My First Colonoscopy (774 hits)
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Submitted by Drone of Industry (View user info) at 2006-05-10 22:52:58 EDT
Sitting on your ass for 10 hours a day staring at a computer screen is indeed physically straining. And the temptation of all the complimentary candy bars, coffee, and soda that one can consume doesn't make the situation any lighter.
My health was depleting.
At one particular company meeting, the BIG BIG BOSS said that if there was anything, ANYTHING he could do for us at all, to just ask.
I lifted my scrawny, malnourished hand and politely uttered, "Do you think there is a chance that we could possibly get a vegetable tray stocked in the office refrigerator?"
The BIG BIG BOSS let out a snicker...
...and the entire staff followed with an eruption of laughter.
"What the fuck?" I grumbled inside my skull. The meeting adjourned, and everyone returned to their workstations.
I guess it made sense why these clowns didn't take me seriously. Most of these guys spend half their paycheck on fast food every single day for lunch and dinner. You gotta scavenge what pleasure you can from this humdrum lifestyle, I suppose. Saturated fat is probably the easiest route.
Then I got to thinking.
The internet says that a human being averages to about 14 gas emissions per 24 hour period. That means a fraction of our brain power every day is spent repressing those bodily functions that color outside the lines.
Congest 10 alpha males in one window-less office for 10 hours at a time and I can guarantee that there is going to be some suspicious odor hovering in the atmosphere. Weird thing though... I have never heard even the faintest sound resonate from any of my coworkers' chair seat.
But surely we are all doing each other a colossal favor by not audibly relinquishing our inner demons. Hell, talk about repression, I can't even sneeze in front of my coworkers much less fart in front of them. I obviously have some security issues. But let's just say that when it comes to passing gas, my coworkers and I don't have that kind of open relationship.
Well, maybe it's worse than that. All that repression began to brew up trouble. And I think those frustrations had nowhere to go except out my asshole.
*****
I would constantly squirm in my office chair with the ghost of some sort of vengeful wedgie haunting my underpants. I could have sworn something was in there, but making frequent trips to the washroom, I would forcefully scrub my anus with toilet paper to find nothing! Returning to the office, I'd sit back down at my workstation and immediately feel the ugly handicap reveal itself again. Every 15 minutes I'd snap and retreat back into the washroom.
This desperate cycle continued, and the excessive wiping rubbed my anus bloody raw. I would have to wet the paper towels and gently dab at my hole like it was a drooling baby. Then I'd hang out in the bathroom for a while with my pants down, frantically waving my hands at my butt to induce drying.
I assumed that perhaps I had too much moisture down there. I pointed my shit-stained finger at my diet... or Krunchers brand potato chips rather. In those days I would go to the grocery and always purchase three bags of every flavor.
The ingredients of the "Original" flavor were simply potatoes, oil, and salt (the only ingredients one should need to create the perfect potato chip), but the "Jalapeno" and "Mesquite Bar B Que" were packed with a glut of additives that I couldn't even pronounce. The culprit that I pointed to among them was the sinister monosodium glutamate. Or as his buddies liked to call him... MSG!
So no more Krunchers. They were bad company. The innocent, all endearing Potato Salad became my new friend.
But alas... the anal demon prevailed.
*****
Another day... another wet, grimy asshole festering inside the wall of my sanity. GODAMMIT! I couldn't take it anymore! I stormed into the shower one night and cursed my orifice as I violently scrubbed it clean. "Out damn spot, OUT!" But I knew that once I stepped out of that shower, the plague would be back. It always came back!
Then I noticed a pink razor in the tub. In my flustered state I had a revelation! I quickly reached for the razor, clenching it in my shaking fist.
I knew what I had to do.
I perched my left leg on the side of the tub and crouched down to investigate the unknown depths of my asshole. With one hand spreading me wide open, and the other carefully squeezing the razor between the cheeks of my buttocks, I dragged the blade through the compressed pasture of follicles breeding around the lip of my anus.
Like shaving the mighty mane of Emperor Leo, I had risen to power over the situation! But the strokes became more and more careless as I began to lose grip to revenge! Scalping the head of my enemy repeatedly, I seethed with hatred until a glorious display of long, dark confetti rained from my crack and spiraled into the whirlpool below.
Free at last! Free from the knots, tangles, and webs of accumulated testosterone that had grown ornery in my asshole. God Almighty, free at last!
My naked body pranced out of the tub, legs shifting freely to and fro. I could dance again with sheer exuberance for life. I strutted to my bed and slept soundly in the comforting embrace of victory.
