The C Word

Even as a 30-something year old woman, I can’t even think of the C-word without turning around to check if my mother is near me. Even thinking it put the fear of god in me and I always expect to turn around and find that fiery red-head staring at me, ready to give me a smack about the head.

The C-word is feared, it’s dreaded and it now sends a chill down the spine. Oh, heck. I am just going to go ahead and say it.


Now for the squeamish or those that have an issue with discussing the nether regions: stop reading. It’s about to get really personal and you may not be able to look me in the eye later – proceed at your own peril.
Being advised that I need to have a colonoscopy caused me to consider some rather intimate things.

Mainly, how do I feel about a man I just met getting up close and personal with my brown button? Now, I grew up in a household where people peed with the door open and us girls took pleasure in busting into the bathroom when my brother was showering; his girly screams whilst covering his nuts and bolts was always a crack up! (Soz Ant)

Dinner conversations were always liberal and we even went as far as having to explain to mum what ‘tea bagging’ and ‘rimming’ actually was (I don’t recommend having this conversation with your parents unless you really have to – just saying). Despite this, the A-nus was still something that very rarely came up at the dinner table debauchery.

I consider myself a lady. I have high end taste with a low class hooker vocabulary. Again, you have been warned, and it’s not too late to stop reading and back out.

Fast forward to the day I get told I am booked to have my arse virginity tested. I like my doctor – he’s a kind man; a good man; a gentle soul and the thought of him coming that close to my butt was something I couldn’t get my head around.

Had I considered a bit of arse play in the past – sure! Who hasn’t. But it just didn’t feel right… and now I was being stripped of the choice on whether I wanted anyone to go near my rear. Particularly someone I don’t know that well. A man who isn’t my husband. I get there is nothing sexual in this act and is a medical procedure, but it’s still an area that I have kept private and this all felt so personal.

After a solid pep talk, I decided to be a big girl and just get on with it.
In all my stressing about my butt, I didn’t even consider that the thing I was stressing about the most would actually be a total non-issue.

Why? Because you’re asleep (well I was, anyway). I was walked into the theatre, nervously laughed as they positioned me on the table and cracked a joke that the least Dr. F could have done was ‘buy me a drink first’, then lights out. I woke feeling refreshed and like I had just had the best nap of my life.

So why would my dreaded C-word instil such terror? Because you have to PREPARE for a colonoscopy – and this, my friends, is where shit gets real.

The preparation is the equivalent to something from Black Hawk Down. Let me set the scene for you.

Being a natural planner, I consulted Dr. Google on what I needed to do to get ready. I read my instructions and reverted to a low residual diet as directed.


I mulled about until the required time and then following the instructions again, I tipped the contents of my pico prep into a warm glass of water, stirred it around and hoped for the best. The first offensive incident is the taste. It was a warm, salty, tangy concoction that made my toes curl and had me practicing the deep breathing exercises I’d learnt when my sister was giving birth! The vile, foul liquid assaulted my senses and I was cursing the fact that a damn glass could contain so much liquid. My gag reflex worked overtime and after a couple more gulps I was done. Glass one down!

And I waited, waited a little longer and still nothing. Where was the rushing to the loo that everyone referenced? I got nothing. Surely I had done something wrong. I re-read the instructions and after cross-checking I’d done everything right, I sat down and watched a movie.

Glass #2 – Hubby was home for this one and watched me while I fought my rolling stomach to get the heinous drink down my throat. I was physically shaking, broke out in a sweat and like a champion, he calmly rubbed my back and told me I had it. I know this seems dramatic, but I’d spent so much time worried about the brown button invasion – that I hadn’t prepared for this, it hadn’t entered my mind at all. I was prepared for everything except the prep.

Given my experience after glass one, I washed the last of the drink down with an apple juice chaser and settled in for movie number 2. BIG MISTAKE. That devil juice had lulled me into a false sense of security and slapped me fair and square in the arse. I was on the run. I sprinted to the bathroom performing a turn and backing onto the porcelain throne whilst removing my pants all in one move. If there was an Olympic event for this thing I would mark myself a 10/10 for the synchronization!

And so this continued. All. damn. night.

03:36am- The bargaining began – please sweet baby Jesus, if you could just stop the river from running through my cheeky hills and let me sleep I will be good, go to church, volunteer at a homeless shelter – ANYTHING! I will do it all, just please make it stop.

04:06am – it stopped. Thank the lord.

This delightful adventure only took place 4 weeks ago and over that time I have experienced so much. But nothing sends the fear of god through my soul like the words ‘I want you to have another colonoscopy, and I want it done right away’. I’m sorry – what? You must be out of your ever-loving mind if you think I am doing that again!

Not only am I doing it again, but I am doing it in 3 days. So while the rest of the world will be enjoying their Sunday afternoon, I will be cursing my C-word and swimming in a barrel of self-pity.

Ever one to consider the silver lining, on Monday I plan to have a wonderful 20 minute drug-induced nap and can’t wait for the chicken sandwich when I wake up ! Bring it, bitches.



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