Wednesday, July 13

Once Every 10 Years

Reader Warning:  the following is a blog post about colonoscopies.  I have not decided to only write about medical procedures involving the most private areas of our bodies, but have unexpectedly come upon these occasions in very close proximity in time.  So.  Here goes.

Imagine this--
you enter the fifth floor, the gastroenterology ward.  The nurse takes your father, and hands you a restaurant pager, set to blink red lights at you when they have successfully excavated his colon.  You set up your computer at the table in the corner since they told you to plan on two hours, and people around you watch, complain about not having eaten all day, tell their husbands to talk quieter, and make pooper jokes.  That man's ham and cheese melt smells amazing, and he looks around guiltily as he takes another bite.  An hour later, the pager buzzes its UFO lights at you, and you are escorted to the back, where an assortment of cordoned off patients lay farting in recovery.  The doctor gives a read-aloud version of the procedure, complete with pictures.  All is well, shake your hand.  When you get home, you have to recount all of it to your father because those drugs work pretty good, and he doesn't remember a stinking thing.

Thankfully, you only have to do this once every 10 years.  

You too, Phil.


  1. Not a chance in the world. I don't even like my colon.

  2. Hahahahaha. Don't make me drag you in there.