Recently my husband manned up and made an appointment with the doctor…all by himself. That in itself was miraculous to behold. I wept. But when he came home from the appointment, he mentioned the “C” word. I held my breath. Alas, it was not the Big “C” word, but the dreaded little “c” word…colonoscopy. Big dread comes in small packages.
Yep, once again he was reprimanded by his doctor for putting it off. He’s had the prescription magnetized on the fridge for a year now. I believe he thinks if it gets enough soy sauce on it and disintegrates, it will be a moot point. If we had a dog, he, too, would be included in the Mister’s Master Plan of Famous Excuses, claiming my dog ate it.
Seems it’s just never been the “right” time to get it done. There was that imaginary turkey shoot he went on last Thanksgiving to provide for his hungry, desolate family, which took up all his holiday vacation time. Why, plucking those feathers alone took up one whole weekend! Then he couldn’t possibly leave because the heating and air conditioning guy announced he’d check our system between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m., sometime between July 1st and September 3rd. Well, that covered his summer vacation days off. So he’s still waiting for the guy and says he can’t leave the house to go get the “solution” one has to drink.
Which brings us to the final face-off. He begrudgingly strolled into the doctor’s office today, whereupon Perky Polly provided him with instructions for the day of the big oil change. During his conference, he tried in vain to con Florence Nightingale into letting him just jog on over to the drug store and fill up on ExLax on the eve of. “I can’t drink that stuff,” he said. She just smiled and said, “Oh, that’s okay, cuz if you heave it up, that will just make our job easier! No nasty residue!” He was not amused.
Although I am fairly intelligent and pretty literate, the directions on the piece of paper he brought home made my head spin, thus setting in motion my empathy pains for his upcoming upchucking. The instructions included minute-to-minute intervals of drinking a liter of the concoction from a mixture of package (A) and package (B), not to be confused with substance (C) and not to be mixed with red or blue liquids (but green, burnt sienna and fuschia were allowable). The instructions went on: “Before, but at no time after the resulting Montezuma’s revenge, should you eat, drink, snort, inhale, lumberjack sneeze, or breathe while situating yourself less than, but not more than, seven millimeters from the porcelain goddess in a fetal position. Repeat step one only after you are sure all family members have left the premises for higher grounds. The morning of, please do not look at, consume or smell the coffee or the roses in preparation for your procedure. This can result in anaphylactic shock, Tourette’s Syndrome or physically harming members of our medical staff. Help us help you. And have a nice day.”
It’s yet to be seen whether this event will actually come to fruition. I might pull a Katy Couric and follow him with my videocam to capture his journey. But last time I saw him, he headed out to buy a snow blower that’s on sale at Sears. He might not make it back until the first really big snowfall.