Don’t tell me that you weren’t warned. After all, I did say that I’d follow up on this thing.
My Bride took me to the surgery center on Tuesday morning at the appointed time. Which turned out to be 6:30 in the A of M. Which meant that I had to arise at the unholy hour of 4:45 in the A of M. So that I could ingest the second portion of the serious laxative. So that Doctor Patel could see whatever it was that he had to see. With no, um, obstructions. When he looked deep into the bowels of the Jim. With a TV camera.
Believe me when I tell you that there were no obstructions.
I was given an IV by a very nice nurse, and that’s all I remember until I groggily awoke in the recovery room. I was told that the entire process lasted about 20 minutes.
No pain, no grief. Other than the taste of the serious laxative, which was awful.
The doctor told me that he removed one polyp, whatever that is, but that it looked benign. Nevertheless, he’s going to have it examined and interrogated, and let me know the outcome. He told me to lay off the popcorn, and eat more fiber. I’m guessing that since smoking is no longer the medical profession’s catch-all demon (life will be groovy if you’d just quit smoking, and all that), that doctors are obligated to tell every patient to eat more fiber.
Doctor Patel gave my Bride a printed copy of the photographs of my insides, and when I looked at them, I was stunned. I’m just as good looking on the inside as I am on the outside.