I guess most people would say there is a fine line between telling everything that happens to you for the sake of laughter and keeping a few secrets for the sake of well, whatever sake there may be.
I’m still trying to find that line.
If it’s funny it comes out of my mouth. If it comes out of my mouth it normally ends up on paper.
So why have I been in a dilemma for the past 6 months or so trying to decide if I should tell what happened to me in March of this year? (That’s actually a rhetorical question. If I weren’t going to tell it I wouldn’t be writing and you wouldn’t even know something happened.)
I had my first colonoscopy in March. No I am not going to give you the play by play description. I was asleep so don’t know what the plays were.
I do remember singing Crappy Birthday to the team in the procedure room before I drifted off to la-la-land. I seem to remember them smiling, but that could have been the wonderful pharmaceuticals that were being introduced into my body.
I awoke, sometime later, in a curtained area and remember “some lady” asking me if I have high blood pressure. “I told her no, low blood pressure.”
I drifted back to sleep.
“Some lady” could be the same one who told me my stomach was probably full of air from the procedure and that I should try to move the air out of my body.
Even groggy with the leftover feeling of pharmaceuticals I knew what she meant. Or I thought I did. I drifted back to sleep.
The same “some lady” returned in a few minutes later to check the numbers on the blood pressure machine. “Hmmmm. A bit low this time. Are you trying to move the air out of your abdomen? If you don’t, it is going to hurt later today.”
I heard just enough to think I understood what she meant, but not awake enough to follow through on anything other than a few more winks.
What is the woman’s obsession with intestinal gas?
Every time I would drift off to la-la land, “some lady” would disturb me with numbers, suggestions, orders, and questions.
“Would you like something to drink?”
That I heard and promptly responded, “Yes, I’d love a Coke. Fully loaded.” Apparently I was still loaded with something.
“Some lady” returned with my coke. Well part of it. She had poured part of the contents of a can into a paper cup. It was gone in one little drink. Remember I had not had anything to drink since 7 a.m. and it was now 2 p.m. I was at least three cokes low for the day.
As she turned to leave she said one more time, you need to move that air out of your stomach before it turns you inside out.
“You know that’s the first time I’ve actually had anyone ask me to “fart”.
I swear it was the drugs that made me say it.
“Some lady” lost her composure. She was doubled over in laughter, though she was trying hard not to show it. I caught a glimpse of her as she went in to the “coke” room. I could hear more laughter which I surmised was at my expense.
I thought about being embarrassed but as soon as the words were out and I saw “some lady” laughing, a good portion of the air that was formerly in me was now out. Her laughter started me laughing and the rest is history.
I began this new adventure with a song and ended by tooting my own horn. Such is my life.
(A special thanks to my friend Tracy Beckerman for telling me it’s ok to use the “f” word in this story. Actually she told me she didn’t see me as the shy type who would ever miss a story just to avoid the use of a word. )
From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
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