So I lived to tell. Who knew? If you can stand one more post on this topic, what follows is the highlight reel.
First, I've got to say that "chugging" the prep drink was not the way to go for me. I chugged the first 10 ounces and promptly barfed them all back up about 10 minutes later. My primary challenge during the entire prep was not the pooping (which I did aplenty) but the constant nausea from drinking that nasty-a** concoction. I felt like hell the entire time but only because of that vague feeling that the drink I had just finished was "in the mail" back to me. It finally went away at around 1am, but from 4pm till then I was reeling from it--not to mention bummed that I had done all the work to drink it and then had to do it again. Bah.
Second, making Bambina a part of it made the process a whole lot easier. Rather than pretending I was loudly powdering my nose for 20 minutes at a time and perhaps freaking her out (because nothing is more obvious than a parent lying than a parent lying), we told her straight up that I had to go see "the bum doctor" for a check up. And the doctor told me, "Mama, I want to see your bum, not your poop. So drink this nasty drink and poop before you come to see me." She quite simply thought that was the most hysterical thing in the entire world. She helpfully added, "Because that would be rude to poop on the doctor." Yes indeed, my love, it would. So she was totally cool with my absences at critical moments and became primarily concerned only with whether I would be bringing "freebies" (e.g., crackers, juice boxes) home from the doctor's office. I assured her it would be the Oscar Gift Bag of freebies upon my return.
Third, on the sage advice of my dear friend who knows all about this stuff, I didn't get too psychotic about being totally "clear" before going. I mean, she's right. How is it that a 300 pound guy who eats pepperoni pizzas for a living is getting the same quantity of mix that I, a 112 pound woman who hasn't eaten a normal diet since Monday, am getting?! I would have done myself internal damage if I'd drunk every last ounce of that stuff.
Fourth, Kenny Rogers is going incognito as a gastroenterology RN at a major Boston area hospital. True story. I got IV'd by a nice woman who did all the med history stuff, and then comes The Gambler to wheel me into the room. "Lay-dee, I'm your nurse in shining scru-ubs, and I love you." No joke. It was Kenny. It had to be Kenny. He even had his chest hair mat out to welcome me. He was super nice and super helpful, especially as he injected the drugs and then, during the procedure as he was pressing on my abdomen so they could maneuver the thingie around "a tight corner."
Which brings me to Five: I was not given nearly enough drogas, because I was slightly woozy but totally involved in the proceedings, watching the MC Escher piece of performance art that is my colon. Up to and including that pesky "tight corner" that just about made me pass out.
And then happily, Six: I finally ate after 40 hours of fasting. At Kenny Rogers Roasters.*
*that's a joke.