The Colon: Not just for Punctuation

I have thought long and hard about even posting anything. It is a most personal subject, so I will attempt to not get into the bowels of the subject.

Here's the thing for us over 50 crowd and if you visit a doctor on a yearly basis. We have all been there. You are scheduled for a procedure. When a medical professional uses the word 'procedure' our instincts tell us to run like hell.

Like an automobile, however, tis better to have regular scheduled maintenance than to wait until something breaks, falls off, or explodes.

The 'procedure'  to which I refer takes place below the waist. It requires shoving 60 feet of garden hose into a 5 foot space, an area which is normally an exit. There is also a procedure where basically the same thing is done from above the waist, except they use a different hose. (I must tell this joke: Do you know the difference between an oral and rectal thermometer? The taste). For the below the belt procedure, the preparation is worse than the event itself, where one is normally put to sleep.

In recent years, technology has improved the process, and now there is a less invasive method. This procedure is done in the comfort of your own home, alone, and on you own throne. (I reread that last sentence twice--still sounds right).

Now, I don't necessarily want to paint a picture, but for those not of age, I will attempt to outline the process.

They send you a box. In that box inside a plastic bag is a container, a foldout piece of plastic, a little test tube thing, and a bottle of liquid. There is also a booklet of instructions that is 45 pages long along another foldable card with instructions. I had less instructions with my 60 inch Smart TV. I am reasonably educated, a lifelong Soldier who has "seen my duty and done it" and dug my share of cat holes, mind you, so I thought I didn't need any instructions on how to in this area of my life.

I was wrong.

I ended up watching a VIDEO on how to set up and take down what amounts to a miniature porta john insert for the regular toilet. It was, in a word, ridiculous. It is moreso ridiculous that I had to watch a video on how to do it. Had I wanted to feel that bad, I would have played golf. Regardless, everything came out alright. 

And again, not to paint a picture, BUT my sample was a sample amongst samples, and not a junior sample by any means. It was Rembrandt-esque. I couldn't provide a better sample with a gun pointed at my head.  I did my thing and set up, collected and processed my medical sample. Labeled, sealed, signed, I drove that bad boy up and hand delivered it to the local UPS store. Feeling quite accomplished by this time, I tucked my sample under my arm like a football helmet and proudly walked in the UPS store. I felt like a 2 year old who just graduated out of Pull-Ups.

Lets just hope the boys at the lab appreciate the effort that went into this. In my heart I dedicated this to them and to UPS who will deliver it. I'm doing my part to keep both of them in business.

Still feeling euphoric from it all, I drove back home and bragged to Shugaluvs about my success.

"THATS A GOOD BOY!", she said, and handed me a cookie, some red Kool-Aid, and told me to go take a nap.

And I did.