Cofrin Park

Cofrin Park
Cofrin Nature Park

Friday, March 20, 2015


Greens v. Golytely/GaviLyte G

Elizabeth. Romance is cotton candy. Real Love is what you do for each other.”
   --Michael Finnegan, Finnegan Begin Again

Forget the dinner, drinks and movies. If you really want to bedazzle your beloved, then offer to be his accomplice during his colonoscopy prep and accompany him to the appointment.

I begged my beloved to start the prep earlier than 2:00pm, the written directions leaving him to drink the last half gallon of Golytely at 9:00pm. Also, we were instructed to report to the hospital at 6:00am, despite the fact that the hospital crew doesn’t show up until 7:00am. Paperwork. G and I compromised for a 6:30am arrival.

 “Do you really want to be sitting on the toilet all night, or would you rather get some sleep?”
G opted for the latter. He started the pills at 12:30pm and the liquid love, Golytely, at 1:30pm.
“Holly Golightly! Breakfast at Tiffany’s;” we chimed in unison.

G proceeded to sit down and contentedly work at his computer, which he had connected to his client’s computer through the Internet.

“I think you’d better be prepared to camp out on the toilet. You won’t be able to sit here and work.”
“I might as well get some work done. I don’t feel much of anything.”

I peaked in on him every 30 minutes for the next 3 hours. He was engrossed in numbers and columns.

And then hurricane Golytely struck without warning, and my sweet pea did not make it to the safes pot in time. A mushy torrent of terds sprayed the porcelain princess and spilled onto the floor.

As I prepped the week’s meals, G waltzed into the kitchen and confiscated the paper towels. Oh-oh. I better check this out.

G tried to clean up the mess, politely draping soiled boxer-briefs on the countertop. I’d better take over. Important order: “Please do not place poopy panties on the clean counter—throw them away! We can sacrifice as many shorts as it takes, dear!”

After copious amounts of bleach-spray and half a roll of paper towels, I deemed the clean-up acceptable, having scoured the nooks and crannies associated with a commode. I instructed G to please “listen to your body! At the first hint of pressure, get yourself onto that toilet! You will not be able to hold it in!”

I went to bed early in anticipation of the 5:00am wake up call. I got up for my nocturnal nature call around 12:30am. My upstairs neighbors decided to shower noisily around 2:30am, and that got my mind going and going and I tossed and turned and about 4:30am I drifted off. At 5:30am G came in to wake me for our day of adventure. I felt dazed, unaccustomed to an early rising without a nap first. So the first words I spoke: “Are you clear? What’s the color?”
“No, not clear.  It’s brown.”
“Dark brown or light brown?”
“Dark brown.”
“Is it solid, or liquid like diarrhea?”
“Mostly liquid and I can’t see the bottom of the toilet.”
“What time did you go last?”
“About 2:30 this morning.”

We would repeat these phrases at the hospital several times over.

“Call the doctor, and tell them. There’s no way they will do the procedure if you are not clear, or at least yellow.”

No call made.

At 5:40am, I confronted G: “If you do not call, then I am returning to bed and will not go with you. Call the doc and let me know. I’m going back to bed and wait for your report.”

Call made.

G’s Report: “The doctor gave me choices: continue prepping today by drinking another gallon of Golytely and reschedule for Tuesday; go in now and they can prepare an enema; or reschedule and start over. I’m not missing another work day this week. I want to get it over with. The on call doctor will call the hospital and let them know my situation.”

“So we’re going.”
I wanted to get it over with as well, even though I KNEW it would not happen today. My little voice of denial told me that maybe the enema administered by the nurses at the hospital would do the trick. They must have handled this before? Damn that little voice. ALWAYS trust your gut! It’s NEVER wrong!

We arrived at the hospital around 6:45am. The lovely valets let me keep the car in the 10 minute spot as long as I needed—another benefit of small town kindness.

In the waiting room, I try to make light of the situation and administer moral support with a few jokes.

“You sure are spunky for this early in the morning,” G remarked.
“I feel like crap. I’m faking it. I’m your loyal Sheppard always at your side on guard. Woof.” I bared my teeth and growled.

We get called back to the procedure arena around 7:30am. G describes the color and texture of brown to three more attendants. Nurse Wade tells us that we may still get information from a partial procedure if G does the enema.

“What should I do?”
“I cannot tell you what to do, dear. You must decide by what feels right for you now. I’ll support you either way. We can leave at once, if that’s what you want.”
“I’m already here, so might as well do it and at least get some information.”

Although he made several attempt with the enema apparatus, G could not manage the big E. He looked at me forlornly and asked me for assistance.
“Huh? I’m not qualified. Wouldn’t you rather have the professional do it?” I exited the water closet in haste, to search for that damn nurse, Wade.

“Wade, he can’t manage. I think you need to help.”
"I’ll be right in.”

What a liar.

Meanwhile, I could not leave G to hold a thin plastic tube in the air while seated on the toilet; especially since I had already humiliated and perturbed him by recording the moment of truth with my iPhone.

I had to step up. I had to gird my loins. I had to glove up. I’m going in…how hard could it be, really? I’ve changed lots of diapers…

But then I made another quick retreat. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how!”

I set out on another search for the elusive nurse Wade—MIA.

I’m thirsty. I need some water, please. “This is only for you!” the nurse reminds me the patient is not allowed anything by mouth (but butt is o.k. apparently.)

That’s it! I MUST suck it up and do it! I must come to the aid of my love when he’s in such desperate need! I’ll just pretend I’m the doctor…

I re-glove, completely forgetting I had no eye-cover or mask, in case of an accidental eruption.  I swiftly enter the bathroom. I’m in the zone!  I take the tube from G’s gloved hand. We set the game plan of attack. ACTION! G arises, bends over, steadying himself on the handicap rail. I insert the thin plastic tube into the appropriate orifice adjacent to purple orbs. Purple? Is that normal?

“Can you feel it?
“I think so.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really.”
“Is it in far enough?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well neither do I. Just try it out.”

All systems go. G releases the valve that controls the water flow and the bag empties by half.

Wade appears, “I just spoke with the doctors. The doctor who does the procedure says it’d be a waste of time to do the colonoscopy when you are not clear. You need to return no matter what. Since you are not bleeding, and this is a screening procedure, you need to reschedule.”

“Thanks Wade! You couldn’t have showed up 2 minutes sooner and saved me from this?” I may need therapy.

We all scientifically examine the toilet’s contents. This time it’s dark forest green. I defend the excrement by disclosing that I feed G lots of green salads fresh from the Farmer’s Market.
Obviously, a gallon of Golytely is no match for gobs of greens…

It may seem like we wasted the weekend, having failed the colonoscopy prep. But a cancelled colonoscopy, the waiting, the paperwork, the boredom and the scary Big E do not constitute a total loss. Because through it all, I have successfully performed an operation of Real Love! And this time, Real Love is the color purple.




  1. This was quite an adventure and a perfect expression of true love. Punishment for flunking a colonoscopy unnecessary enema...that's karma right there. Here's hoping for better luck next time!

  2. Thanks, George! The digestive clinic keeps calling to reschedule, but G has lost interest and says there will be no next time (for now.)