No, I'm not referring to the retired four-star general and former secretary of state. I'm talking about Colon Pow! That's the sound I heard when I made preparations for my colonoscopy last week. Sure, without question it's a private matter, and yet I have chosen to share the experience with you. That's how sick I am.
The colonoscopy and other procedures were in the words of my doctor, "a nonevent." However, the preparation the day before was highly memorable—in fact, explosive. You see, I was required to swallow a bottle of magnesium citrate at 2 p.m., another at 5 p.m. and ingest three tiny pills that I believe were called "danger."
I quaffed the first bottle at 2 p.m. and settled down in my easy chair in the living room to watch a movie on TV. Around 4 p.m., I experienced strange rumblings much like the tremors one feels before a volcano blows. At 4:30 p.m., all hell broke loose! I dived into the bathroom and let loose what seemed to be the better part of the West Nile. Wow! Colon Pow! Then, it was over. I started to rise when—oh-no! There came another round with the force of a tsunami wave. Buckle up, it's going to be a wild ride!
Relieved after ebb tide, I staggered back to my easy chair, glanced at the clock, which neared 5 p.m., swallowed the second bottle and ... Incoming! Dive! Dive! Dive! Too late—my favorite Nike sweat pants had been strafed and run over. At the throne, the deposit was indescribable, but I believe it included a 1968 Buick and the last surviving trapped Chilean miner. After the bout, I showered, set my pants on fire in the fireplace and returned to the throne with a copy of "I Heard You Paint Houses" by Charles Brandt. For three hours I read and did my own porcelain painting.
This preparation is not for the weak of spirit and in no way conducive for romance. I remained awake all night suffering a barrage of attacks not experienced since the foxholes of Anzio in World War II. My friend arrived at quarter to seven to take me to the hospital and the "nonevent." I now have the cleanest colon in Blaine County and yet, I'm supposed to have this procedure done again in a few years. Sweet Mother of Jesus. Colon Pow!
Nice talking to you.