My colonoscopy went well today. Nothing too terrible happening in my nether regions; at least nothing that can’t be taken care of with a high fiber diet, continued long-term observation, and maybe getting off my fat ass a bit more often. Considering my history, I am much relieved at this news.

And while they provided me with some lovely color photographs of the interior of my colon, I’ll spare your delicate sensibilities and keep them to myself.

Initially I had been a little embarrassed about going in for this type of procedure where I work, but now having gone through it, I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. When your caregivers know you personally (and assuming you haven’t pissed any of them off recently—kidding!) you’re treated like family. The last thing I remember before winking out was the anesthesiologist telling me, “You’re one of us. We’ll take very good care of you.”

That was nice.

The only dicey moment came when I apparently stopped breathing toward the end of the procedure. Sorry folks, but sadly I cannot report any memory of floating above the operating table or seeing a long tunnel leading into the light. They got me breathing again almost immediately with some manual intervention and I’m none the worse for the ordeal. Another sign that I apparently still haven’t accomplished whatever it is that I intended to accomplish during this lifetime—whatever that may be.

Before they put me under—conscious sedation, my ass—my also doctor mentioned that she’d gotten the results back from the plethora of blood tests she’d ordered a couple weeks ago. After twenty some years, my hepatitis B is still quite active, and we’ll be planning out a course of treatment shortly.

Life is good.