Recently, a masked stranger drugged me and hooked a pressure washer to my ass. I later awoke in an anesthetic haze to find myself involuntarily defecating in front of my horrified husband.
In other words, I had a colonoscopy.
For those unfamiliar with this procedure, allow me to tell you what all it entails:
1) You start by enduring 24-hours of a clear liquid only diet.
2) Then you drink a literal gallon jug of laxatives.
3) And then you shit. You shit, and you shit, and you shit, and it feels like it will never end. But then it does end, because your rear can suffer no more.
4) So you start expelling the old-fashioned way. In other words, you vomit. You vomit, and you vomit, and you vomit, and it, too, feels like it will never end.
5) But then it does, because now you're at your appointment, and you have an IV in your hand, and then you are unconscious.
6) Then you wake up in a recovery room, where your husband watches you shit the hospital bed, and he gives you a look that conveys his sincere preference to make slow, sensual love to Donald Trump's hairpiece rather than be near you and your grossness for one more second.
Yes. It is exactly as appalling as you'd imagine.
Anyway, the point of this post isn't (solely) to bitch about this torturous medical procedure. Instead, it's to whine about how I'm still fucking miserable on account of that slimy superbug I told you about forever ago.
Seriously, y'all, I'm surprised I'm not dead. But thanks to the colonoscopy, doctors have just now diagnosed me (more than a month after my first Urgent Care visit.) Apparently, I am serving as host to a bacteria that is munching on my stomach lining. To wit: I now have about a dozen gnarly, oozing ulcers. I'll survive, but it's going to take an unacceptably long time to heal.
Since I have time on my hands, I've decided to harness my astounding brain power and help physicians ameliorate the colonoscopy process. So far, I've got these mind gems:
1) Change the name from "colonoscopy" to "Kardashian Kleanse." Bitches would line up out the door for what you could honestly claim is one of the most instantly effective weight loss programs.
2) Just like spas offer couples massages, so, too, should hospitals offer a romantic colon cleanse package for partners. This way, both of you can enjoy the clear liquids diet the day before the appointment. Imagine bonding with your lover over a mug of sodium-free broth. Ideal, right? Well, trust me when I say it's more endearing than sipping on Gatorade while your husband plops a plump matzoh ball in his mouth and moans, "Mmmm...mmmm...mmmm. Carbs!"
3) Set up a pre-cleanse cocktail hour. Menu items could include ChapStick or Vaseline or any other type of lubricant that can coat the exit aisle leading out of your anus.
4) Provide cosmetic options. My pooper deserves pampering, so while you're back there, how about you do some waxing or bleaching or whatever else it is the cool kids are doing these days? Or, if my tuckus is already trill as fuck, then provide a second tier of services. Throw some glitter on my gluteus, ink a temporary tattoo on my tushie, or dab some makeup on my derriere. I'm sure lots of gals would buy into the "Bedazzle Your Backdoor" experience.
5) I recommend that doctors invest in a scent line. Seriously, even at the crappiest car wash, I can leave with my seat(s) smothered in that new car smell. Avoid asking, "Do you have a living will?" and instead query, "Do you prefer a Tropical Island or Pumpkin Patch freshener??"
6) Give a girl a break. And by that, I mean break me off a piece of that KitKat bar ASAP. If I'm showing you some anal action (a privilege my husband has been steadfastly denied), the least you can do is buy me dinner. Patients emerging from sedation have starved themselves for 30-ish hours, in addition to shitting and/or vomiting out every ounce of sustenance. So, you know, maybe spring for lobster or pasta or a burrito. Just have something edible waiting for us on the other end of anesthesia.
Marketing problems solved.
If doctors implement my plan, I guarantee they'll have people dying to get their Kardashian Kleanses, rather than preferring actual death over a colonoscopy.
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. How would you jazz up your colonoscopy? Also, do you think the doctors LIKE their job? How much are they paid to do this? Is it worth it? Anyway... please tell me you have gross poop stories. I need them so I don't feel so disgusting. Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.