Well, I have been brooding for the past week or so, trying to get my mood up and all.
My colonoscopy, of course.
It stood there, on my horizon as a giant impenetrable wall. Cookie is not one of those people who sees the bigger picture all of the time, especially when there is a huge demand upon me.
So as the date came at me like hunter upon its prey, all I could do was schedule things for the future, but obsess about how many days until IT happened.
I say "it" because despite being a raving homosexual, and make no mistake - Cookie does not mince about about, but I love MEN - Cookie's ass is a total outie. I do not enjoy people up my ass, figuratively, or literally.
Having been through this before, I know full well and good that the prep is the worst part. But I wasn't ready for this prep.
Instead of the old "Go Lightly", a product that they should seed rain clouds with over desert areas, the new prep is 4 pills of Dulcolax, followed by 64oz. of clear liquid mixed with MiraLax. The patient, and I advise you NOT to even think about this unless you are doctors orders, takes the four pills, waits two hours, and then mixes the MiraLax with the clear liquid, very well.
From that point on, one is directed to drink ONE eight ounce glass every 15 minutes. In a perfect world, you are done with the drinking in two hours. Right?
With the Shit Storm started after the fourth glass and like Dumbledore drinking from the font in the cave in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince I was practically incoherent by the beginning of glass eight.
And I was feeling queasy.
But what was between me and the final eight ounces, right?
Let me stop and tell you that when your body has been pounding laxatives for four hours and you feel queasy, you need to cease drinking that stuff.
Because what happened next was TWO FULL HOURS of projectile vomiting, while jets of water laced laxative shot through my anus like the high pressure fountains at Bellagio, at the same fucking time. And this fluid was everywhere.
As fast as we could mop it up, in came another tsunami. Even the dogs looked like they were going to hurl from the hallway. I couldn't even keep a sip of water down. I was eventually able to make it to bed, and slept through the night.
TODAY, just before the test, I told my doctor about about this reaction and he said, in English, heavily accented with his native Italian "Not to worry. Besides, your reaction could have been caused by the terrible Super Bowl performance by the Denver team, no?"
Well, here's the good news, I am, save for the hemorrhoids and the diverticulitis, no cancer, no polyps.
I'll take that.
Betty would have been proud of me!