I had a colonoscopy.

That’s what happens when you turn fifty.

Actually, I turned fifty six.  Unlike Lyor Cohen, I don’t lie about my age.  Wonder if he’s had his colonoscopy?

Many people avoid it.  Because it’s a pain in the ass.

Literally.

Well, the real problem is the prep.

You can’t eat anything the day before.  It’s kind of like being on "Survivor".

But worse, because you’ve got to take MoviPrep.

No, it’s not about preparing to go to the theatre.  It’s about moving your bowels.  It’s about emptying everything you’ve got inside so they can poke a camera up your ass to see if you’ve got anything wrong with you.  Like cancer.

I don’t.  Guess I won that genetic lottery.  Got a bunch of other stuff wrong, but my doctor said I won’t die of prostate cancer.  But that I should have the procedure anyway.

And I’ve got bad memories of the first time around, five years ago.  Because of the awful tasting juice.

But they took that juice off the market.  Turns out a very small percentage of people lose kidney function.  Completely!  Forever!

So if you’re used to those tiny little plastic bottles, you know, the ones with the ridges, with the concentrate that tastes worse than you can possibly imagine, be relieved, now we’ve got MoviPrep!  Which tastes just a smidge better, but you’ve got to drink twice to get all the shit out.

Yup, you’ve got to wake up in the middle of the night to drink it a second time.  But since my colonoscopy wasn’t until 12:30 PM, I could get up at six and drink the second dose.  Before the sun rose.  Pretty creepy.

As for those saying you take the pill?

No go no mo’.  That generates the kidney problem too.

So it’s MoviPrep.

And nothing else for a day and a half in my case.

And I arrive at the colonoscopy center where the nurse can’t find my vein.

Guess I’ll make a bad junkie.

First she drops the needle on the floor, then she pokes me in the hand and misses.  Then she pokes me in the crook of the arm and no blood pours out.  Tells me she’s gonna start the IV to see if it opens the vein.  Huh?  At what point do you scream bloody murder and say you want someone new?  I mean you’re behind the curtain, this isn’t like the supermarket, where you can just get in another lane.

And then they’re running late.  Which gives me enough time to read "Fortune" and find out that Tommy Lee is letting the public record his album.  Enough with the gimmicks Tommy, NO ONE WANTS YOUR ALBUM!  Yup, he records drums and vocals, you create the music and he owns it.  Huh?  Why does everybody keep paying attention to Mr. Lee.  He’s a DRUMMER!  He should be thankful that people still want to see him in Motley Crue.

Eventually they wheel me into the OR.  Where the anesthesiologist is quite friendly, and quite informative.  This is where the experience changes.  I’m in with the pros.   They pump some anesthesia into me and I’m gone in little more than a second.  They didn’t even have me count back from 100.  Hell, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near ninety five.

Then, they give you the results when you’re still fucked up.  Out of the coma, but totally groggy.  The doctor said I did great!  Literally, he wrote it on the form.  But what exactly did I do again?  I just laid on my side and he poked me in the ass.

They give you some graham crackers and juice.  It’s kind of like kindergarten, you get a gold star for doing almost nothing.  Then Felice picked me up and we went to In-N-Out.  Hell, you need a reward after that ordeal.

I was worried about getting sick to my stomach.  Like those contestants on "Survivor" who overeat after winning a challenge and then endure intolerable abdominal pains.  But I was fine last night.  Watched the Broncos beat the Chargers whilst flipping over to see the Dodgers lose. How come the Dodgers never have any bats?

And I woke up this morning feeling…a bit foggy.

It’s getting better, but I’m not one hundred percent.

But I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.

But the phone just rang.  It was the nurse.  Asking me how I’m doing.

I appreciate the phone call.  But I’m gonna be fine and you’re wasting my time.  But the guy kept probing, did I feel this, did I feel that.  And that’s when I told him I was still feeling the effects of the anesthesia.

Then he started to argue with me.

Couldn’t be.  Could be the lack of food, the lack of sleep, but the half-life of the anesthesia was incredibly brief.

Then he wants me to catalog my symptoms.  I felt I was in an analogy test.  Some weird SAT on my body.

And after being stumped.  Having nothing to say.  The nurse told me they’d shot me up with Propofol.

Huh?

I barely heard what came thereafter.  He’s telling me about the effects.

I KNOW ABOUT THE EFFECTS!  IT KILLED MICHAEL JACKSON!

Kind of a weird brush with fame.

You think you’re miles away from the King of Pop, then you find out you were on the same damn trip.  Now I know that when injected he went out just that fast.  But how did he feel the next day?

Guess he’s not feeling much of anything right now.

Don’t play with drugs.  They’re dangerous.  Leave them to the professionals.

You want Propofol in the OR.  Not at home.

If this is your idea of a recreational drug…we play differently.