Lemon Jello

Today I had a colonoscopy. I have one every 3 years. They call it a procedure so they can bill the insurance company three times what it really costs The prep as everyone knows is the hardest part of the whole experience. Twenty four hours with no solid food (which I can do) just liquids (which I can do) but only clear liquids (which rules out milk which means no coffee for me…can‘t do!) Since I had to have something semi solid or lose my mind, I had the jello they listed as an OK food. Just not red or orange so I chose to eat Lemon Jello. (my close friends will definitely get the inside joke there). It was really Peach Jello but that wouldn’t have been as funny. Then you have to take 4 laxative pills. Who’d have thought those teeny pills could pack such a wallop…jeez!  Rumble Rumble Rumble. I will spare you the details, but lets just say you could drive a truck through my colon and not hit any speed bumps.

I gave myself 45 minutes to do a 10 minute drive to the ‘procedure’ location. I knew it would be hard to park and I was right on the money. There was a mini van with Pennsylvania plates in front of me obviously looking for a spot as well and driving like he had no where to be anytime soon…I had 20 minutes now. I saw a spot on the corner at a muni-meter….now if I could just manuever around him and get there first. I honked, he pulled over, I passed him and I got to the spot first. Linda 1 Pennsylvania 0 

I walked the few blocks to the office and went straight to the 3 person elevator. It opened and 5 people walked out. I got in and went to the procedure floor and when the doors opened it was like Dorothy seeing Oz for the first time…only different. There were no flowers and little people, no yellow roads or storybook houses. There were, however, Hasidic Jews in full prayer mode, people so old they didn’t look like they could handle a procedure of any kind except maybe an autopsy, and more Russians than the Kremlin has seen in years. I felt like I needed my passport just to get off the elevator.

I sat. I waited. The soccer game was on the TV. No one watched. I sat. I waited. The barely audible radio was playing rap music. I sat. I waited. I rumbled. A lot. I came to two conclusions in that waiting room. One - The Hasidics must be big sinners. Every one of them had a bible or prayer beads and they rocked as they prayed to their God and I thought, what could these good god fearing people have done so wrong, that after fasting for 24 hours and subjecting themselves to jello and black coffee they still had to pray for divine invention?? Perhaps they were praying for good ‘procedure’ results, in which case I hope their God gets so overwhelmed with prayer that he gets the charts confused and my results are blessed as well. Two - I am not fond of non-English speaking Russians. Understandably they can only speak to other Russians but, there is such a thing as the universal language…it is called a smile! But nope, unless Svetlana or Igor are chatting them up, not a blip toward the American gentile. Ok so I wasn’t there to make friends…just patiently wait my turn. I did however, make eye contact with a lovely little Italian man that reminded me of my father…funny thing was he was reading a Russian newspaper….hmmm?

My name was finally called by a little Irish nurse with a big broad smile who took me into a room, handed me a gown that wouldn’t fit me on a good day and told me the anesthesiologist would be in shortly. A nice looking boy, yes BOY, walked in and asked a few questions about my health and told me he was the anesthesiologist. I called him Doogie….he laughed. Brownie Point!! I asked him what kind of anesthesia he was using….he said, “not the one that killed Michael Jackson”. Uh oh! I considered trying to make it back to my car in the robe with my ass hanging out….but then he added..’only kidding’ and I mentally returned from escape mode.

In the operating (er, um ‘procedure’ room) my doctor who I trust with my life (literally, I guess) came in and told me I was in good hands and told Doogie to proceed. As Doogie put the IV in my hand, he asked me if I watch TV and what shows were my favorite. I assume that was done to distract me from the fact that my bare ass was hanging off the side of a steel table. As I was telling him I watch a lot of reality junk, he leaned way in and whispered, “I just started watching the show 24 but it ended. Jack Bauer is the Man!“ It was at that moment I wanted the anesthetic to kick in, blissfully allowing me to leave this odd conversation only to wake up in the recovery room happily farting along with the other post-ops.

The procedure done, the results good, fully dressed and ready to roll I headed for the coffee room, a faster’s paradise. Coffee from that pot with the little pods, cookies, peanut butter crackers, juice…ah, now this was OZ for me. I could see the sign before I even opened the door….Coffee Pot Broken Do Not Use….and a little jar of instant coffee. No milk either, powdered! I considered the instant with the powder and realized that I could wait til I got home for my coffee…but I grabbed a pack of cheese crackers and mini chips ahoys for the road.  I returned to my car to find an expired muni-meter ticket on my windshield.  Oh well, Linda $35  Pennsylvania 0