Monday, July 29, 2013

Too sharp, too flat; it's fate and that's that

The less said about the lacuna, the better.

Today is my mother's birthday.  For her birthday, she got to drive me to my first colonoscopy. I'm about ten years too young for this to be on the slate, but there it is.  Apparently I have some occult blood in my stool sample.  Form an orderly queue, ladies.  The gut doctor knew me from Prestigius, where his kids used to go.  Now a parent from Prestigius has seen my colon.  I hope he admired my shapely buttocks while he was down there.

Anyway, the result is zero polyps.  Not even an internal hemorrhoid.  So what caused the suspect blood?  The ass doc did not know.  "Maybe a false positive in the lab," he offered.  Unlikely.  More likely my aperture has some miniscule tears or whatnot.  You know, from all the brutal ass pounding I've endured over the years.  The gay, gay ass pounding.

I actually found that drinking the laxative, which most people find literally gut-wrenching and nauseating, was not too bad.  Ice cold and chugged like a frat douche downs a Pabst, it didn't bother me much.  Lemme tell you, though, it makes your butt pee.

After my procedure they told me to rest for thirty minutes, and for the rest of the day not to drive and not to sign any legal documents.  I did both.  (Fuck you, The Man!  I don't need your advice about heavy machinery!)  I felt perfectly fine.  They put me out with propofol, the stuff that Michael Jackson OD'd on.  I can see why he dug it.  It's extremely fast acting and gives a pleasant buzz in the head for about ten seconds before it lays you the hell out.

Later I took my mother out to lunch at a Thai restaurant.  Say, eating Thai food after fasting for two days and drinking a gallon of laxative isn't the best idea!

...I need a good quality haircut by a stylish professional, one that costs money and is worth it, not my usual Supercuts schlub look.  I'd like to ask my friends for recommendations, but they're all bald.

...Look at the state of this place.  I bet I have to clear up a few dead links.

Wow, obviously I'm in fine fettle here on the day of my return, all gossipy and jokey and shit.  Boy, will that change.  Soon it's going to be endless cynical grousing, self-pity, and one-line posts about music no one cares about again.

Also, probably more about teaching and less about gastrointestinal activity.


Kurt said...

A doctor rammed a camera down my throat last year looking for problems, and they gave me propofol as well. I had wonderful dreams, and I woke up loving all the medical personnel. The feeling passed, though.

Chance said...

Ha! I woke up feeling (briefly) much more generously inclined to all, as well.

Michael5000 said...

I get a camera rammed down my throat periodically. I don't know what they give me, but it DOES make me fall in love with my G-I doc. I think I might have even told her once.