Twelve years ago at the age of 40 I had a colonoscopy. Initially I thought I could dodge it until I turned 50, but due to some family health issues I was encouraged to smile for my closeup at 40 just to be safe.

For that first journey up Keister Gulch I had to prepare by drinking what seemed like several gallons of lemon-flavored battery acid. For this second trip to the dark side of the moon, I was given a substance to mix with Gatorade. Thankfully, all I could taste was the Gatorade, and for that I was grateful. Of course by the time I drank the third barrel I was starting to feel incredibly buoyant. 

When I arrived at the doctor’s office for the procedure they gave me a form to fill out that would run an IRS agent up a tree. I understand having to list my name, next of kin, but why do they need to know how many episodes of What’s Happening? I’ve watched since 1979? What correlation could there be between ReRun and taping a camcorder to a garden hose and cramming it where the sun don’t shine.

After the encyclopedic form was filled out, I was called to the back. As soon as the nurse took me to the on deck circle, she snapped into Richard Petty pit crew mode. I was told to strip down, put on a paper gown, but don’t tie it in the back. This seemed a little forward without at least having dinner first, but I played along.

As soon as I had the gown on and was safely under the covers, two nurses descended upon my bed and started flopping me around as if they were trying to shake any potential polyps right out of me. One of them was ratcheting the bed up as if she was trying to get it back on the track in the middle of the Rockingham 500. The other one started putting tape on my arm, which I assume meant the needle was close behind.

“Don’t let me see that needle or you’ll probably have to scoop me off the floor,” I said. 

“Well you better look the other way,” and with that the nurse stuck me like a tailless donkey. 

For the next few minutes I was left in peace. The music playing in the office was pretty good. When the Commodores’ “Night Shift” wafted out of the ceiling speakers I even relaxed for a few seconds. As soon as “Night Shift” ended, Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear The Reaper” sliced through the air like a sword through butter. Relaxation over. 

Did I mention that any medical procedure above applying a Band Aid scares me to death? When you look up “white coat syndrome” on the Google machine, you’ll see a picture of me. 

With my scaredy cat level deep in the red, the nurses that would be a pit crew grabbed hold of the bed and propelled me down the hall as if they were rehearsing the car chase scene from Bullitt. We were bobbing, weaving, and at one point shoulder-rolling through a maze of medical staff who had obviously exceeded their free-sample allotment from the drug rep’s goody bags.

When I arrived in the room where the demonic ceremony would occur, there was a woman on her phone yelling at someone about being overcharged for something. While she’s barking into her phone, she’s also prepping a piece of equipment for the procedure. Immediately my scaredy cat level busts through the roof. Is this the doctor? Is this irate woman who looks like she’s ready to kick a kitten for a field goal about to violate me with a hose?

Then, to my relief, the doctor walked in. She was very calm and reassuring. The woman who was previously cursing out someone on the phone opened my chart and said, “you’re very healthy; 52 and you’re not on any medications? We don’t see that much.”

Pictured above is Bryan Hanks enjoying a pay-per-view presentation of my recent colonoscopy.

Between the calmness of the doctor and the vote of confidence from Nurse Ratched, I quickly began to realize why Propofol is so popular. The next thing I know the Richard Petty nurse is asking me to wake up. Before I can get to the “k”  in “okay”, she’s asking me if I’m ready to walk out.

“Do you mind if I fully regain consciousness, and more importantly, put my clothes on?”, I ask. “I haven’t stripped publicly since college and that was just to pay for textbooks.”

Thank God there was nothing found during the procedure, other than my Richard Petty Hot Wheels car that had been missing since I was nine. 

Jon Dawson’s books are available at http://www.JonDawson.com.

Jon can be heard on the Bryan Hanks Show along with Jonathan Massey. The show is currently on hiatus, but to access five years of broadcasts visit www.BryanHanks.com.