Husband turned fifty-one in December and for his birthday he got… to have a colonoscopy. Apparently, it’s just something you have to do when you reach “a certain age”.
I never knew much about colonoscopies until this. All I knew was a snake-like scope was going “in the out door”. So to speak.
I had no idea there was so much, uh, prep work involved. So. Much. Poor Husband. I’ll spare you the details of Sunday, but needless to say he saw, oh, about 20 minutes of the Super Bowl.
So, today was the actual procedure. No big deal (except when you realize what the doctor is checking for) – and he did fine. We thought they were going to give him general anesthesia, but it turns out they only give you “Conscious Sedation”, which means you can be kind of awake – you know, in case you want to watch the video.
So, after the procedure, I go with Husband to the very crowded recovery room where he proceeds to tell me the same story 5 times and ask where his glasses are while they’re sitting on his face. Anesthesia is the greatest when you’re the sober one. Truly.
But the BEST was when his inner volume control went a bit askew and he loudly asked, “DID HE SAY MY ASSHOLE WAS PERFECT?!”
“Yes, Dear, your asshole is perfect. Clean as a whistle.”
[Husband whistles in response and falls asleep.]
It was all I could do not to run to the nurses station and ask to use their internet connection.