The Procedure

So, speaking of colonoscopies, today is mine. I am at present in that limbo land where I've finished the bathroom relay, the diaper rash is on retreat, but I still can't eat or drink anything except water. It seems that the doctor du jour has outlawed eating for the duration, because, if I do indulge, the remains of the day will go straight into the doc's kisser while he is in flagrante. Under normal (and what the flock is that?) circumstances, I eat very little so I don't get why when I am strongly urged not to ingest, I am suddenly starving. Four hours to go and counting...

Now, a few months ago, I had another minor "invasive procedure" (more about that later, or maybe, uh, not), that nonetheless required general anesthesia. In hindsight (haha), I wish I had thought of doing the colon thing at the same time. I mean, as long as I am unconscious and my industrial strength medical team is in there anyway, why can't they just swing by the other orifice and check things out? Perhaps some sort of cluster processing for outpatient surgery is the medical wave of the future. Gurneys ganged up, procedure lists clipped to the johnny, little boxes checked off, and "Order Up!" echoing through the surgical suite.

My first colonoscopy appointment was last week, but I thought it prudent to cancel, figuring the snowstorm forecast for that day, combined with the speed driving habits of my spouse would be just enough to put me over the edge, anxiety-wise, and besides, how was I going to get any Xanax on board if I couldn't drink any water? So my new appointment is today, and...guess what? It snowed anyway.

What I have learned from this, though, is that if you're going to have a colonoscopy in a snowy climate, and want to avoid snow-driving, make sure you check the weather forecast BEFORE you take the laxatives! As it was, I had already downed the little maroon pills and they were going to take several hours to kick in, "kick" being the operative word here, and then decided as an afterthought to check in at weather.com. When I saw those puffy white cloud cartoons and little white dots I proceeded to cancel my appointment, inconveniently forgetting that I had, only a moment ago, cranked up the evacuation train. So much for the short term memory of a sixtysomething.

Now, while my body has entered that completely neutral zen space, a kind of gastro-intestinal satori, and I am squeaky clean on the inside, I wait, patiently, without possibility of culinary, vocational or athletic (all somehow connected) diversion, for my appointment. As I contemplate digging my car out of the snow and then driving it into the city, guided once again by my indispensable GPS (because this device effectively blocks ever actually learning how to get anywhere), I can't help but conjure the next entrepreneurial dream, tapping the aging baby boomer market: mobile colonoscopy units! A cutting edge (sorry about the pun) surgical van branded appropriately with something like "U Move It", "GutsRUs.com" or words to that effect, could cruise the neighborhood and conveniently deliver service without the customer having to drive anywhere. Your personal holding tank could be pumped out, cleaned out and probed, and you get the complimentary DVD and air freshener. You are, once again good to go! So to speak.

Epilogue:

Well, one day later, I can say that the particular variety of pharmaceuticals supplied by the local endoscopy center for my personal comfort during my "procedure" were not quite up to the job, and I was able to experience first-hand every twist, turn and switchback of the microsurgical snake as it rambled the five feet of my lower intestine. But hey, I paid by credit card, and since I am self-employed I have a health insurance deductible that is beyond "high". Having had one too many shrink and/or doctor visits in the past has disqualified me from membership in that club of happy campers whose treatment for every twinge, sniffle and cough is paid for by The Man, so I use plastic to pay, and thus get frequent flyer miles, effectively converting the peregrinations of the endoscope into a trip to Tahiti, or some other place where the seasons are more polite.