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Saturday, August 25, 2012

The Metamucil Wars: Final Chapter

The surgery center was an icebox.

The nurse covered me with blankets warmed in a blanket toaster. I was naked beneath a hospital gown, half-asleep and hungry. I'd fasted the day before and flushed my colon with Suprep, the bowel prep kit that tastes like Nyquil. There wasn't anything inside.

I'm positive.

The anesthetist shot my IV with a margarita. On the streets, it's called dope. In the hospital, it's got a proper name, but the anesthetist called it a margarita. To calm the nerves, he said. I was ready for the colon roto-rooter. My wife sat next to me, reading the paper. I took a short nap.

When it was time, I got fitted with a blue cap and rolled down the hall. The lights were harsh, the room still cold. The assistants introduced themselves and rolled me onto my left side. I faced a giant TV that would soon be televising my lower regions from the inside. The ratings would suck.

The anesthetist's assistant explained what she was doing as she shot various things into my IV. I might've heard her but was distracted by the other assistant baring my ass for penetration. Seems like they'd wait until I was under to do that. Then again, I didn't care.

I talked to the anesthetist assistant while she was doping my veins, said I was a kid the last time I was put under. Back then they used a mask. She said it's easier that way for children and that--


30 minutes of my life cut away, just like that.

No passage of time. No colors, no thoughts.



Like death.

And then, what seemed like seconds later... Wake up, Mr. Bertauski.

I was in the one room, now I was in another. It was magic. A wormhole through time and space that folded onto itself, compressed in a seamless passage from one moment to another. They had done the deed while I was erased from consciousness. Whoever I am was gone, my body left on a table by itself. And I was brought back from dead, transplanted back into my body, tugged back from wherever I went.

Back to the living.

The verdict: everything in Bowel City was ship-shape. They got in and out in less that 20 minutes like thieves. A camera was inserted 4 feet into my body.  I got probed and, had no one told me, never would've known the difference.

Thanks to the magic margarita.

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