
For professional humorist Dave Barry’s considerably more graphic take on colonoscopies, look here if you have the guts to.
Danagram
P.S.: Why not send this along to someone you know who needs a colonoscopy but fears the one-eyed camera snake, otherwise known as (I’m not making this up) the end-o-scope?
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