It is time for my CT and MRI. I was able to change the date and time so I am sure the doctors will have all the information they need before the big appointment.

I go out to breakfast and show up at the hospital at 9:00. First up is the CT scan. They have me sit in a small waiting room and bring me a quart of some liquid to drink. The tech warns me that it does not taste great but it is “ok” and I need to drink it all. If I had been told in advance, I would not be full from breakfast. “If I had been told …” is to become a common refrain.

I drink it all over the half hour, put on a gown, lie in the machine and get scanned. Not too big a deal, only takes a few minutes.

Next I go to the MRI waiting area, I am the only one there. After a few minutes a woman comes out, introduces herself, and tells me the doctor would like me to have an enema to make sure he gets clean pictures. Ugh.

Have you ever given yourself an enema?

No, I never had the pleasure.

She then hands me a gown and a Fleet enema, points out the instructions, points to the restroom and tells me to come back to the waiting area when I am done.

I look at the instructions, and here they are:

So I am thinking “Hey, colorectal cancer ain’t that bad! I get some new experiences.” So I study the directions and head to the bathroom.

Here is a picture of a similar bathroom. It was fairly large and had a sink and toilet, nothing else.

Having multiple engineering degrees, and in my youth being close friends with Isaac Newton, I understand that water flows downhill and one cannot take (get?) an enema standing up. That just won’t work, and besides, I don’t see that on the box. So, let’s take a look:

I go out to ask the tech a question, and of course, she is gone. I come back into the bathroom and I start to think what would work best … I am tired and could use a bit of a lie down …

But that may not be good on my back. No problem, there are other options …

There is no way I am getting on that floor. But then I remember, the waiting area is empty and it has carpet! Perfect.

If one doctor, or one tech, or one administrator was a patient there, I bet things would be different. But they are not.

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I close my eyes before I am slid into the MRI machine and don’t open them until we are done. I went to my happy place; next time I will go to Pearlsky’s happy place first and borrow some valium …

Tests are done and it is six days until the big appointment. I pray I don’t get an urgent call to come right in over the next few days.