Mission Accomplished…

This last week I had my four-month recheck visit at the ALS clinic. My mission was accomplished because I was able to baffle my doctor, yet again, with my slow progression. I have some new pain in my left shoulder so I left the clinic with an order for two more MRIs. There are a couple of things I still can’t do… unscrew my gas cap with my left hand, get the top off a Sharpie, comb my hair left-handed (I know, not much hair to comb). And I wouldn’t stand too close if you see me holding a beer in my left hand. I still have fasciculations all over my body and am checking a few other boxes for ALS, but I really consider myself blessed.

On the long drive back from the visit downtown, Jelly Roll decided to remind me he was not okay but everything was going to be alright. Sounded like someone else I know.

Because one doctor visit a week is never enough, I had my 5-year colonoscopy visit the next day. Nothing exciting to report here. I was just glad that I didn’t wake up in the middle of this one. The only reason I’m including this is because one of my close friends sent me a joke about a colonoscopy that I just had to share to bring you a laugh. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of this procedure, I’m sure you can relate to David Barry‘s colonoscopy journal:

I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly thru Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn’t really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, ‘HE’S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!’

I left Andy’s office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called ‘MoviPrep,’ which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now, suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America’s enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation.

In accordance with my instructions, I didn’t eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes – and here I am being kind – like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, ‘a loose, watery bowel movement may result.’ This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don’t want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, ‘What if I spurt on Andy?’ How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn’t thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point.

Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, ‘Dancing Queen’ had to be the least appropriate.

‘You want me to turn it up?’ said Andy, from somewhere behind me. ‘Ha ha,’ I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was yelling ‘Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine,’ and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.

ABOUT THE WRITER: Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami Herald. On the subject of Colonoscopies… Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam were quite humorous… A physician claimed that the following are actual comments made by his patients (predominately male) while he was performing their colonoscopies: 1. ‘Find Amelia Earhart yet?’ 2. ‘Can you hear me NOW?’ 3. ‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’ 4. ‘You know, in Arkansas , we’re now legally married.’ 5. ‘Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?’ 6. ‘You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out…’ 7. ‘Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!’ 8. ‘If your hand doesn’t fit, you must quit! 9. ‘Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.’ 10. ‘You used to be an executive at Enron, didn’t you?’

And the best one of all. 11. ‘Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head is not up there?’

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After a week like that, my mind tends to wander. It could be from the lack of food for 36 hours or the stress of multiple doctor visits. I’m going to spare you from any more rambling for now but, be warned, I will return next week with more of my ALS adventures.

I’ll leave you today with a new song by two of my favorite artists, Zach Williams and Larry Fleet, both of whom Amy and I get to see on tour in March. I only wish that I had found this song before I began my party with “MoviPrep,” knowing that “This Too Shall Pass.”

And just a thought for this week:

Thanks for reading. You’ll hear from me again next week.

God Bless.

Coach