A Moving Experience

This is a public service announcement. Starting at age 50, you should get a colonoscopy every 10 years. This will enable doctors to find undesirable things that lurk in the dark, such as polyps, cancer and Roger Stone.

I will tell you about my experience so you can see that any idiot can do it.

The day before the procedure, I was instructed to drink an intestinal scrubber called MoviPrep. Within an hour, the first runnings started to appear. And believe me, “runnings” is the correct word. Let’s just say that BP and the Exxon Valdez had nothing on me.

“OK, that’s that,” I thought. I flushed, washed, left the bathroom and — oh my God — ran right back in, sat down and exploded. I swear that if I weighed just a few pounds less, I would have wound up in my attic. I couldn’t fathom how it was even possible for my body to spray at such impossible angles, but I was too busy unrolling toilet paper to think about it.

After what seemed like a week and a half, I set about cleaning up. Let me give you some helpful advice. When you drink MoviPrep, you will need the following items:

• An industrial vat of Formula 409
• 8,000 rolls of paper towels
• A copy of “War and Peace”

I don’t need to explain the first two items. The third is to give you something to do because you sure won’t be going anywhere for a while.

I finished cleaning just in time for another Bouncing Betty, followed by small arms fire and a flamethrower. Eventually the agony ended and I got to clean up again.

Here’s some more advice that I highly suggest you follow when using MoviPrep:

• Cancel all social plans
• Notify next of kin
• Remove all clothing and dentures
• Turn on the bathroom fan and do not turn it off until Halley’s Comet returns

I had to get up early the next morning for another round of MoviPrep. Not having learned from the previous day’s experience, I flushed, washed and left, only to make a hasty return to the perch. A while later, the coast seemed clear, but this time I hadn’t even finished washing my hands when the urge to purge returned. The watery discharge was accompanied by an intestinal symphony that sounded like a sink backing up. I had never gone to the bathroom in C minor before.

Several hours later, a friend dropped me at the gastroenterologist. The secretary informed me that the doctor was running about an hour behind (tee hee) schedule. Eventually they brought me into the prep area where they checked my pulse and blood pressure and inserted an IV line. Then they wheeled me into the operating room where they had me lie on my side and the anesthesiologist injected a milky white fluid into the IV line that made me feel…

Nothing. I was out for the entire procedure. The next thing I knew, a nurse was pushing on my belly. You see, in order to get a good view of your colon, they fill it with air. Well, that air has to come out. I hadn’t expelled so much air since my last trip to Mexico.

So that’s it. That’s all there is to getting a colonoscopy: poop your brains out, go to sleep, and deflate yourself.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, my results were stellar. No polyps, no cancer, and no signs of Roger Stone. At least until the 2024 election.