Trouble Redeemed

My guy tells me that it is “the writer’s gift and curse to redeem trouble with language.” Shall we test that concept?

I had my first colonoscopy yesterday.

Some moments and reflections:

- Toilets need built-in entertainment stations for such a time as this.

- I suspect that the cup (see photo) that they gave me to mix my Magic Drano Drink in was bewitched because I sipped and sipped and sipped at that crappy stuff, and it seemed multiply at my touch like the treasure in the vault at Gringott’s. Why is there so much of this . . .?!?

- A snippet from a group text with some patient friends who listened to me complain all evening:

Me: Will I get demerits if I don’t finish the whole drink?

Diane: You really should follow their instructions. If your colon is not properly cleansed, you will have gone through this for nothing.

Me: That’s the wrong answer. I thought you loved me.

She doesn’t. Diane doesn’t love me.

- On the positive side, I have rediscovered Jell-O. Cheap, tasty, low-calorie, more filling than I remembered . . . I need to add more of this to my diet. (Remind me of that insight when ice cream becomes an option again.)

- The evening “cleansing” process was not nearly as bad as I expected – so far, downing the Drano Drink has been the worst part of the experience. Maybe God just loves me. But Diane doesn’t.

- And between potty visits, I’m watching . . . Schitt’s Creek, of course.

- Thank God for elastic waistbands.

- My alarm goes off at 4:30am and SWEET JESUS I CAN’T CONSUME MORE OF THIS SATANIC LIBATION HAVE MERCY ON YOUR HELPLESS CHILD.

- A philosophical reflection: again, the toilet episodes are not nearly as difficult as forcing myself to drink five gallons of that awful concoction. I think that’s because I don’t have a choice with the toilet episodes – I’m simply reacting to what happens to me. On the other hand, it requires real discipline on my part to get that drink down without pouring some down the drain (which I now confess that I did with the last quarter inch – both times). I like to tell myself that trials are easier to handle when I have some control over the situation. Maybe I’m wrong.

- Colons are STUPID. Who needs ‘em.

- Just weighed myself for kicks. That’s a pretty number. But not worth it.

- Heading into the doctor’s office – no makeup. I’m not here for you to look at my face, dude.

- Courtney is driving me to this appointment and hanging around for the whole morning to drive me home, bless her. I have good friends. Courtney loves me more than Diane does.

- I’m so thirsty I could die. I’m a gasping carp, stranded on the sandy beach, gills sucking the merciless air, desperately crying, “Water . . . wa-a-aterrrrr . . .” Something out of a demented Spongebob episode.

- Medical facilities are still the one place where masks are required at all times. Also, they’re always COLD. And you’re usually expected to disrobe to some degree while there. You would think they’d think that situation through more . . .

- The nurse can’t find a vein in either arm . . . because I’m dehydrated, for Pete’s sake! And this per your instructions, people!! She ends up putting the port in back of my hand, which burns like hell (an apt use of the expletive) when the anesthetic starts seeping in . . .

- And suddenly they’re waking me up . . . and I’m prepared to bribe the nurse to just let me sleep for a couple more hours, please please please.

But it’s over. And I’m all clear for the next ten years. After lunch and two glasses of Sprite, I’ve concluded that colons probably have their place. And I suppose Diane loves me after all.

(For the record, this did, in fact, redeem the experience for me. If it brought you some modicum of pleasure, all the better!)