Bottoms Up, Baby. Cheers! And Other Things I Said to My Husband Pre-Colonoscopy

The anticipation has been killing me. My husband's been oversharing all summer. 

First, the appointment was scheduled in June. Then it was abruptly moved to August. Then, just this week, I spotted it on the wall calendar. As if he'd forget! It's been the subject of dinner table conversations all month. 

The dreaded colonoscopy.

You'd think my husband was preparing to give birth. 

To triplets. 

Which is exactly why men do not birth children. Quite frankly, if that were the case, we'd only have one daughter. If he actually went through with the labor. 

"I don't think you should schedule anything all weekend," he said, as I penciled in a brewery date with friends this Saturday. "I'll still be recovering."

"Are you serious?" I couldn't tell if he was joking. "Bruh, it's a 5-minute nap—the best nap you'll ever have—and you'll be biking to work that afternoon." 

He winced. Honest to God, pain seared into his face as he pictured himself saddling up on his bike following the procedure. 

What I wouldn't give for a restful sleep these days, between hormone fluctuations and solving world peace at 2 a.m. 

Just yesterday, a former researcher at Anthropic and OpenAI resigned and warned that AI “could kill us all by the end of the decade.”

On second thought, maybe he's right. Why go through with it at all given the global predictions?

"They are going to violate me. Strip me of my manhood," he explained to the boys at dinner, scooting onto his left buttcheek. "I read I shouldn't have fat in my diet because it might bulk me up," he continued.

"It's nothing like that," I smirked, "and besides, you'll be asleep. It's a medical procedure, not Alcatraz."

I reminded the wide-eyed boys that it’s important to take care of your health. My grandmother died of colon cancer, so I get screened every five years. It’s no big deal.

Last night he stared at the jug on the sink. Unrolling the instructions glued to the side. 

"It says 3/4 may be enough," he reassured himself.

"That thing is huge," I exclaimed. "Probably because you're a virgin."

I cautioned him that I wouldn't take any chances. "You'll have to go back a second time," I said, smiling.

"That's the same size I had to chug 32 years ago in an RV with my father—the god-awful pineapple flavor makes me gag to this day." 

I could hardly help myself. I was relishing his unease.

"This says lemon flavor," he read optimistically. 

I imagine he'll never be able to enjoy another Gatorade after this. 

I assured him that he must've picked the wrong gastroenterologist. My last procedure three years ago required consuming an amount of liquid about the size of two tall boys.

"Guess you need a good cleanse," I laughed. "Better have a good night's rest and a solid lunch tomorrow. It's gonna be a wild ride."

He claimed he'd be fasting all day. He didn't want the prep to take longer than necessary. 

As if he could control the outcome.

"For the sake of privacy, you'd best use the hall bathroom across from your office; besides, it's closer," I said. 

Proximity was important, even if the tub was pink. I figured a little humility in the retro bathroom was retribution for his "manhood" comment.

Here's a picture of what I imagine the bathroom will look like after tonight:

Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't cancel. 

I reminded him that Katie Couric's husband died of colon cancer at age 42. It’s hard to forget all the press surrounding his death. 

"A colonoscopy can detect and remove precancerous polyps before they become cancer, which is exactly why screening matters. It's good to get a baseline," I told him, "and remove any polyps." 

Pretty sure his diet when I'm not cooking will lead to a few. Pop-Tarts, Lucky Charms, and beer are not in the four food groups. 

"There's no way they are cutting my body and making me bleed," he said matter-of-factly, as if he'd be gushing blood. 

Imma gonna let him address that with the doctor. 

It'll be just two of us at the dinner table tonight. I have a feeling my 16-year-old and I will have plenty of conversation under the circumstances.

As for my software engineering husband, I'm fairly certain he'll live. 

At least until the end of civilization, when AI takes over. 

Judging by the look on his face moments ago, and with minutes left on the countdown, it's almost Armageddon. 

Bottoms up, baby. Cheers!