Four weeks shy of my 51st birthday, I received an early present: a colonoscopy.
The procedure went well, with the doctor saying he discovered nothing scary health-wise. I was out for the entire time, no doubt dreaming of things even more lovely than a clean colon.
The 18 hours leading up to the event, however, were far less pleasant. There must be better ways to cleanse the system than drinking 4 liters of putrid chemicals; it seemed like a method from the 1930s or something.
But it worked, I guess, so why complain? Besides, it could have been worse.
I could have been forced to watch the Cubs.