To say I was dreading Wednesday is an understatement. That’s when I had an early-morning colonoscopy scheduled. Collective groan, dear readers, I can feel your empathy.

The day before the procedure, when I was on a liquid diet, I sought answers for ways to make drinking the prep, 16 cups of it, more pleasant for a test a friend calls “barbaric.” Online sites advised chilling the massive jug and using a straw, placing it on the back of the tongue to bypass the taste buds.

Another site suggested swiping the tongue with a lemon after each swallow; I didn’t have one, but I found a lime long past its prime in the fruit bin, purchased for Spark’s poker club to enhance vodka and tonics. Oh, to be tipping one of those instead of the putrid purging potion.

Get It Over With

As I sucked and swiped standing in front of the kitchen sink, eight glasses of prep fizzing in Tervis tumblers lined up for the evening countdown, I looked at photos of our granddaughters on the windowsill to distract myself, thought of all the people in the world who had it worse then me and envisioned the double cheeseburger I was going to reward myself with once this was over.

The instructions suggested drinking a glass of the stuff every 10 minutes, but I wanted to get it over with and finished all eight in 25 minutes.

I’m not sure this was wise because I got shaky as a newborn colt on round trips to the bathroom. I talked to a friend about this, and she said I probably screwed up my electrolytes, so I asked Nurse Spark if he’d run to the store for Gatorade.

While he was gone I did some research and discovered that Gatorade got its name from its birthplace. The scientists who created the electrolyte boosting drink did so at the University of Florida, and that school’s mascot is a gator.

Back at It Again

Thanks to those clever sci-guys, the next day’s dose of the putrid prep went down better because I chased each tumbler with Gatorade, beginning at 3:30 a.m. Since I was holed up in the bathroom the remaining hours flew by.

Before I knew it I was at the med center in a gown open up the back listening to the anesthesiologist and doc go through what to expect. I remembered that from last time, and voiced concern that they give me enough drugs to keep me asleep.

They did. When I was wheeled back into my cubby with the curtain and found Spark waiting for me, I babbled on about a vivid dream I’d had. The anesthesiologist drove me back to the cubby in a zippy blue sport car, I told Spark, a convertible with the top down that he was driving crazy-fast down the halls. I woke up giggling, giving Spark and the nurse all the details.

Ritz Toss, Really?

I don’t recall the nurse’s reaction, though I can still see her face, and I do remember how delicious the apple juice tasted that she gave me, and how yummy the miniature Ritz crackers were, which I started tossing at Spark’s face, trying to hit his mouth. In talking to my oldest daughter about this embarrassing memory, she told me she woke up serenading the staff, who later told her how funny she was.

I’m not sure what drug the docs used for me, but all concerned were grateful its giddy effects wore off quickly giving way to sleep once I got home, a restful slumber after good news. It will be another five years, which I talked the doc into stretching to seven, before I have to have another colonoscopy. I’m hoping time doesn’t fly by.