Like Obama, I got my colonoscopy when I turned 50.
The president got his done as a "virtual colonoscopy" at Walter Reed Hospital, where they simulated a full colon exam without actually doing one. It was the same way the media simulated examining The Affordable Care Act when it passed in 2010.
"Proctologist" is a word a man never likes to hear, along with a few others like "testicular," "ingrown," "listen," "ask for directions" and "let's cuddle." But a colonoscopy was something I knew I had to do, and you should, too.
I don't listen to instructions well, so I really didn't know what to expect. I felt like it would be best to treat it like French marriage: asking a lot of questions might take the fun out of it.
First, you have to stop eating the day before and drink a particularly obnoxious concoction called "MoviPrep." This stuff tastes like tinsel from your Christmas tree ground up into creek water coming from near a phosphate plant. I think you have to drink it so you cannot take a plane out of town; you would not get through a TSA metal detector.
In about 30 minutes you understand what the "Mov" part of "MoviPrep"' means. You run to your potty, and you and the toilet make like a jet ski for the next hour. It is like that scene from "Dumb and Dumber," the movie done back when Jim Carrey was funny. If Obama would just allow it, they should give "MoviPrep" to captured al-Qaida fighters. After taking it, everything comes out.
Then a loved one (or someone just looking for entertainment) drives you to the procedure. You meet with the anesthesiologist who, by American Medical Association rules, has to be foreign, unintelligible and socially awkward. You then impart critical personal information to this person who is going to take you as near to death as you have yet come. Mine asked if I had any mental illness in the family; I said I have an uncle who worked in the Carter administration.
More mistakes have been made combining a doctor with minimal English language skills and anesthesia than anything in the history of mankind -- except maybe bourbon and a pistol.
Everyone asks you about 10 times if you are allergic to anything. My answer remained consistent: Pilates and weak-willed men. Then you are rolled into a room and an IV is placed in your arm in preparation for putting you into a mini-sleep or, as Michael Jackson called it, "afternoon nap time."
I woke up about an hour later thinking I was being interrogated by terrorists, but it was just the anesthesiologist asking me questions again.
Once you can stand up, you are released to go home. It's the same criterion my local bartender uses.
You are told you cannot drive that day or (my favorite) "operate heavy machinery." This conveniently fits my lifelong rule: Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery -- EVER. I actually call my assistant into my office to operate my stapler.
I hope this answers your questions about getting a colonoscopy. I do not have to have another one for 10 years. So, with Obamacare kicking in, I am going to immediately fill out the necessary 80 pages of federal paperwork and apply to the Colonoscopy Czar of the Amalgamated Service Workers Union Local 1984 for my next one in 2022.
Get a colonoscopy before the Obamacare train wreck begins! We will have higher deductibles, men will have to pay for gynecological coverage and women will have to pay for prostate exams. It seems the only person who will really benefit from Obamacare is Cher's child, Chas Bono.
Ron Hart is a syndicated op-ed humorist, author and TV/radio commentator. Email Ron@RonaldHart.com or visit RonaldHart.com.