I had no urge to fart. You know how when you have to fart, you are generally aware of it? It's kind of like when you don't have to fart. Except the opposite. Either way, you can tell. Especially when you're 50 (51).
I didn't have any urge/ability to fart.
But the lady kept pestering me. "I don't hear any farrr-tinnnng," all sing-songy and shit, holding her hand to her ear. "We need you to fart because the Dr. blew a lot of air into you."
"Does he need a breath mint now?" I didn't ask.
What kind of strange place was this? I didn't sign on for any kinky air hose shenanigans. But I didn't really care because I was enjoying the drugs - or excuse me - "The sedation." I mean, this was the best kind of high I'd ever had. It was sooo much better than alcohol. Possibly much more dangerous too since it had to be carefully administered by Kim. Kim, if you recall, was in charge of facing me, while the doctor was on the other side, apparently, having fun with air tanks. Or maybe it was Helium!
Now that would be awesome. In fact, I'm going to call them and suggest they use helium from now on for the whole "blowing air into you" part of the colonoscopy. Just think how wonderfully "Alvin and the Chipmunky" those farts would be.
Alvin!
I'll tell you what. You want me to fart? Just tell me the doctor filled me with helium. That's a party, to be sure. But helium is rare and cost prohibitive so maybe they just use hydrogen instead ...
 |
| ... And that's why we need you to fart. |
Oh the humanity! I bet when the Hindenburg blew up, they never imagined how much people would laugh about it for decades to come because, Les Nessman.
Anyway, it was starting to sound like they weren't going to let me leave with their air. Still. No urge.
Under normal circumstances when there are people around, I may have gas and not really be aware of it. This happens at work a lot. As soon as I leave the office and start toward my car, I release a 20 second barrage from hell that I had no idea was even there.
So I thought maybe I do have it in me after all. I pushed all that I dared. But no.
Luckily I was on happy drugs. Very happy drugs, so I had a brilliant idea.
I have Kyle to thank for my release from colon prison.
Kyle was my best friend when I was around 12-15 or so. From the time I was in around 3rd grade until the time I met Kyle, I did the old "Armpit Fart" the way everybody did. This ridiculous wild chicken wing flapping that resulted in these rapid-fire short bursts of fakey fart sounds.
Then I met Kyle. Kyle was a master. He could draw an armpit fart out to around 5 or 6 seconds. Using different parts of his hand as the release spot, he could mimic all different types of farts from the entire humidity spectrum. Kyle could, with incredible accuracy, represent the flatulence caused by all four food groups. His lactose intolerance usually brought cries of "Encore! Encore!"
I'm pretty sure people threw roses to him and stuff. Yeah, he was good.
Eventually, as best friends are wont to do, I took up Kyle's craft and added my own signature brand to his extensive collection. In the end I had 3 good originals that made the final cut of Kyle's repertoire. For the driest rumbly farts, I let the air escape along the edge of my hand where it meets the little finger.
But today, I wanted a high pitched, wetter one. That means let it go from the "butt" of your palm. Coax the air toward your wrist and out. That's a sloppy one, there. And what I hoped they were listening for. I didn't know if I could pull it off after all these years. But I had to try.
Some things, you just don't forget. A couple of those and I was on my way.
They had told me they'd call for my wife when I was ready to go. Of course they won't let you drive on the drugs, so you have to get a ride.
Now with the "farting" out of the way, I was going to see the one person who knows more about what's going on inside me than anyone in the world. The dude who just sent a camera in there.
They took me to a room and had me take a seat. The Doctor came in and right away I knew there was a problem. I didn't care, mind you. I wasn't worried or scared. What kind of self-respecting drug would allow that, huh?
No. I could see the doctor was troubled and I was a little curious. That's all.
It was obvious from the Doctor's demeanor he had been weeping. He was still sharply catching his breath from time to time. His head was down and he was avoiding eye contact.
"You're just fine. Everything looks good," he kind of mumbled, looking down at a clipboard.
He then started to leave the room.
"Wait a minute," I said. "If everything's ok, what's with the long face, doc?"
"What? Oh nothing." he was still acting weird.
"C'mon. It's ok. I can take it. Remember the meds I'm on? C'mon doc. C'mon." I badgered.
"If you must know, I'm considering what to do with the rest of my life now that I've seen the most beautiful colon in the world. Believe me, I've seen them all, but yours ..." he slapped his mouth shut at that and ran out of the room. I don't know what he started to say, but I'd heard enough. That explained the helium.
"I bet you say that to all the boys," I smirked as I tied my shoes, forgetting to first put them on my feet..
I sat alone in that room for what seemed like zero amount of time before a nurse came in and said, "You're ride is here."
"I think you mean ..." I started.
"Shut up, grammar Nazi," she interrupted.
"Touche," I conceded.
I got to the car and Jill had prepared a lovely cheesy egg bagel sandwich. But even though I was terribly hungry, I refused her kindness. I wanted to feast on a very specific meal. A Gandolfo's breakfast sandwich. Yum. Gandolfo's breakfast sandwiches are so huge and wonderful, I didn't want to waste my hunger on a thoughtful, yet plain meal.
So on the way to Gandolfo's, I told Jill all about the colonoscopy. When we got there, Jill pointed out that I had absentmindedly eaten the bagel sandwich and did I still want to go into Gandolfo's.
Silly Jill.
Mildly interestingly, the guy who made my fabulous Gandolfo's sandwich was the same guy who had done my colonoscopy. He was already getting a new start on his life. When I considered it later, it seemed kind of gross to have that guy making my sandwich. But I was really hungry.
... and sceeeeeeene!
P.S. I just farted. Doh!
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