My wife had an endoscopy procedure done on her at the hospital, yesterday. Endoscopy procedure, you ask? You know. Tube down the throat with a camera or something that takes images of your throat and stomach. Her doctor wanted her to to have it done because he found blood in her stool. A colonoscopy (camera tube up the poop chute procedure) was done a few months ago and they found out she had a hemorrhoid that was bleeding. No cancer was found but they wanted to do the endoscopy later, anyway, to "be on the safe side". So, reluctantly, to "be on the safe side" I told her she might as well have that done, too though I felt the doctors were wanting to do something unnecessary for extra money or whatever. She didn't really want to have it done, either. We both felt the mystery of the bloody turd was found with the bloody 'roid. And really, if the doctor had just done a bit of poking around down there with just his finger, he could have found it on his own.
I recall, fondly, having a hemorrhoid checked out and my doctor said it looked like a little head of cauliflower sticking out of my asshole. I thought, how sweet. I've got "vegetable ass". My wife was in the examination room and she said it resembled a pink bud, just beginning to bloom. Good thing I was in one of my usual I-don't-give-a-shit moods. I chuckled to myself, with my ass hanging over the metal table, wishing I could cut a nice big fat fart on the both of them. I think they thought I was laughing because of their descriptions.
So they do the endoscopy and the doctor found she has a polyp in her stomach but it looks benign. Nothing cancerous or suspicious looking. Great news!
Four weeks from now, they want to discuss what, if anything, they want to do about that polyp. More medical bills. They're really racking up with my own health visits, procedures and medicines. You'll have to read my earlier posts if you want to know more about that.
After the endoscopy ends, with the whole thing lasting about 3 hours (waiting before the procedure, IV stuck in her arm, paperwork, tube down the throat and her coming out of it and so on), my wife is all doped up on Demerol and some other pain medication. We talk. An hour goes by. We leave, her hand in mine and proceed to our favorite Chinese restaurant. She had fasted close to fourteen or fifteen hours and was starved.
After downing four plates of food each (I know. I'm on a diet but I worked it off the next day. Promise.), the petite Chinese waitress comes over with the bill and a couple of fortune cookies. I eat them both. My wife hates them. The first one has a message that says something like "The sun rises in the morning sky like a hot air balloon". Is that supposed to be a fortune? The second paper from the other one reads:
Others appreciate your sensitivity
I know. It's funny because I'm a bastard. On the other side of the paper it reads:
Learn Chinese- Disease
Then, underneath that, it reads: (bing)
That's when I get up to take a monster shit. Pinching my cheeks together so hard you couldn't fit a credit card in my crack (at least not with that cauliflower in the way), I wobble my way to the restroom. Their toilet is cold, the room is cold and the seat is always wobbly. It's most likely that way because too many four and five plate eating bastards have been plopping their giant redneck white asses on it and causing it to become unhinged from the toilet. Just a guess.
After we get home, we plop into bed, with bellies straining to digest the multitudes of those dumpling things, sushi, peanut butter chicken and god knows what else.
Was that a happy ending or what? Wasn't it worth getting this far down? And haven't we all learned a great deal from this tale?