Let Go of Your Ego

I was sure that wrinkles and gray hair were the worst aspects of my frightening descent and bumpy landing on that rocky terrain known as middle age. But that, my friends, was before my colonoscopy last week. Yes, that humbling  rite of midlife passage, the one that so much has already been written about by humorists much more humorous than I. Since so much has already been said about this procedure and its effect on the body and mind of those who have had it done, I will try to keep this brief and only moderately self-pitying. But there are a few things I've learned from this particularly unpleasant medical exam that I'd like to share with you. First, I will never, ever drink a clear, lemon-flavored beverage again, for as long as I live. Even if I have to have another colonoscopy. That's how much I hated drinking it. Not only did it make me poop every twenty minutes, I felt like I was gonna throw up. (Luckily, I didn't, but even writing about it now I feel my stomach churning.) Second, I will never, ever complain again about a short bout of diarrhea. There's nothing like running to the toilet every twenty minutes all night and morning after drinking said lemony laxative to eliminate colorless, malodorous fluid from one's bowels to make an occasional  loose stool seem like a walk in the park. And lastly, and perhaps worst of all, was the part of the process when I was lying on the table being briefed about the procedure by my gastroenterologist and I realized that his jokes about colonoscopies were way funnier than anything I've ever said or written. To add insult to injury, I couldn't come up with any witty comebacks for him. Oh, the horror! I was so preoccupied with trying desperately not to fart that I had no mental energy  for bantering. 
Now that the procedure is behind me (sorry) and I am feeling good, I try to convince myself that it really wasn't that bad, and if I had to do it again I'd be fine. But that's a big, fat lie. Those forty-eight hours of preparing for the procedure, getting it done, and recovering from it seemed like forty-eight years. Hmmm...add that to my real age of 50, and I'm the equivalent of 98 years old now. No wonder I'm so tired today!