One More Degradation Down

Today was the highlight of the year for embarrassing moments, although it didn't turn out quite as badly as I thought. The word, 'colonoscopy' even sounds bad. Anything with 'oscopy' at the end of it can't be good. That means someone is searching for something, and usually in places you'd rather they didn't.

After a mind-numbing day of explosive trips to the bathroom, I presented myself as 'clean as a whistle' to coin a cliche. Of course, once you're empty, and I mean of everything, because a clear liquid diet isn't all that filling, there isn't anything to stop the GAS rumblings. We arrived at 7:00 AM and I spent more time in pre-op than having the actual procedure done. They wheeled me in at 10:05 and I was back in recovery having a diet Spirte at 10:50. The doctor says everything looked fine, but he was amazed that I have more intestines than most people. Figures...I must have stood in that line twice, too. I know I was in the butt line a couple of times...and the hip and thigh line. God even gave me extra carotid artery so I could exist with a sound in my head 24/7 that sounds like a pissed off bumble bee. Sometimes it's so loud my husband can hear it when we're in bed at night. Anyone can hear it if they put their head to mine. I've been party entertainment many times. :)

Why is that most women find passing gas horrifying? I've avoided it to the point of pain my entire life. God forbid someone hear me 'poot.' Well, let me tell you, after they fill you with air, you have no options. You either poot or explode. Today took me back to a chapter in LIfe is A Bowl of Toilets:

Men don’t have a problem with it—they strain to pass gas. Women would explode before they did that. Just to have people think you might have gas is embarrassing. I cannot tell you how many times I ran up and down the stairs at work, trying to find an unoccupied bathroom so I could have a bowel movement without an audience. God forbid someone might be in the stall next to you and hear a toot or two.

C’mon, admit it, women. If you work in an office building and share the bathroom with your female co-workers, you know what you do. You hear the person in the stall next to you make an obscene noise, and you immediately look down to check out their feet. Then, you go back to the office and check out all the shoes so you can secretly snicker about who did it.

I have a solution to protect your identity—bathroom slippers. You buy a pair of those fold-up slippers and put them in your pocket. When you get in the stall, slip them on, hold your real shoes in your lap and let ’er rip! Stay in the stall until the coast is clear, and then switch back to your regular shoes. No one’s the wiser.

I didn't worry about slippers today. I figure if people work in a profession dealing with butts long enough they've probably heard it all. I was more concerned over my husband's hysteric laughter at my hairnet. Just to pay him back, I brought it home so I can wear it to bed. *lol* Guess I'll go put it on and see how he likes it.

Thanks to everyone for the positive thoughts. You're the best.