A fine how do you doo

Don't ask me why, but I wanted my colonoscopy to be, if not funny, at least a little humorous.

You know, like Ricky Gervais' in the movie "Ghost Town" a couple years back.  Without the dying unexpectedly part, of course.  Nothing funny about that in real life/death, is there?

It didn't begin that way.  My prep nurse -- a very nice lady, really -- made it clear to me that I waited too long for my first colon spelunker adventure. 

"Why did you wait so long? 

"Don't know, really?"  (I did know.  I was scared s%*^#+&%.)

"Colon cancer is the silent killer, you know." 

"Yes, I know," I replied demurely (and you're killing me a little right now with your lecture; Wanna trade places?)

When the male nurse arrived to insert the IV in my arm and wheel me down to the surgery center procedure room, I thought things were going to brighten up substantially.

"Why are you here?"

"Colonoscopy," I said.

Then he (early 30s maybe, 20 years away from undergoing the embarrassing but essential procedure himself) launched into some spirited surgical center comic patter.

"Just for the fun of it?"

"What?"

"I always ask patients if they're having a colonoscopy for the fun of it.  It catches them off guard and eases the tension," he said.

Later, when the nurse was tapping my wrist to locate the vein for the IV, the dinner show began:

"There's no reason to do this, really.  I just like to beat the patients."  (Good one, buddy.)

Then, after inserting a deadening needle and then the larger IV needle (painlessly, I might add):

"Remember, the state of Texas allows me to do this."

Being an old comedian, and feeling older by the second, I must admit the guy's timing was good and his material, as they say in the biz, was topically on the money.

Trouble was, after not eating anything solid for a day and a-half and losing three pounds in the non-advisable toilet diet the day before, I was in no mood for banter of any kind.

Which brings me to:

Security breaches at the G2 Summit

I won't lie to you.  Colonoscopy prep is not pleasant.  When I think back about the three-hour process of clearing my lower body regions of, let's say, clutter, the image that pops into my head is of landscape-altering tsunamis roaring in opposite directions.

The instructions were simple enough.  Pick up a box of laxative tablets, a 238g bottle of MiraLAX (explosives disguised as laxative powder; Do Not Let Terror Cellists In Your Neighborhood Know About MiraLAX) and a 64 ounce bottle of Gatorade.

You take four laxatives with eight ounces of Gatorade.  Then a couple of hours later, you pour the entire box of MiraLax into the Gatorade.  You shake it up, drink it up (eight ounces every 10 or 15 minutes) and -- before long -- become a human geyser at maximum pressure. 

By the way, have you tried to buy Gatorade lately?  Apparently, it has faded away like the 8-track tape, the DeLorean automobile and, unless something happens fast, Paris Hilton.

Gatorade has morphed into something called G2, the middle part of Gatorade's G Series in the science of thirst quenching.

Oddly enough, G2, the second stage of a three-part process, is titled DURING.

If ever there was truth in advertising, G2 qualifies, especially when mixed with volatile amounts of the MiraLAX explosive.  'Scuse me, laxative.  Give me a couple 64-ounce bottles of this mixture and I could bring down Hoover Dam.

Let's just say it's a good thing we installed a new industrial strength toilet a month or so ago.

Whew, glad it's over.  The colonoscopy process may not be pleasant, but it's much preferred to the alternative (the silent killer).

So if you're 50 or older, I urge you to schedule yours today.  It'll free your mind, your soul and your lower body like you won't believe.

And I get to go through the cleansing process again in three years.

Just for the fun of it.

(Colonoscopy cartoon courtesy:  funnytimes.com)