Hooray, it's not me this time. I know it's really wrong, but I can't help chuckling (to myself of course) when I think about what's in store for the man of my dreams. I even feel a little guilty for thinking it's funny since it's something nobody wants to do. I think I'm just so happy that it's not me. So it's actually more of a sympathy laugh. I mean it not like he doesn't know...this isn't his first Game Day prep.
Yes, during The Husband's last yearly physical, his good ol' Doc referred him to the Happy Butt Doctor for a colonoscopy. Don't you think that might be a good office name for the anally inclined physicians in this field? It would show a sense of humor about the hole ordeal...notice the little play on words...hole instead of whole? Get it? Sometimes I just crack myself up...I'm so mature.
He got the referral papers in the mail a few days ago and sent them in. I was a little puzzled because they had him scheduled to see a guy with D.O. after his name instead of M.D. Don't you think that's kinda weird? I always thought DO stood for an Osteopath and I thought they were just a Chiropractor with an M.D. Seems kinda odd to me that an Osteopath would be performing butt doctor duties, doesn't it? I told The Husband to find out about this little oddity when he went in for his office visit. It probably stands for Doctor's Orderly. Some poor schmo workin' for minimum wage doing the real Dr.'s dirty work.
When The Husband came home from the office "consultation"(which is really just an anal violation pep talk and some way the medical system has come up with to get yet another fee) I forgot to ask about the DO thing. I didn't get the anal violation pep talk before my Game Day and when I stopped to think about it I have to say I'm not sorry about that. I'd feel really weird talking to some strange man and listening to him explain how he planned to violate me anally. Better not to know the stranger behind that mask.
So last night The Husband hands me his "instructions for pending doom". Starting in the morning, no solid food and only clear liquids. This is a problem because The Husband likes his lunch. He's afraid he might waste away going one whole day without lunch. I'm pretty sure he has enough girthage to last him a day or two but I wisely keep this thought to myself. Anyway, I asked him about the DO thing.
Me: " So did you find out if the guy's an Osteopath?"
The Husband: "He's a doctor. Some kind of Colo-Rectal surgeon."
Me: (Noticing The Husband is studiously avoiding eye contact...) "You didn't ask, did you?"
The Husband: "No, I forgot...but I saw some kind of sign on the wall."
Story of my fuckin' life...
This kinda surprises me because most old heterosexual dudes are pretty picky about anyone without proper credentials messin' with their hiney. They want to know it's really a necessary medical procedure they're signin' up for and not some fun filled extra credit class for med students.
Not so with Crazy D, the hair guy...who may be just a teensie weenie bit homophobic. He told me when he had his colonoscopy, he was laying on the table, still awake, and one of the male personnel took a pre-moistened towelette and wiped his ass. Crazy D was totally horrified by this. He couldn't believe the guy did this while he was still awake. Honestly, I can't believe that I was actually talking about colonoscopies with my hair guy. And we were hysterical about it. It's such an old person thing...talking about the latest thing going wrong with your old decrepit bodies.
Back to the Pre Game Day itinerary...at 2:00 pm, he starts drinking his Prompt a Poop juice, which being the dutiful wife I am, I picked up at the pharmacy.
I have a little gripe about that. When I picked up my Prompt a Poop Juice, it didn't come carefully concealed in a paper bag. Noooo, they handed me the plastic jug containing what I'm fairly certain is powdered excrement out in the open so everyone who saw me knew I was about to be anally violated and was willingly preparing for said violation. The Husband's bottle of Prompt a Poop came in a paper bag so nobody knew what I was carrying out of the store. Is this a new procedure? Or did somebody fall down on the job and forget to put mine in a plain brown wrapper???
Just to be clear...I'm only guessing that the jug contains powdered excrement simply because when hydrated as per the directions it tastes like shit...or what I'd imagine shit to taste like if I ever had the inclination to eat shit...to the best of my knowledge, I've never actually tasted shit...at least not intentionally.
Even before I knew there'd be a bag covering the jug, I made sure the clerk knew it wasn't for me when I stepped up to the pharmacy counter..."I'm here to pick up a prescription for MY HUSBAND"...she only smiled at me. I may have shouted the "for my husband" part a little bit. She probably thought I was lying.
