Recently, Lanny and I both had colonoscopies. NOT the same day, though (Lawdy!). Our synchronized togetherness marriage has also been center stage with our flu shots, shingles vaccines, dental bridgework, and cortisone injections. Lanny and I married for better or for worse, and some things have slid smack-dab in the middle of worse.
Europe must utter a deep-throated evil laugh when Lanny and I board a plane to vacation across the waters. He had a tooth to abscess while we visited Berlin, and I broke a molar in Vienna. Same trip. And the one time we forgot to take Airborne to protect ourselves from the cold germs on the airplane, we both came down with sore throats, coughs, runny noses, and chest congestion. I'm not sure if our misery really loved our company in Italy that year.
As I sat with Lanny at the hospital, prior to his colonoscopy a few weeks ago, the anesthesiologist visited Lanny and asked the usual questions: "Are you allergic to anything?" "Do you smoke?" "How much do you weigh?" My procedure was scheduled for the next week, and I promptly canceled my appointment. After all, there was no way I was going to give my weight in front of lanky ol' Lanny. Some things are sacred.
But I later planned a clever scheme, and rescheduled my appointment. When Lanny sat with me the morning of my procedure, the same anesthesiologist came into the room and rattled off the usual list of questions about allergies, smoking, and weight. My answers: "No." "No." "Well, I was on a clear liquid diet yesterday, so I probably weigh about 110." I resented his furrowed brow and his smirk, but I'm sure he has been in the business long enough to calculate the proper dosage of anesthesia for someone my size. (I had trouble keeping my skimpy hospital gown pulled down over my hip bone.)
When the nurse came in the room to report that the doctor was delayed because of inclement weather, I grabbed her throat and pulled her face to mine. "Listen, Sister, if the doctor is a no-show, you'd better find a replacement to do this colonoscopy! After the miserable prep I went through last night, I demand it...EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO GO TO AUTOZONE TO FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN CHECK THE OIL!"
Thankfully, the doctor showed up and I relaxed enough to be civil to him. When I was rolled into the operating room, I whispered to the anesthesiologist: "Listen, I really weigh more than 110."
"Yeah, I know." (fffftttt!)
After the procedure, I was presented with a glossy colored photo of my colon. How nice. When I arrived home, I held Lanny's photo and mine, side by side. "Aww, there's your polyp, Lanny."
"Yeah, and there's your little caverns." (diverticulosis) After comparing the two photos, we agreed on something.
We should have smiled.
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