COLONOSCOPY CARNIVAL

Well, it was an early day at the VA Hospital for me. My arrival was anticipated. The USC marching band was there to welcome me, they had my monogrammed hospital gown waiting, and Channel 7 News was on hand to record the event for posterity. Or maybe that was all part of the dream I had the night before.

After in-processing I had an interview with Dr. Morgan, who would be doing the procedure. The first thing I did was ask him how he had chosen this specialty. I wanted to find out when he had discovered his fascination with, of all parts of the body, this particular part. He said he wasn’t really sure. All he knew is that he didn’t like sputum.

Then, unprompted, he made a stunning admission. He said that medical wisdom dictates that every person get a colonoscopy by age 50. Dr Morgan was 55 yet it was only a year ago that he allowed them to “stick one of those things up my backside.” I am using his exact medical lingo. I told him I was so relieved. Now, for me, the earth had been put back on its axis, and I could die in peace. I now knew for sure that medical professionals did not follow the same advice they gave their patients.

Next he did an examination. On my back, he discovered the large scar from the removal of a melanoma 30 years ago. I told him the real reason, and then told him what I tell people who see the scar at the beach: I tell them it is the last time I am ever going to a Polish medical clinic for a vasectomy.


Soon I was whisked away to the prep room. The gown came in two stunning colors, grey and gray. The inadequacies of this garment were apparent from the beginning. It had by no means the wrap around comfort of a generous bathrobe. Instead the paucity of material reminded me more of a memory from my childhood. Whenever our family drove from Maryland to Pittsburgh to spend Christmas with my grandparents, we would always get on the Pennsylvania Turnpike at a town called BREEZEWAY.


In no time I am on my gurney, being prepped by ‘Arvey….a gay Latin man. I asked him how his weekend had been. He told me he had 2 herniated discs which gave him a lot of pain, and he couldn’t sleep. So I told him I was a healer, put my hand on the small of his back and said a blessing. He wasn’t quite sure what to think, but he said Thank You.

Next I was rushed down the hallway, in a routine Code Brown emergency scene, to the surgery amphitheater.

The nurse arrived next.

“Hello, Mr. Redding” she said. She was a Philippina lady with a saucy style and a big smile. Behind her was a younger woman. I think she was a trainee.

“Hello, my love, where have you been all my life?” I said, “My God, nothing but pretty nurses, all in a row.”

"Yes, nothing but pretty nurses for Mr. Redding.” she said.

I said “Well, all pretty nurses are invited to my birthday party.”

At this, Marie leans over and whispers in my ear “And who is going to blow out your candles?” Without missing a beat I told her “Well, you’ve just volunteered.”

After flirting with all the nurses, Dr Morgan arrived. Before the festivities could begin I told my best doctor joke.

“An absent minded doctor is doing paperwork at a nurses’ station. A nurse arrives and asks to use his pen. He reaches into his coat pocket, and hands it to her. The nurse says: Doctor, this isn’t a pen, it’s a rectal thermometer. The Doctor says: Dammit, now someone has my pen.”

My reward is an injection of Happyland chemicals into my IV. The last time I had a colonoscopy I was given a general anesthetic. What a wonderful procedure. You go to sleep, and when you wake up, everything is magically fixed with no fuss or bother. But that was at a private hospital, and not to be the case at the VA. I was given a light sedative, which left me just conscious enough to enjoy the pressure of the large size container of gas they were going to pump into me.

Half way through the procedure, I thought, maybe they had forgotten something. I asked: “I thought I was going to get a General”. Dr Morgan, was merrily probing away, and occasionally expostulating such outbursts as “Oh, my God,” and “will you look at that whopper”. He responded by saying: “ Yes, we have a general here, and it is Marie the Head Nurse, who tells everyone what to do.”

Before I knew it, my 3 hours on the probing table were over, and I was being rushed down the hallway to the recovery room.

There I was parked, like a semi-truck , in a long line of groaning middle aged men. I said hello again to Rosa. We had met earlier in the day, when she installed my IV.

I remembered then the look of consternation on her face as she tried to find a vein. I have always had deep veins. Rosa said they were “sleeping”. First, she tied the rubber tie around one bicep, then the other. I made my hand into a fist and pumped with all my might. Then she slapped the arm, hoping a vein would appear.

“Come on vein” I thought, “now is the time to make a showing.” I remembered back many years ago when I had broken my leg. It took the nurse 4 tries to get an IV started. I still remembered the blood dripping down my hand from the impale marks.

I tried sympathizing with Rosa. What a shame. Here it was first thing on a Monday morning, and Rosa was faced with a real test of her medical skill. Life is so unfair.

Finally, she stuck it in. I screamed in pain. She said “There it is, no problem.”
I said: ”Wow, I didn’t feel a thing”


In the Recovery Room, Rosa paraded up and down her row of patients, encouraging all of us to start farting.

I was half out of it, but that was not my real problem. My real problem was that even though I was filled with enough gas to float the Hindenburg, none of it showed any inclination to re-vent.

I must have laid there for an hour, but nothing would come out. Cramping pains came and went. I was on left side, my back, then my right side. Rosa came over and pumped up the gurney and quickly let it drop…… an old nurse’s trick. Nothing happened.

Finally Rosa comes over to me and says: “Why aren’t you farting, are you ashamed to pass gas?”

“No,” I said, “actually I am very proud of my farting.”

That’s when the guy in the bed next to me started laughing. “Now look what you’ve done” admonished Rosa in mock anger …”you’ve made the other patient laugh.”

Finally, Rosa had had enough. She turned me over to the No-Nonsense nurse. Every ward has one, and she wasn't playing games. I did not have a chance to read her nametag, or engage in charming banter. She shot over, and tipped the gurney 30 degrees head down. As the blood rushed to my head I thought: “Now this is a novel approach, but at least I have gravity on my side.”

And sure enough, it was not long before I let go. God, what a relief that was. Soon after I was farting like a schoolboy champion, and my disposition was rapidly improving.

It was not long before my little pleasure stay at the hospital was over, and my friend Mel came and picked me up. It turned out that the doctor removed 3 polyps, so it was a good thing that I had the procedure. When cancer runs in your family you have to be vigilant. Colon cancer is a nasty way to die. I came home and slept, and dreamt of breakfast. So that was my fun day at the hospital.