Humor Non-Fiction posted July 17, 2012

This work has reached the exceptional level
When Body Functions Have A Mind Of Their Own!

Plumbing Playing Possum Blues

by wordsfromsue

I'm to have a colonoscopy in the morning. It's the third time I've scheduled one, but I cancelled the first two appointments. I wussed out; not wanting to fast, didn't want to take copious amounts of laxatives, just didn't want to. My plumbing worked as well as ever, why get it checked?

Well, the plumbing doesn't work so good anymore. The spirit's willing, but the pipes go on strike more often than British Rail workers. Don't tell me to eat fiber, fruits and vegetables. I ingest enough to keep a stable of horses regular. Drink more water, you say? I drink enough to send a fleet of camels across the Sahara. Yet the plumbing sounds out its best Yiddish lament, "Oy vey, not gonna happen."

I'm thinking maybe I should keep the appointment. After buying the required Miralax, Dulcolax and Powerade (no red or orange, thank you), I've taken eleven hits of nature's little helpers and drunk enough liquid to sink the Titanic. I remembered the nurse's admonitions to be within sprinting distance of a porcelain throne during the fasting and laxative hors d'oeuvres.

I have followed directions to the letter. And. Nothing. Not even an unladylike bout of flatulence. I've jogged in place, watered the garden, raked up a load of trash from outside where a randy raccoon had a love tussle with our garbage can. Nothing.

Normally, this wouldn't bother me, but the threat of 'ENEMA' is listed if the colonic dynamite doesn't work. The last time I saw an enema bag, I was a child. It was a rather monstrous red rubber contraption with a disgusting garden hose-like tube that was to be inserted where the sun doesn't shine. Hence, I'm cowering in my house, looking much like my cats when they hear 'VET'.

Earlier in the evening, I felt a promising groan and a sort of thud, like when an elevator stops a bit roughly. Right there, in the front yard, I did a happy step or two, sure that the 'Toilet Olympics' were about to begin. London wasn't gonna have nothin' on me! Alas, false alarm. Having a baby was less of an ordeal than this.


Three o'clock in the morning and I awake with a groan. Is the magic about to happen, dare I hope? First, I have to get Buddy the cat off of my torso, get loose from my CPAP mask and stumble out of bed. I feel as if a train kept a rollin' all night long over my stomach.

I've prepared for this moment. The softest Charmin, wipes for a delicate bum and something to read. I didn't know the sounds I was about to make could have made a fine soundtrack for a porno movie. Just like a crappy movie, it was all sound and no action. The moaning was horrendous, followed by such severe sweating that I could've filled someone's rainwater bucket. The delightful dry heaves followed, done with such gusto that I burst the blood vessels in my left eye.

By now, the cats had lined up in the bathroom with me, posed as if they thought some sort of entertainment was shortly to begin. Nurse Mavis, my girl feline, even cuddled my ankle. I warned her she might not want to stand so close. She paid no mind and kept me company, little sweetheart.

Eventually, nature and copious chemicals took their course. I do believe it was the most miserable evening of my life. I did notice with some amusement that the wipes had 'Official Partner 2012 Olympics' on the package. Made it all seem just that much classier!


The procedure, I'm relieved to say, was a piece of cake.

We arrived at the appointed time and efficiency was the name of the game, for everything except my bladder. The same bladder that ran riot in May decided to play possum and not cooperate today. I was given a wee cup to, well, wee in; this was to make certain that this menopausal sex kitten wasn't pregnant. The kitten assured them she wasn't, but they wanted proof.

Please remember that by now, I was so exhausted from being up half the night, I could barely function. However, I stumbled into the restroom, plopped down, and proceeded to lean against the railing to wait for more magic to happen. I vaguely heard an alarm sounding and got just a teensy bit annoyed when the nurse tapped on the door and asked, "Are you okay in there?" I thought to myself, geesh, will you give me a minute? I answered in the affirmative, went back to my drowsy half awake state, when I looked at the wall and noticed a red light flashing and put two and two together: everytime it flashed, I heard the alarm beep. I called out, "Hey, how do I turn this thing off?" and groped about to find the RESET button. Apparently I hit it when I sat down. D'oh!

No amount of coercion could get my bladder to cooperate. Finally, it was decided I'd sign a waiver stating I would not hold the doctor responsible if I was pregnant. As they explained this, I looked the poor doctor in the eye and said, "So, you want me to say you're not the baby's daddy and you're not responsible for it?" The poor man turned red and then started laughing. He was actually quite sweet.

The procedure was a fun experience. They found out I worked in a police station and asked me to tell them stories. (No, I'm not a police officer. Could you see my squirrely self trying to wear that polyester uniform? Ick. They've made rude comments about my love affair with coffee making me a shaky shot with a gun. Umm, I did keep shooting the target figure in the privates down at the Academy. My mom always told me to go for the jewels. Made sense to me. I digress. I'm the Payroll chick... Now, where were we?)

I kept them in stitches. Better them than me! Coincidentally, we discovered the wife of one of my officers worked for the doctor. I got to express my gratitude about this officer. He's part of the team of po po that arrested the guy who tried to rob us, threatened to shoot me and said he'd kill my son. Thankfully, the would-be robber decided I was too much trouble and gave up; but that's another story.

One of the nurses was a male, he was working at my back side as the doctor was monitoring the screen and explaining everything to me. I commented it was rather odd that strange men were messing about my bum with foreign objects and expected me to pay them. I told them the neighborhood I work in, a man would definitely have to pay a girl to get away with that!


I was afraid to have a colonoscopy and kept putting it off. Something about a cattle prod up my bum with a camera attached rattles me.

This is the story of facing my fear, in the hope that it may help someone else screw up the courage to get whatever medical procedure, if needed. I'm grateful to God to report I was given a clean bill of health and suggestions for helping my sorry plumbing.

*** The neighborhood I work in is a common location of prostitution, drug trade, occasional murder, shootings, etc... 'The girls' mentioned near the end would be prostitutes.

po po: police
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