A Funny Colonoscopy Story
Recently, I received a message from my doctor that the fecal smear test I was hoping would suffice as a substitute for a colonoscopy showed blood, so now I had to get one. To explain why this bothered me, I’ll have to detail my horrible experience last winter when I courageously tried to get one. Here goes:
As instructed, I didn’t eat. So far so good. Then I realized I had to go get that 55,000 gallon jug of stuff to drink, so I started walking to the pharmacy. I tripped on broken cement, fell and hurt my knee and cut my forehead so that blood was dripping in a puddle on the sidewalk. A puny little guy came along and probably got a hernia, helping me up. I went back up to my apartment, cleaned up the blood, and put ice on the cut. When it stopped bleeding and didn’t start again, I faithfully took off for the pharmacy again, this time instead of walking, I drove my car in spite of the “$9,000 a gallon” for gas. While at the pharmacy, I began to walk around and pick up other things I needed.
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My upper lip began to feel odd. I touched it with my finger and it seemed to be swollen. I figured it was from the fall, but wondered at being such a contortionist that I could hit my forehead and my lip at the same time. I went home and began to drink from my jug of RX. The flavor left a lot to be wished for. Meanwhile, my lip kept swelling. I put ice on it in between drinking 8 oz glasses of RX. The lip not only grew larger, it spread its swelling to my other lip. By now it was dark. I didn’t think I wanted to drive to the hospital ER and pay umpteen million dollars to park in the University of Chicago Medical Center garage (unlike the free parking I was used to a the University of Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha where I had lived until six months ago). I had a bus card, but I was beginning to look so weird and, thinking how embarrassing it would be, I didn’t want to take a bus. Besides, I don’t walk to the bus stop after dark.
I called my daughter. No answer. I drank some more. Put some ice on my mouth. Drank some more. Called my daughter again and left a message. I repeated the previous steps a number of times. Finally, the babysitter answered. It seems my daughter and son-in-law were out, so I called my daughter’s cell phone and left a message. Again, I repeated, the regimen I’d been practicing. Finally, my daughter called back, and I explained my predicament. She came over. When I opened my door, she was startled.