I had my very first colonoscopy on Friday. If Dr. Oz could do it so could I. Everyone I talked to about it…and that was a fair amount of people…all said the prep was the worst of it. Of course, I didn’t inquire as to the working order of their feet. I felt I was at a distinct disadvantage in the “running” to the bathroom department due to my continuing heel injury as a result of that damn bougainvillea thorn. Were they lame as a horse? I made those many trips to the bathroom at a cross between a hobble and a poorly trained 3-legged foot racer, which, by the way, I am quite good at, or was, “back in the day”. In fact, I have a blue ribbon proving my expertise in such an event. In addition, during my adventures in “prep” land, I slipped and fell causing further insult to injury. I’ll leave it to you, my intelligent readers, to deduce what I might have slipped on. And no, it isn’t what you might think!
My oldest son spent the night on my couch as he was my driver the next morning. Between my ever-increasing trips to the bathroom, I pulled out sheets, pillows and a blanket for him. I instructed him that should I pass during the procedure…what? you ask. Do you think such a thing couldn’t happen during such a routine event? Of course, there is always the possibility and I wanted my preferences followed to a T.
Lifting an eyebrow and cracking a joke, he finally smiled and indulged his mother. Yes, he would tell this person but not that one, and yes, the animals would be taken care of according to my wishes…blah, blah blah.
You may have already concluded that I’m still alive and well. The staff at the hospital bent over backwards to assure my comfort (except the nurse who blew my vein while inserting the IV). I also sensed an air of desperation, post procedure, as they asked for good feedback on the satisfaction survey.
Hmmm..wonder why.
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