Every since my first colonoscopy a week ago, I have been obsessed with my doody…at least more so than usual.
I was consumed with questions:
Will I ever make a doody again?
If so, how long will it take?
What will it look like (e.g., color, shape, consistency)?
Will it be able to play the piano?
Well, I will no longer keep you in suspense, for I am here to tell you that, so far, my doodies have been absolutely fascinating.
The first doody reared its bulbous head exactly two days after the procedure, and I am proud to report that I created a ginormous mound of the brown magic. That was quite surprising; I figured since my colon was starting from scratch, so to speak, I would embark down this newly-paved Doody Avenue with a series of small doodies. Imagine my delight at the precious plethora of poop.
To paraphrase Kahlil Gibran (or was it Morris Schmeckman?), “This was the first doody of the rest of my life.”
As if that wasn’t exciting enough, the following day I had not one, but two bowel movements: one in the a.m. and one in the p.m. This was becoming more intriguing than Season Four of “Lost.”
However, nothing prepared me for what happened today. It was another a.m. visitation, and this time, nestled next to each other in the bowl like two innocent newborn (brown) chicks were two magical turds—each the exact same size and shape, each complete with a pert little tail. If I ever doubted the existence of God, this put the kibosh on that, fella.
It was akin to laying eyes upon Donny and Marie, or Sonny and Cher, and other great humanitarians of the early 1800s. I had to fight back the temptation to dress them up in cute outfits and take them with me to the L.A. Times Festival of Books.
Needless to say, my anal region explodes with excitement in anticipation of what will happen next.