Ahem.

Yesterday, I completed the work necessary to get my "Welcome to your 50's" merit badge, having been subjected to the ritual inspection of select portions of my lower GI tract.  AARP damn-well better have my membership card in the mail.

<cough>

I will spare you, the Gentle Reader, the horror and indignities of the prep necessary; suffice it to say I've never deliberately inflicted that kind of insanity upon myself.  Gulf 1, a remote to Greenland, the Bridge Battle at Pennsic, all pale in comparison the "The Cleansing."  (Sounds like a damn grade-B horror movie....)

However, in my desire to remain a calm and chivalrous gentleman, I presented myself to the local Chiurgeon's Point for the procedure yesterday afternoon with as much equanimity as I could muster.  I had been regaled with stories of acquaintances' experiences with the procedure, but having never been under general anesthesia in my life, I was in uncharted territory.

Let it be noted here that my one, irrational, yet all-consuming hatred/fear is of needles.  Any kind of needle.  My Good Mother delights in the story of her and a nurse having to chase me down the sidewalk outside my Pediatrician's office, me sprinting only in my undies, when faced with a routine immunization as a child.  I had my wisdom teeth out in the chair, wide awake, after having a milk-carton's worth of Novocain injected...because the needle *went away.*  Which was a good thing.  Even after 20 years of the AF immunizing me against damn near every known disease on the planet, I HATE needles.  My greatest fear wasn't fighting in a war, it was being captured by the enemy.  They wouldn't have to water-board me, beat me, or inflict medieval tortures upon me. 

Just threaten me with a flu-shot.....I'd cough up Obama's e-mail address in a heartbeat.

So, to move our narrative forward, the folks at the hospital were quite marvelous.  Very professional.  They let me know everything being done (during prep), why it was done, and what I could expect.  The nurse was so good at her craft I was able to restrain my Neanderthal-self from whipping some Shaolin Kempo on her medical ass when she stuck me with THE NEEDLE!!! (...catheter, needle, something is IN MY ARM THAT ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE........RAAWRRR...ARRGGGHHH....DEATH TO YOU ALL!!!!.......down boy.......good boy.......here's a biscuit........). 

I distracted myself with silly musings, such as wondering if there was time to find a Sharpie and have someone draw an "Einbahnstraße" sign on my right cheek.

I was quickly wheeled into the procedure room, and a different tech began to assemble the equipment for the "viewing."  Marvelously high-tech stuff, but I started worrying when I saw something that looked like the control stick for an F-16.  If it was an F-16 stick, I was scared because the "speed brake" switch was out, and there was a weapons release button as well.......

......only to be interrupted by the entrance of the good Doctor.  We joked briefly...I noted that if he told me the "probe" was named "Mr. Jeffrey" that I was walking out right then...in the hospital gown if necessary.  We both had a good laugh.  And then I questioned the wisdom of making the guy, who was going to be running 15 feet of 3/4-inch garden hose into me (it looked to be "NeverKink"...available at Lowes in the Garden Department), laugh during the procedure.

At this point the nurse gave me whatever it is they give you for these things. I was actually looking forward to this....several of the friends previously mentioned waxed lovingly about how good the anesthetic feels, sensations of warmth and viewing the world slightly askew as one soars off the cliff of unconsciousness to interesting dreams.  I wasn't sure what to expect, but was hoping for something wild like Ralph Bakshi's "Wizards" playing in my head while Jimi laid down a righteous track of "Voodoo Child."

What I got was the medical version of SG-1's wormhole travel.  Instantaneous travel between two separate points.  No warm, no fuzzy, just talking to the nurse in the procedure room, and then talking to a different nurse in what had to have been the product testing lab for Whoopee Cushions International.

I had forgotten that, in addition to the garden hose and "Steadicam"  treatment, they inflate you to about 15 psi.  I'm not sure how many of us were in the recovery room for the same procedure but Lawd have mercy, it was worse than the barracks bay in basic training after the chow hall had wieners and beans night.

Damn good thing that was only air being passed in that recovery room, had that been "natural" gas, any spark would have flattened 1/3 of downtown Utica, with a blast-pattern resembling ground-zero for a fuel-air bomb detonation.

I received a quick debriefing as I'm perfectly normal (well, physically..), though I kept glancing at the Dr's notes during the discussion.  Happily there were NO entries such as:  "Patient's intestinal landscape appears unremarkable, but had a disconcerting tendency to whisper 'Oh, Baby!' during the procedure." 

So, my continued intestinal health reassured, I was happily released.

How was your day?