Caution: Do no read this, unless you have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old. Also, every word of this is true:
I had to get my butthole snaked and probed. I had some gut issues, and they wanted to make sure everything was okay. Spoiler: It’s all fine. But one of the gifts of middle age is that your asshole is no longer a private matter. The doctor is always, “how’s the asshole Mr. Lyngar? Is your cock working okay?” and “why are you so fat?” I am paraphrasing, but these are the questions one must answer as routine after hitting 40 or so.
One day, “ol’ reliable” wasn’t up to snuff, so off to the asshole doctor, I go.
They are all super nice and friendly. Too friendly, maybe. They always have a story about least invasive, non-painful, etc. But it’s telling that they insist on knocking you the hell out before molesting you. If they tell you to sleep through the anal torture, you can be sure that something is amiss back there.
One friend of mine, we’ll call “Rob,” has a broken asshole so has to get these on a regular basis. He has some story about his asshole is so pristine that they must use the pediatric scope on him.
However, my other buddy, who is a real life doctor told me this:
The Handbook of Patient Care, Page #453, Paragraph #3, beginning at sentence #2: “Reassure repeat customers for colonoscopies that ‘we’re totally going to use the pediatric scope’. Have your youngest and friendliest member of the endoscopy suite designated as ‘pediatric scope lie’ guy, and ensure he or she rigorously performs this duty without fail.”
This is the story doctors tell, but after you’re asleep, they duct tape a “go pro” to end of a garden hose and get two strong men to ram it on home.
The best part of the procedure is waking up. I felt almost drunk from the drugs, and a pretty nurse walks in and says. “I need you to fart, Mr. Lyngar.”
I had waited my whole life for someone to ask me that. After giving the walls a good shake, I am fairly certain that cloud is still hanging over Sacramento somewhere.
“Very good!” the nurse said.
She came back a few minutes later. “One more time?” she asked. Again, there have been few times in my life, I’ve been asked to do something that I was so very qualified to do. It felt like my birthday.
After a second rumble, my (poor, sweet) wife, Joy, helped me get dressed and I staggered to the car. On the way home Joy bought me a giant cheeseburger, because I’d been fasting (which does suck). I sat on the couch watching television the rest of the day.
As a grown man, you don’t get many days as good as that. For all the hassle and embarrassment, a colonoscopy isn’t the worst thing to happen to a guy, even in average month.