This is a Public Service Announcement – NOT for the squeamish.

I was removed from the planet yesterday – just so you know. Aliens invaded my body in such a way that can only be compared to the very first episode of South Park (click on Season 1, Episode 1), otherwise known as a Colonoscopy. But it felt more like this:

I won’t bore you with my little medical details except suffice it to say, my doctor is running every test known to mankind trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. The colonoscopy was just one of the myriad of tests he’s done and this one has by far been the most “fun”. When I use the word “fun”, please read that using the MOST extreme amount of sarcasism that your brain can possibly muster. Sarcasism is so hard to enunciate on paper.

Being that I’m getting “older”, I know a few people who have had this little procedure done. And I swear to you. . . they ALLsaid that it was really no big deal. . . AND I LISTENED TO THEM! I WANTED it to be no big deal. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was not asking more questions, which I didn’t ask because I was under this false umbrella of security that everything would be okay. (insert angels singing)

They had given me a sheet of instructions to follow to prep for this procedure. I knew that it involved a thorough cleaning of all my pipes, but I didn’t think a whole lot about it. How bad could it be? I poop everyday. The instructions simply said to drink 8oz of this liquid (I’ll from this point forward refer to this liquid as goo because it tastes like a mixture of Ajax and cat urine) every 10 minutes until half the gallon was gone. Then the next morning at 5am, repeat the same instructions until the gallon jug was empty. I wasn’t looking forward to drinking that much goo. . . because I don’t even drink that much Miller Lite in that short of a timespan. . . and I ENJOY my Miller Lite. But I had blinders on my eyes as to what was to happen next.

First, let’s put together the essentials. This is all you need. This will be your friend. The toilet. For quite some time. Don’t forget to apologize to Mr. Toilet for what you’re about to do to him. He doesn’t know what’s coming either. Oh, and don’t forget to stock up on the toilet paper. You’re gonna need lots of that. And that’s no joke!

I knew that this goo was going to promote the cleaning of said pipes. I knew that. Yet – it never occurred to me that it would involve robbing me of my precious sleeptime for having to get up to a rumbling that sounded like a freight train coming through my bedroom window and force me to a run for my life. . . every 20 minutes. . . for the entire night. There was entirely too much sprinting being done throughout the night to promote any form of sleep. How can one sleep when they have what’s similar to a nuclear weapon exploding from their asshole every 20 minutes? They didn’t put THAT on the instruction sheet.

SO – not only did I have to endure a Clear Liquid Diet the day before (robbing me of my morning coffee, any form of deliciousness for lunch and dinner, AND my Miller Lite), I was also robbed of my sleep the night before this “fun” procedure. . . again with NO cup of coffee to start my day. I stress that part. Because without a good night’s sleep (or ANY sleep), a cup of coffee is absolutley crucial. Are you with me folks?

I went on into the doctor READY to get it over with and with a sigh of relief that the “worst” part was over. I was Spic and Span clean inside and out. Mr. Clean would have been proud. The nurse came in to give me an IV and said, “This is the last mean thing we do to you today. The rest is a breeze. We have good drugs.” She was very nice and yes, I looked forward to her “good drugs” because I didn’t want to remember a single minute of this anal probing. I kept picturing Cartman in the field with the satelite up his ass. I was also secretly afraid that ALL of the liquid goo hadn’t been expelled from my body, that maybe some of it was still held up in there and I feared that when he “probed”, it would release the remaining goo in the form of a run-away garden hose. And I didn’t want to be lucid enough to remember that.

Next another nurse came in and put two syringes of the “good drugs” into my IV. I waited for the sleepy feeling or even the “loopy” feeling, but neither came. The doctor came in and introduced himself (my original doctor had broken his wrist so I had a substitute) and asked if I was ready. I said, “I’m not feeling loopy yet. Aren’t I supposed to be loopy?” He didn’t even answer. . . .because apparently my answer to his question wasn’t really important. He just plunged right on in.

The next thing I know, I’m gripping the bedrail and grunting back a scream while grumbling, “What the HELL?” I think I sounded like something from The Exorcist. The nurse rushes over with another syringe to put into my IV. Still no loopy. I think the syringe only held water because whatever it was. . . was NOT working! I was still gripping the bedrails as if I were hanging from an eight story building. Did it stop this doctor? HELL NO! I think he thought I was just being dramatic. I’m here to tell you. . . I AM NOT A DRAMATIC PERSON. I don’t like attention drawn to myself. I like to be referred to as the “good patient” with no complaints. I am NOT dramatic! But this dude did not know that, nor did he care. He proceeded on as if I weren’t even attached.

So my friends, if you ever have the pleasure of an anal probe from HELL that they medically refer to as a Colonoscopy, just know ahead of time that they often sugarcoat the “cleaning of the pipes”. Trust me – you will get NO sleep and you will feel completely like a lifeless dishrag when the bombs have finished exploding from your ass. And also be sure to test the drugs BEFORE the doctor begins and demand better drugs if yours do not seem to be working. This is the second time something like this has happened to me where pain killers did not work during an operation/procedure and typically, even your regular Vicadin and such don’t do a thing to me. My body is weird like that.

At least the next time I have an anal probing (which won’t be anytime soon!), I’ll go in armed with that little nugget of information. . . because I now KNOW what it’s like without the proper medication.