RON HART: My colonoscopy

Published: Thursday, December 12, 2013 at 16:59 PM.

In about 30 minutes you understand what the “Mov” part of “MoviPrep” means. You run to your potty, and you and the toilet make like a jet ski for the next hour. It is like that scene from “Dumb and Dumber,” the movie done back when Jim Carrey was funny.

If Obama would just allow it, they should give “MoviPrep” to captured al-Qaida fighters. After taking it, everything comes out.

Then a loved one (or someone just looking for entertainment) drives you to the procedure. You meet with the anesthesiologist who, by American Medical Association rules, has to be foreign, unintelligible, and socially awkward. You then impart critical personal information to this person who is going to take you as near to death as you have yet come. Mine asked if I had any mental illness in the family; I said I have an uncle who worked in the Carter administration.

Everyone asks you about 10 times if you are allergic to anything. My answer remained consistent: Pilates and weak-willed men.

Then you are rolled into a room and an IV is placed in your arm in preparation for putting you into a mini-sleep or, as Michael Jackson called it, “afternoon nap time.” I woke up about an hour later thinking I was being interrogated by terrorists, but it was just the anesthesiologist asking me questions again.

Once you can stand up, you are released to go home. It’s the same criterion my local bartender uses.

You feel a bit groggy and you are told you cannot drive that day or (my favorite) “operate heavy machinery.” This conveniently fits my lifelong rule: Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery — EVER. I actually call my assistant into my office to operate my stapler.



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