colonoscoparty or there’s a party in my pants

I’m high risk for colon cancer. Okay, everybody gets something. I hadn’t minded until today.

Up until today regular colonoscopys meant getting an intravenous Demerol/Versed cocktail. It’s not for everyone, of course. I think of it as an acquired taste, like Scotch. Or Heroin. My own doctor hates it, he says it makes him feel like he’s floating on the roof. Exactly, I say, exactly. Nah, he says, people don’t like it because it takes too long to get clear and you can still feel pain, you just don’t care. EXACTLY, I say again.

It’s what I look forward to every year or two.

Look, if you want to be my back door man, if you’re going to wedge 6 feet of hose, a camera  and a flashlight up my butt, shouldn’t I get something out of the deal? I mean, c’mon, that kind of intimacy is usually preceded at the very least by dinner and flowers. But with a colonoscopy I get the exact opposite, a full day of no food at all, along with a most unpleasant internal “cleansing” of one’s lower parts. If I’m nice enough to go through that, to “clean house” so you can root around with your damned flashlight…well, what’s in it for me? I’m not asking for much. Just a little Demerol and Versed.

Instead they’re offering me Propofol, aka Milk of Amnesia.

With Propofol, I’m not going to remember a thing. I want to know if you screw up and hurt me. I want to be aware enough to hear someone say “Oops” or “Uh-oh”.  I want to be aware enough to keep you on your toes while you’re in my butt. With Versed, it may hurt, but I won’t care -not until I’m fully awake when I can pin your ass to the wall if you screwed up.  But mostly, I don’t want to forget what you do to me, I want to enjoy it.