If you want to stop now, Karen has a wonderful post about Ben on her blog You’ll probably enjoy that a lot more anyway.
The love of my life has betrayed me. I tried everything, but she won’t stop hurting me, causing me anguish and agony. But since my love knows no bounds, I was willing to endure even more torture and humiliation to save our relationship. Such is my love affair with coffee. It’s like coffee was trying to get rid of me, pawn me off on the toilet or something.
And it wasn’t just coffee. I was developing sensitivities to some of my favorite foods, so I visited the local GI specialist, fearing what he would say. My fears were confirmed. He said two things. “Don’t drink coffee” and “colonoscopy.”
The first thing everyone tells you who’s been through this is that the procedure is the easy part. After that bowel prep you won’t care what else happens to you, it’ll be a walk in the park by comparison. This did little to raise my spirits as I prepared mentally for the task at hand. The torture device that you self-administer is a beverage called HalfLytely, which comes in its own two liter bottle. From what I hear this was a replacement for the old drink called GoLytely (this was 4 liters), which may be the most inaccurately named product ever. There is nothing light about how you go, trust me. So the self torture device comes in three flavors: Yuck, Nasty, and Puke. The good news is that it doesn’t color the liquid any. But everywhere you look you read DRINK THE ENTIRE CONTENTS OF THE BOTTLE!!!!!!!!! If there’s one thing I didn’t want, it was to have to do this again, so I drank the whole thing.
The next morning I went to the doctor’s and I was greeted with the same question by everyone I saw. “How did the bowel prep go?” Shitty, how do you think it went? Does anyone say “Great! I haven’t had a good purge in years. Can I have another one next month?” My loving and supportive wife brought along a camera to preserve this event forever. I’m surprised that she didn’t bring a camcorder.
Now that we’re on the flipside, Karen probably wishes that she had brought a camcorder. The procedure itself was nothing to talk about. That is, because I don’t remember a thing. But Karen remembers how much talking I did when I was coming out of it. I’m not sure what was in that white stuff he injected into my veins, but I’m willing to bet it was veritaserum or some other drug that makes you spill your guts and air your laundry. Thank God there was no court stenographer in the room or I’d probably be posting this from a federal prison or something. But I really was in a good mood when I came out of it.
The doctor said “Mark, I’ve done a lot of endoscopies and nobody talks as much as you did.” Karen was mortified to hear the embarrassing things I was saying in the recovery room with a bunch of old people well within earshot. Maybe this is why my sister tries to get me drunk every time we visit.