And, they're off...

 

This shit is getting serious, now.  The process has begun.

Joan made me a nice, but not too much, breakfast this morning... all the things I like, including bacon.  I have a better understanding of a condemned man's last meal.

I just drank the bottle of magnesium citrate - the medical terminology is: poop juice.  This is the start of the "cleaning out" process.  The effects are supposed to kick in at 30 minutes to 3 hours.  That is quite a wide timeframe.  No matter, I am not leaving the house.

The stuff is available in different "flavors" - when Joan gave me options, I went for lemonade.  Have you ever bought lemonade from a kid's stand and they put way too much sugar?  To the point where it was a shock to your taste buds?  Yeah, after downing that bottle, I may never drink lemonade again.

The dosage is vague.  Joan bought 3 bottles.  Looking on the internet, one of the FAQ regarding this stuff is: "Should I drink the whole bottle?"  The answer: "Only if you never want to leave the toilet."  I recall being told, "Drink it until what comes out looks clear."  You've got to be shitting me.

Sorry for all the "shit" word usage here; it's kinda foremost on my mind right now.  15 minutes and no twinge.  Regardless, I plan to finish this post with a certain bit of urgency.

I've been accused of TMI from time to time.  No shit.  The surgeon told me that she won't be opening my bowels, but she will need to "move them out of the way" to get at my prostate.  Now, that is TMI.  I want her to do a good job, I want to wake up from the surgery, don't need all the details.

I have been cut on a time or twelve before.  I understand that I am putting my life in their hands.  Today, as I anxiously await the start of the results of what I just drank, may be the shittiest part of the process.

We'll see.

No photos to accompany this post.  You're welcome.

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It took over 6 hours before the poop juice started working; cramped up something awful.  Joan said, "Cramps?  You've never had a period."

No shit.  Literally.  I did exercises.  Walked around the house and up and down the street (not too far).  I finally got my bike out and pedaled around close by.

Once things started... um... flowing, the cramps subsided.  That's how I spell relief (Rolaids commercial from the 70s).  "Oh, look - there's that MatchBox toy car I swallowed when I was 4... and three quarters... and a metal whistle."  I'm kidding - it was two quarters.