#448 Farrrrt

So as I said before, the colonoscopy people go out of their way to make the whole thing as pleasant as possible. Still, their senses of humor seemed a little lacking. My attitude towards life, especially during stressful times, is to keep things as light as possible, but I suppose I can understand how the staff was a little wary about being accused of cracking people up. In any event, when I first went into the prep room, the young female nurse who got me situated had on a little nametag that said Team Endoscopy. Oh no, I thought. These people have been to a retreat. They’re a team. Part of Team Endoscopy. Better, I suppose, than that water heater company the Rheem Team, but still. Team Endoscopy? Endoscopy’s tough to say. And why a team? It’s not like I’m gonna call them when the world’s in danger, like the Justice League or the A-Team. They all had matching smocks, and the curtains and the bedclothes matched their smocks too. I mean, the place was feng shui-ed to within an inch of its life. And way too cutesy. If I’d have seen stuffed animals anywhere like, say, smiling at me from the head of the endoscope, I was outta there. Anyhow, the nurse led me into a small area, drew a curtain around it, handed me a backless gown, told me to disrobe from the waist down, and slipped out a crack in the curtain. I first checked to see if I was wearing a robe, shrugged, and took off my shoes, socks, and pants. Then I slipped on the backless gown and employed my years of cook-apron-wearing to tie a behind-the-back knot in it. I settled into the bed and called for the nurse. She came in and took my blood pressure, started an IV, went out, drew the curtain, and left me to wait in dread. I heard someone being wheeled into the curtained cubicle next to mine. She complained of cramping and the nurse told her it was just from the air they had blown into her colon and she needed to let that go, there in the privacy of her own curtained cubicle. The Japanese once used charcoal hibachis to heat their houses and never died from carbon monoxide poisoning because their walls were made of paper. Not good for sound privacy but great for gas exchange. So it is with curtained cubicles. I could hear the gas exchange process taking place with the lady’s colon next door. And there appeared to be, I deduced, lots of air blown into a colon for the procedure I was about to undergo, as the lady in question appeared to have a lot to release. The pitch of the sound itself, since not normally experienced in polite company—and therefore mildly disconcerting—was bad enough, but the duration of the note was even worse. I was reminded of sitting at a railroad crossing and having to wait for a particularly long train to pass. Where was the caboose on this toot toot train? No wonder the staff was always working so hard to stay serious. One titter and the damn would burst into an all out giggle fest.
America ya gotta love it.