REAL LOVE AND THE COLONOSCOPY (or, BE MY VALENTINE)

Greens v. Golytely/GaviLyte G

(Author's Note: This post has been rewritten based upon my Humor Writing Class in February 2020, with Shelley Fraser Mickle.)

“Elizabeth. Romance is cotton candy. Real Love is what you do for each other.”

   —Michael Finnegan, from the 1985 film, Finnegan, Begin Again

Forget the dinner, drinks, flowers and chocolate. (Okay, don’t forget the chocolate.) If you really want to bedazzle your Valentine, then offer to be his or her accomplice during their colonoscopy prep—like I did for Gene—

At 1:30pm Gene gulped Golytely like a shot of whiskey.

“Golytely? Holly Golightly! Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” we chimed in unison.

Gene returned to working on his computer.

“I think you’d better be prepared to camp out on the toilet, not the computer,” I said.

Gene said, “I don’t feel anything happening. Might as well get some work done.”

“OKAYYYY.” I peaked in on him every thirty minutes for the next two hours. 

Gene was engrossed in numbers and spreadsheets when hurricane Golytely struck. He barely made it to the pot before a fractal array of fecal shrapnel sprayed the porcelain princess, splattering the wall and floor.

I was in the kitchen prepping meals, when Gene waltzed in and confiscated the paper towels. Oh-oh. I’d better check this out.

Gene was attempting clean-up; soiled boxer-briefs draped on the countertop. 

I took charge of sanitation. “Gene. Please do not place poopy panties on the clean counter. Throw them away! We can sacrifice as many shorts as it takes, dearest.”

I scoured the nooks and crannies with bleach while instructing Gene, “Listen to your body. At the first hint of pressure, get yourself on the toilet! You will not be able to hold it in.” (I speak from experience.)

That evening, I retired early in anticipation of the 5:00am wake-up call. Noisy neighbors disrupted my sleep until 3:00am. At 5:15 Gene woke me for our day of adventure. Sleep deprived, I muttered, “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?”

“Mostly liquid, but I can’t see the bottom of the toilet.”

“What time did you last go?”

“About 2:30 this morning.”

“Call the doctor. There’s no way he’ll do the procedure if you’re not clear.”

No call made.

At 5:40am, I confronted Gene, “If you don’t call the doctor, then I’m returning to bed and you’re on your own.”

Call made.

Gene said, “The doctor gave me choices: either drink another gallon of Golytely, and reschedule for tomorrow; or, go in now and they can prepare an enema.

“I’ll throw up if I drink another drop of Golytely. I want this over with.”

“So, we’re going.”

At 7:30am, we get called back to the procedure arena. Gene describes the color and texture of brown to three more attendants. Nurse Wade tells us if Gene has an enema, a partial procedure would provide some data.

“What should I do?” Gene asks me.

“I don’t know. It’s up to you. I’ll support you either way.”

“I’m already here. Might as well administer the enema and at least get some information.”

THE BIG E

Although he made several attempts with the enema apparatus, Gene could not manage the BIG E.  When I checked on him, he looked at me forlornly, begging 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. He needs your help.”

"I’ll be right in.”

WHAT A LIAR. Meanwhile, I couldn’t leave Gene to hold a thin plastic tube in the air while seated on the toilet; especially since I’d already mortified him by taking a snapshot with my cell phone. I had to step up…gird my loins…. I’ll do it! How bad can it be, really? I’ve changed lots of diapers—

But, again, I chicken out, “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I’ve never done this before!” I duck into the hallway, intending to shanghai Nurse Wade. He’s MIA.

That does it! Suck it up and get’er done! Gene’s desperate for my help. I can’t let him down. I’ll pretend I’m Doctor Kildare…or Marcus Welby, M.D….

I re-glove and swiftly enter the bathroom. I’m in the zone! I take the tube from Gene’s gloved hand. We go over the game plan. And…ACTION! Gene 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.”

Gene releases the valve that controls the water flow and the bag empties by half.

Like the Holy Ghost, WADE materializes, “I just spoke with the doctor who does the procedure. He said it would be a waste of time to do the colonoscopy if you’re not clear. You need to reschedule.”

“THANKS WADE. You couldn’t have showed up three minutes sooner and saved me from this?” I may need therapy.

We all scientifically examine the toilet’s contents. This time it’s forest green. I defend the excrement by disclosing that I feed Gene loads of fresh greens from the Farmer’s Market.

Obviously, a gallon of Golytely is no match for gobs of greens.

Moral of the story: It may seem like we wasted the weekend. But a cancelled colonoscopy, the waiting, the paperwork, the boredom and the SCARY BIG E, did not constitute a total loss. Because through it all, I successfully performed an operation of REAL LOVE!

THE END (or the End-o-scopy)