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BobBattleLaw.com Special Newsletter:
My Colonoscopy
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Greetings!
My longtime Newsletter readers probably have a hunch that the title of this Newsletter is actually a metaphor for the Election Results for most of my Democrat pals in Virginia. Having been on the losing end of an election, it is not far off, but I literally had a colonoscopy yesterday. I even found the time afterwards to head to the polls and go 0 for 4, so just call me Ryan Howard!
Actually, you all know that I'm a big kidder. If I
did in fact pull the lever for a dude named "Creigh," I hereby blame
it on the Propofol I was administered for my procedure- the exact same
drug that caused Michael Jackson to check out of the Neverland Ranch
once and for all. Governor-Elect Bob McDonnell, fellow Notre Dame and Bishop Ireton guy, I was with you all the way, babe! The check I scratched you must have gone to your old Fairfax address.
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Is he really going to tell us about his colonoscopy?
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Does Bob Battle know no boundaries? Forget his colon, was Bob born without a frontal lobe on his brain that might help him to filter what information he shares with the public? Who does he think he is, Katie Couric?
All right already relax, I am not going to describe the details of my colonoscopy. Not that I have any inhibitions or embarassment, it's just that the article about my colonoscopy has already been written- by the legendary Dave Barry. After I was finished with my procedure yesterday, the anesthesiologist handed me a copy of Dave Barry's article. It is 100% the same experience I had, right down to the MoviPrep and the fact that the doctor was a friend of mine.
Here is an excerpt from Dave Barry's article:
"...I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an
appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy
showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to
go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through
Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a
thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking,
quote, ``HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!''I
left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription
for a product called ''MoviPrep,'' which comes in a box large enough to
hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now
suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of
America's enemies.
I spent the next several days productively
sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I
began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat
any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is
basically water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took
the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter
plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those
unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then
you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because
MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind -- like a mixture of goat
spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
The
instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great
sense of humor, state that after you drink it, ''a loose watery bowel
movement may result.'' This is kind of like saying that after you jump
off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.
MoviPrep
is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have
you ever seen a space shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep
experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the
commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined
to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter
of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel
into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.
After
an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next morning my
wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried
about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return
bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, ''What if I spurt on
Andy?'' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many
forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever
the hell the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other
colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and
took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed
by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel
even more naked than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse
named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I
would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying
down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep.
At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I
pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to
the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You
would have no choice but to burn your house.
When everything was
ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting
with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot
tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was
seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left side,
and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my
hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song
was Dancing Queen by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, Dancing Queen has to be the least appropriate.
''You want me to turn it up?'' said Andy, from somewhere behind me.
''Ha ha,'' I said.
And
then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a
decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to
tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.
I have no
idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking
``Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the tambourine . . .''
. . .
and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very
mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I
felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it
was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have
never been prouder of an internal organ."
-Dave Barry
And so it went with me. It started from the moment I picked up the MoviPrep prescription at the local CVS and the bubbly, friendly pharmacist, who looked to be about 18, said to me, "Have a good one!" I just couldn't resist and told her, "Uh, you might want to avoid that phrase when someone has just picked up this prescription." I also noticed the grossly understated warning on the MoviPrep box about a loose watery bowel movement that may result. The use of the word "may" implies it may not. If this stuff doesn't do the trick, you don't need a colonoscopy, you need an autopsy! As I mentioned, the doctor Cary Gentry is a friend. I was quite concerned that "Mount Vesuvius" was still active when I arrived the next morning. I remember the anesthesiologist asking me to count backwards by 2.5's from 100 and, before I hit 77.5, the next thing I knew, the nurse was offering me some juice and I was done.
Dr. Gentry told me that I had "the colon of a 30 year old." So if you see a 30 year old running around looking for his colon, tell him I ain't giving it back!
A SERIOUS NOTE ABOUT COLON CANCER:
If you are over 50 or have a family history of colon cancer, you should schedule a colonoscopy. It is a cancer that can be nipped in the bud so to speak, since finding and removing colon polyps can prevent cancer. Katie Couric lost her husband, who had a family history of colon cancer, at age 42. As she has stated, if you are squeamish, get over it- you don't want to be embarrassed to death.
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Sincerely,
Bob Battle
Robert E. Battle, P.C. |
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