At work the next day I was clean shaven and pure of evil deities. I sat down in my chair and began my diligent work day, for there were deadlines to be met! You could smell the clean air of productivity emanating from my keyboard as opposed to the faint decay that often lingered from my crotch.
And then I felt it... a hint of it... resurrecting from its grave, creeping inside me with its oily fingers, tingling my cavity with its toothless slurps, penetrating me with its flaccid, unquenchable member. I was horrified!
Where could I find an antidote for this terrible monster? Where did my saviour lie?
TO THE INTERNET!
*****
Low and behold, the ghost wedgie was none other than a ghastly runt of a hemorrhoid.
Hey! How was I supposed to know? I'd never investigated hemorrhoids before. I seriously thought it was something just old people got. Now I know that practically everyone has got a hemorrhoid! Join the fucking club!
But seriously, it wasn't that simple. I didn't want to mention it earlier, but during the reign of this whole epidemic I had also been swinging between bouts of explosive diarrhea and extreme constipation.
My asshole had issues. I figured it for a manic depressive, but I attended various online forums to compare symptoms with others whom were anally challenged and concluded that perhaps I had a case of the ol' Irritable Bowel Syndrome!
Irritable Bowel Syndrome was an enigma with no rhyme or reason... a faceless beast that autonomously and extraneously exercised its oppressive powers regardless of an individual's dietary habits.
This pitiful hemorrhoid was only a pawn in it's game.
I talked to my mother who had been a registered nurse for some forty odd years. She recommended that I see a doctor, especially since my job provided a full coverage health insurance plan. My friends, almost none of which had health insurance, surprisingly recommended the same, probably because they were sick of me bitching about the fucking burr in my britches, so to speak.
But hospitals make me feel so weak and vulnerable. The emotional strain of a clinical environment makes it so that I physically cannot even clench my fist because I feel so frail. Not to mention this weird, faint taste in my mouth as if I had just licked the most sterile electrical socket in the world.
I figured my worries were nothing a little will power couldn't conquer. I was going to try to cope with this dilemma myself before resorting to such extreme measures as conferring with a doctor.
*****
I'm a closet smoker at work. In fact I usually don't even smoke at work. But sometimes after lunch I like to "take a walk". I head on over to this itty bitty stretch of woods that lines either side this man made creek.
As I walk the parking lot towards my retreat, I often see businessmen eating lunch inside their cars, listening to conservative talk radio I imagine. I've watched their behavior before. They drive away from home territory to a distant parking space in some other office district so as not to be depicted as a total anti social loser to their fellow coworkers. I remember doing that in college when I had no friends and no guts to talk to anybody. I guess we all have different ways of coping with this "repression" thing.
I would keep a look out for these strays of civilization, and when the coast was clear, I'd spread the tree limbs and creep into this tiny forest where I'd proceed to smoke a cheap rolled cigarette (which is often mistaken for a joint in the suburbs).
As I was rolling the damn thing I felt the oncoming strain of a bowel movement. Just the wrong place to stew a number two.
Or was it?
Ok. What should one do if he hasn't had a decent bowel movement in practically two whole weeks? Two fucking weeks, man! When this happens, I get nervous, and it's no surprise that ludicrous logic would start to do the talking under such stress to perform.
Really though! Could there be anything more punk rock than relieving myself in the forest of a suburban industrial district? Especially after days upon days of anal impotence, I would have been a fool not to take advantage of this urge with which I'd been blessed. This could also be just the type of passive aggressive protest to the daily grind that I needed to feel reconciled.
So I let loose in my own quarters. I wasn't prepared to wipe so I just had to take it like a man (or an animal rather) and suck it up till I got back to the office restroom to sanitize.
As I was buckling back into my khakis I noticed a nibbled apple core lying across from me on a tree branch.
This was obviously a symbolic moment.
Because apples are very high in fiber.
What person left that apple lying there? Maybe there was another office cadet like me, one who would successively retire from the 9 to 5 world into this specific patch of open forest to temporarily meditate on his life. I wondered what it would be like to one day accidentally encounter this special person in our "sacred place". Would we suddenly pardon ourselves from each other's presence in that abrupt instant, or confront one another right then and there in the balm of our sacred place?
I know what we would do. We would spiritually connect immediately upon introduction! Perhaps we wouldn't even speak, but simply gaze into one another's eyes and bask in our connected aura, coming together with the friend we never knew in a fateful oasis amid this sprawling desert of droning humanity.
Of course, if he visited this neck of the woods when I was not present, then all he would encounter is my stinky deposit. In that case I doubt he'd return to this spot ever again.
I kicked the turd into the creek and returned to the office to wash my anus.
