Dave Barry's Colonoscopy Journal:
"... I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in
his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a
lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one
point passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy
explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough,
reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain
was shrieking, quote, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE
17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'
I left Andy's office with some written instructions,
and a prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,'
which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven.
I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it
to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of
America 's enemies..
I spent the next several days productively sitting around
being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I
began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I
didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was
chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less
flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix
two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug,
then you fill it with lukewarm water.
(For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is
about 32 gallons.)
Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an
hour, because
MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture
of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody
with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it,
'a loose watery bowel movement may result.' This is
kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you
may experience contact with the ground.
MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too
graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space-shuttle
launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the
commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty
much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You
eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be
totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep,
at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel
into the future and start eliminating food that you have
not even eaten yet.
After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The
next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very
nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I
had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep
spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on
Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something
like that? Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I
understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the
forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other
colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained
space and took off my clothes and put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind
that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked
than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in
my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie
was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also
told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At
first was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too
tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering
around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but
to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the
procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an
anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I
knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere.
I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll
over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began
hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was
music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was
'Dancing Queen' by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of
all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, 'Dancing Queen' has to be the least
appropriate. You want me to turn it up?' said Andy,
from somewhere behind me.. 'Ha ha,' I said. And
then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more
than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself,
because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly
what it was like.
I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment,
Abba was shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from
the tambourine ...' and the next moment, I was back in
the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was
looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt
excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me
that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with
flying colors.
I have never been prouder of an internal organ."
ABOUT THE WRITER... Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning
humor columnist for the Miami Herald.
"... I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in
his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a
lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one
point passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy
explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough,
reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain
was shrieking, quote, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE
17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'
I left Andy's office with some written instructions,
and a prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,'
which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven.
I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it
to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of
America 's enemies..
I spent the next several days productively sitting around
being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I
began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I
didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was
chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less
flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix
two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug,
then you fill it with lukewarm water.
(For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is
about 32 gallons.)
Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an
hour, because
MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture
of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody
with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it,
'a loose watery bowel movement may result.' This is
kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you
may experience contact with the ground.
MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too
graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space-shuttle
launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the
commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty
much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You
eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be
totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep,
at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel
into the future and start eliminating food that you have
not even eaten yet.
After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The
next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very
nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I
had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep
spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on
Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something
like that? Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I
understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the
forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other
colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained
space and took off my clothes and put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind
that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked
than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in
my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie
was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also
told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At
first was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too
tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering
around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but
to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the
procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an
anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I
knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere.
I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll
over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began
hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was
music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was
'Dancing Queen' by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of
all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, 'Dancing Queen' has to be the least
appropriate. You want me to turn it up?' said Andy,
from somewhere behind me.. 'Ha ha,' I said. And
then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more
than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself,
because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly
what it was like.
I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment,
Abba was shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from
the tambourine ...' and the next moment, I was back in
the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was
looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt
excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me
that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with
flying colors.
I have never been prouder of an internal organ."
ABOUT THE WRITER... Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning
humor columnist for the Miami Herald.
