Colon, Colon, Who’s Got the Colon

Colon. Not to be confused with colon: The kind you use to precede a listicle. The kind Susan Brearley hates. Or maybe that’s just semi-colons, or ellipses. Not to be confused with epithelial cells inside your colon. The one in your body.

Not to be confused with — oh, never mind.

You know, the one you have to clear out completely before a doctor will deign to put a camera on the end of a long tube up your butt. And you’re not even awake to enjoy it, if you like that kind of thing.

I don’t so much. So, I prefer to be knocked out. During a colonoscopy, not during other types of consensual play, necessarily. Depends. The verb, not to be confused with the adult diaper product.

In fact, I get colonoscopies with the goal of not ever needing Depends.

Speaking of being knocked out — not to be confused with knocked up — I prefer the colonoscopy drugs from fifteen years ago. Midazolam and fentanyl.

I get why they stopped using fentanyl. The street value got too high and then it became scarce, at least for medical practitioners. Scumbag drug dealers have no problem finding it.

Now it’s propofol. It’s nice too, but you wake up faster.

And this time, when I wake up faster, I am then rushed out even faster.

I really wanted to hang out and be mellow for awhile, but no. The intake was caring, casual, and calm. The outtake, was — rushed. Not as rushed as my rushes to the bathroom the night before and the morning of the colonoscopy, but still, very rushed.

However, I am putting the shit before the horse.

Drugs are the good part. The not so good parts are the all-liquid diet the day before, and the unprepossessing prep the night before and the next morning.

By “morning” I mean the butt-crack of dawn, which is apropos of the upcoming — and outgoing — procedure.

I began the prep at 5:00 pm the day before. I didn’t time it well, and was in the middle of a session with a client when I begged pardon, and drank the first half of the prep during the session. Then prayed it would take the rest of the session to take affect.

The colon gods smiled, and I had just signed off when the first dash began. I actually never mind this part. I don’t break into cold sweats or wind up on the bathroom floor, as with stomach flus and hangovers.

What I minded during my first two colonoscopies was the horrible tasting prep in a huge container mixed with liquid of some type, and which is more than I drink in a week, much less at one sitting. Unless you count wine, but I sip it.

Andrew Knott claims to have chugged it right down. I’d have to see that to believe it. Is there a YouTube? A TikTok? No? Then it didn’t happen.

My gorgeous— as in easy on the eyes and the colon — doctor, prescribed a prep that came in two small bottles and DIDN’T HAVE TO BE MIXED in giant containers. It was more like a small energy shot bottle — with some of the same results. It was expensive, but nothing but the best for my colon.

The small size was why I was able to toss that baby right down while meeting with a client. At 5:00 a.m. — when nothing good ever happens, not even morning sex — it was equally easy to toss down. Harder were the four glasses of water after, but I sailed right through those, too, and was even able to grab some more dream-time before the better drug induced dream-time during the procedure 5 hours later.

Before the exquisite fading away feeling from the propofol, I did my usual. I made jokes with the doctor and nurses, assistants and anesthesiologist. Unfortunately, I could only think of one joke — “You’re seeing my best side” — which I then acknowledged to no laughter that they’d probably heard that one before.

I was an hour late to the procedure because I was confused about the time. They were gracious and accommodating, after they called to see where I was and I made a mad dash to get there. The nice receptionist even told me to “drive safely.” Right.

If I had driven it wouldn’t have been safely. I did NOT want to have to reschedule this spelunking of my interior. If I’m lucky, I may never need another one, so let’s get this journey to the dark side over.

Fortunately for all, my friend drove. He drove so carefully and slowly I considered getting out and walking. Not a good idea while possibly still harboring the remnants of prep and the usual suspect contents of my colon, so I fidgeted and rambled instead.

When I finally arrived, I made the following joke to the receptionist, then the nurses, then the anesthesiologist, and finally to the doctor.

“It’s not a good idea to be late to a date with, and piss off, the guy who is about to stick a long tube up your butt.”

The receptionist and the good doctor himself gave me pity laughs for my more original joke. The others? I don’t want to say they had tight sphincters, but they all looked like a night with the doc’s special prep might improve their sense of humor.

I’m a humor writer. Not to be confused with a stand-up — or in this case, lay-down — comedian.

Thank you to AI — created by Andrew Rodwin — for going where human editors feared to tread.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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