While on the pot, I took out the hemorrhoid cream and dabbed a heapin' helpin' on my butt bubble. This tube of Preparation H had become a mainstay in my pockets at the office, among the car keys, the wallet, and the cell phone.
But the hemorrhoid was not the problem here. It is what was causing the hemorrhoid. It was the disruptive release of negative energy emitting from the pinhole of my bum.
I went to the butt doctor.
*****
I waited in the room for over an hour reading TIME magazine, which is quite a disturbing slab of mainstream propaganda bullshit. It was well over a year old, showcasing a dramatic painted portrait of our president, George W Bush, eyes braced in conviction. 'Man of the Year 2004' it said. I investigated further and realized that they had also crowned him 'Man of the Year 2000' at the beginning of his first term!
The doctor came in, somewhat surprised and sort of annoyed that I had been referred to him. I told him that his services were simply discovered by calling Blue Cross Blue Shield, my health insurance company.
"Oh, you have health insurance, do you?" His eyes suddenly widened.
He was disinterested and impatient. I could tell I was just being hurried through the ringer. With his head down he scribbled my responses onto a short questionnaire. Then he touched me all over with white gloves. His stethoscope was forceful and I can still smell the powder of his latex.
"I'm going to diagnose you now."
Hmmm... I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I suppose it was inevitable. I hesitated, pretending like it didn't mean that I had to take off any clothes.
"I must inspect your rectum, turn on your left side."
Ok. Message loud and clear. But I didn't want to take off my pants till he was done fiddling around with all those weird utensils by the sink over there.
'How am I supposed to diagnose you if you don't take your pants off?" he says sternly.
I quickly obeyed and pulled down my pants. My forehead whacked against the retractable medical lamp in my haste. I suddenly didn't know what the fuck was going on, and then his fingers went really far up my butt really fast. Like reflex, my arse tightened around his digits immediately upon entry.
It was worse than getting that thermometer stuck up my pee hole when I got checked for STDs, the only reason being the attitude of the doctor. This one was cold. This one really made me feel like a factory processed piece of meat.
When he turned his back on me and told me to get dressed, I proceeded to uncontrollably fart and leak all over myself as he scheduled my next appointment with the secretary over the phone.
I felt humiliated. I felt raped.
He gave me some weird prescription, and said that I have to go to the big hospital to get a tube routed through my colon so that a bunch of doctors can film it... a colonoscopy they call it.
Apparently the worst was yet to come.
*****
I left the doctor's office and figured that since I had the morning off from work and was in the suburbs, I could finally start that savings account I had always intended to launch!
Matt, my friendly Bank One advisor, questioned why I should settle for a measly savings account when I could make so much more money investing in a retirement fund. He said he tries to "plant the seed into people while they are young", and he spouted off some quite convincing statistics.
But there is so much that will happen between now and the deathbed. How can I put all my trust into Bank One?
"Unless you devote yourself to the system your entire life, we will punish you in your old age, and you will die a slow, grueling death... POOR!" That's what Matt was really saying! That's how they snag you!
They want my youth! They want me to spend all my strong bones and muscles to fulfill their boring agenda, but these are the days of my life I should be running, jumping, and exploring while I am physically apt. If I start saving now then I'll have to keep making money, money, money that will be locked in a vault until the day it's spent paying off my carpal tunnel, ulcer, migraines, and over-stressed heart. Not to mention my large intestine!
Anyway I got the savings account, but I hardly know why. Get this, if you put something like 10,000 dollars in it, you'll only make 10 dollars a month. That's not even a half a tank of gas! But whatever, at least I'll make something. Although I wonder what horrible things they will do with that money. Lend it to the powers that be to destroy the entire world I fear! Then where will all that retirement money be? In the shitter. And I'll be dead.
*****
I started to see a very dark side of myself in the shadow of the colonoscopy. To prepare for this procedure I would have to "clean out", meaning... I would have to drink Sprite and swallow 4 giant horse pills every 15 minutes until there was NOTHING left inside me.
I imagined myself taking one of my roommate's canvases and dropping my drawers to shit all over it, where I would body paint the musings of my tortured, decrepit soul right then and there onto the canvas in the shade of hawg wild nude... wallowing in the epitome of an art cliche. Maybe I'd throw a crucifix in there somewhere to give it a bit more edge. Man, it would be so fucking ANTI that NO ONE would appreciate it!
Everyone would raise their brows in repulsion. Sure, it would be a highly intimate and emotional performance, but all the audience would perceive it as worthless hogwash.
And THAT would be the trap! Because once they started to vocally judge and lecture me, the tables would turn.
