I've been in hospitals a lot. Never as a patient, though, not until recently.
My doctor decided I needed a colonoscopy. Quite a lovely hospital visit actually. I was treated as a King. As I sprawled out in comfort and all my glory on the hospital bed, a nurse asked if I wanted a toasty blanky. A toasty blanky! Then she inquired if I'd like nice socks for my feet. Man, you can't pay for such pampering. Wonderful. For sure, I thought a manicure was up next.
The feeling of being wheeled into the Special Room on a gurney was peculiarly freeing. Doing absolutely nothing, yet still mobile. Goosebumps. A nurse swayed me in with a Brylcream smile and a game-show hostess hand gesture. Very welcoming.
The procedure itself was a blast. None of that nonsense about counting down to ten while you go under. The anesthesiologist told me to breathe deeply. Boom. And out!
Then my wondrous day of being pampered took a dark turn.
Next thing I know Nurse Ratched is standing over me, screaming that it's time to wake up and get the hell out her hospital. My reign as King of the day didn't last for long. But it was good to be King. At least for a little while.
Still, all in all, for such an intrusively invasive procedure (considering there was a snaky camera up my wazoo), it was nothing.
It's the prep work that'll kill ya. Seriously.
Good Lord, I didn't know I had that much to give. And give and give. I know giving is kind, but come on, even Jesus had his limits. Endless bathroom agony.
I'm still trying to adjust. Things like this usually only happen to people who are abducted by aliens (why aliens have a strange attraction to anal probes is beyond me.). My butt doctor said she'll see me in ten years. I dread it already.
And I promise this is the last time I'll blog about my bum. I swear! (Maybe).