The night before he was supposed to drink his excrement cocktail, The Husband was pretty sure he'd be able to work the whole day. When he told me this, I looked at him like he'd suddenly grown a second head...
Me: "Are you fucking kidding me????"
The Husband: "No, why not?"
Me: "You're gonna go to work and shit your brains out intentionally? How gross is that?"
I'm still not sure if he was serious or not...he likes to say things he knows I'll get all jacked up about. It works...I can't believe I still fall for it almost every time.
He also thought he was going to be able to go to work after his "procedure".
Me: "You can't do that. Read your instructions for pending doom. They say you have to have a ride when you show up or they won't do it. So you'd waste a whole day shitting your brains out for nothing. Then you'd have to do it all over again."
The Husband: " I have a plan. I'll park my car at Pep Boys and take a taxi to the hospital. When I get done, I'll take a taxi back to my car and go to work."
The Husband: "Why not? They won't know."
He starts laughing at me being so adamant and keeps egging me on about it. He loses...this time. Truth be told, I don't think he was serious...just another example of The Husband yanking my chain.
He couldn't finish the whole jug of Prompt a Poop but apparently he got enough down to do the job.
The next morning bright and early we went to the hospital. I had visions of going in until he was checked in and then leaving to go shopping. The hospital staff were so efficient though that I didn't even have time to go to WalMart. They said I could go back with him while they prepped him for his procedure and it seemed kinda wrong to put a trip to WalMart before giving moral support to the man of my dreams preparing for anal violation. Once they had him prepped and ready to go they wheeled him away and I barely had time to walk to the car to get my Kindle and read a couple chapters of Adam Carolla's new book before they were calling me into the recovery room.
It's a funny book and I thought I'd keep reading while I waited for the man of my dreams to awaken from his drug induced Twilight Sleep. Alas, my plans were foiled by Chatty Cathy, the nurse assigned to him while he was in recovery...not the doll from the late fifties/early sixties. Remember her? And Tiny Tears? And Betsy Wetsy? And Patty Play Pal? My mom always wanted me to play with dolls and I never really liked them...I was such a disappointment.
Chatty Cathy told me about her husband, her late parents, her husband living in Alaska, some of her health issues, some of her husbands health issues, the difference between different type of fiber supplements, and on, and on, and on. Then she hands me a little vial of water.
Me: "What's this?"
Chatty Cathy: "They're your husband's polyps."
Me: "Are you giving them to me?????"
Chatty Cathy: "Oh no. They have to go to the lab but I thought you might want to see them."
I'm pretty sure I had a shocked look on my face and couldn't come up with a witty retort. So I looked at them. The polyps were barely visible in the water vial. I don't know what I expected...something really gross I guess...but they were bright orange and as small as a poppy seed. Who'd a thunk it?
Then she started telling me about The Husband's post anal violation instructions, and what to expect. It's all written on the papers they give you but maybe she thought I couldn't read or something. So she read them all aloud to me...like I was five.
All I really wanted was for her to shut the fuck up so I could read my book...but what do I do? I smiled, and nodded, and acted interested in what she was saying. Adam Carolla was on the chair waiting to make me laugh and I was forced to ignore him and smile, nod, and act interested in someone who was actually boring the hell out of me. You'd think at my age I'd be able to somehow politely but firmly extract myself from situations like this, wouldn't you? But noooooooo, I don't want to seem rude or be impolite.
By this time, The Husband was starting to open his eyes and spout gibberish. So I figure I can focus my attention on him and ignore Chatty Cathy. I start to talk to him.
Me: "They found two polyps."
The Husband: "They did?"
Chatty Cathy AKA Buttinski: "Oh don't expect him to remember anything you're saying. The drugs they use are amnesiacs. They make it so they don't remember anything."
Me In My Head: "I know what amnesiac means fuckhead..so just shut the fuck up and go away so I can get back to Adam."
Sometimes I really want the "Me In My Head" to speak for the real "Me"...it's the stoopidist thing.