My tortured being would transcend this reality, possessed with an insightful hatred, a spirit that could see right through the thick of it! And in a surge of dark powers, covered in my own feces, I would proceed to JUDGE THEM! My twisted perception would render their psyche fully exposed, and it is THEY whom would be naked before ME! YES! I would rub their noses into a stinking wet pool of humility! I would deconstruct them until they were pathetic piles of nothing!
Yeah, this colonoscopy thing was really putting me in a bad mood.
The reality of it turned out much different though. It came out rather smooth. After a while I was practically peeing out of my asshole. But by bedtime, I was intermittently awoken, clenching the vein in my forehead, trying to squelch out the last gurgle of acidic goo from my shriveled stomach.
I wish I had pooped it all into a bucket cause there was soooo much! I lost 3 pounds that night! The worst part was really that I couldn't eat that entire day beforehand. I was riddled with more headache than hunger... and sort of a faster's disgust for the sinful human pigs that relentlessly gorged themselves around me. But then tomorrow came.
*****
Whether it be relevant to this story or not, "There is no right or wrong, only consequences," is what I remembered looping in my head when the tranquilizers pumped through my circulatory. As I passed into unconsciousness, I beheld the sight of my illustrious pink colon on the hospital monitor.
I don't remember much of the procedure after that. I can barely even recall coming to consciousness and leaving with my driver. What I do remember is that short horrific instant when I awoke from darkness.
I raised from the hospital bed out of sedation murmuring, "no, no, no," trying to break free from the doctor's grip.
I felt it in my insides... like a fucking robot in my womb! It clawed at my lining, trying to scrape its escape through me, as all the doctors and nurses hands pushed me back down and stabbed another syringe in me. The pharmaceuticals quickly pulled my heavy head back into unconsciousness.
*****
I'm too fucking young to have a goddamned chronic disorder! I knew from the beginning that this was going to be one of those things where I'd have to go through hell and high water just to figure out that everything was okay.
And it was. At least until I got the bill in the mail. But my job will pay for that. Hell, they're the one to blame for my irritable bowel anyway, and I'll always have the hemorrhoid to prove it.
"Eat more fiber," the doctor said in the end. "You can buy Benefiber at Walgreens."
...great.
Next time I'll just tell the doctor I have no insurance. Then we'll see how he treats me. Like a human being, I hope. But I guess that's objective.
Oh well, at least I got 3 and a half days off work.
User Reviews
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-05-11 17:30:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-05-11 14:28:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
submit to poopreport.com
Submitted by Cyrus (user info) at 2006-05-11 13:27:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Truly Amazing.
How old are you? Old age is hell. Once you turn 50 every other medical procedure you'll need involves having something shoved up your ass.
Submitted by CookieLass (user info) at 2006-05-11 10:26:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
SOLID +2. But I gotta say.... just a little bit long. You could have left out alot that, while funny, had nothing to do with anything, really.
Submitted by G-prime (user info) at 2006-05-11 09:50:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
My good god. This was amazing.
I pointed my shit-stained finger at my diet.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-05-11 09:42:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was awesome. Awesome I say.
Submitted by ozzy (user info) at 2006-05-11 09:27:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
There was some good lines in this, but it was about twice as long as it needed to be.
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-05-11 09:01:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
ets
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-11 08:49:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
anus auto +2
Submitted by FilthyAssistant (user info) at 2006-05-11 03:50:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I skipped the 'appropriate responses to 3000 words on an anus' class.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-05-11 03:33:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
grossly entertaining
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-11 02:56:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF, I was grossed out by all that.
Submitted by fun_with_needles (user info) at 2006-05-11 02:05:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Trust me, you are better off not knowing what was going on with your ass that day. They take this scope, which is about 5 feet in lenght and lube it up. Then, after not so carefully cramming in your ass, he pumps his arm with the scope back and forth like he was starting a rusty lawnmower.
Submitted by mono_blanco (user info) at 2006-05-11 01:46:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great! :)
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-05-11 00:55:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Long.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-10 23:57:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i can't believe i read all that. that was long as fuck.
decent though.
i think a quote from wu tang would be appropriate here:
"too many songs' weak rhymes is mad long
make it brief son,
half short, and twice strong"
Submitted by georgemichael (user info) at 2006-05-10 23:54:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
WTF I'M NOT READING ALL THAT!!!
Submitted by Coleslaw_Murphy (user info) at 2006-05-10 23:24:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Long, but a lot of it rang true with me.
I fear I am in serious need of a "cleansing" diet.
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2006-05-10 22:57:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
you had me at peeing out your asshole.
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2006-05-10 22:55:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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