Tomorrow afternoon I’m having a routine medical screening procedure — which happens to also be a popular punchline among comics. It’s a colonoscopy. Thread:

The tl;dr of a colonoscopy is that I’ll be sedated for a while, and my doctor will thread a camera (mounted on the end of a thin, flexible tube) up my colon. The goal idea is to look for any polyps that could turn into something More Serious unless dealt with now.

Frequently asked question:

Q. Um, when you say they thread the camera into your colon, do they go in through...

A. Yes?

Q. You know... through your, um... (tiny voice) butt?

A. Yes. (Hence the connection to comedy.)

You have to prepare for a colonoscopy in stages. For the past week, I’ve been avoiding any food that could make it harder for the camera to do its work — like nuts and food with small seeds.

Some of it’s obvious... but then you discover the “no seeds” rule includes things like raspberries and blueberries. You also can’t eat oats. (As someone with a two-decade-long breakfast routine of berries, granola and yogurt, I feel singled out.)

Last night at 7 pm, I began Phase 2. (I wish I’d planned ahead so all of our devices could have simultaneously sounded a klaxon, flashed all of our houselights off and on and blared “NOW ENTERING PHASE 2.” Next time.)

This is the nuthin’-but-clear-liquids phase, kicked off by swallowing three tiny time-release tablets of a charming medication called Biscadyl. The idea is to clear out the set for tomorrow’s photo shoot, so only the colon is on camera. The colon HATES to share the stage.

Bisacodyl (sorry for the misspelling above) stimulates peristalsis: the muscular squeezing motion in the colon that moves its (ahem) contents along. It also promotes fluid and salt secretion.

“Say, Rob, that sounds like a laxative.” That’s exactly what it is.

In a few hours, I’ll move on to Phase 3. Phase 3 is... dramatic.

I’ve mixed up a litre of a not-really-great-tasting solution and had it chilling in the fridge. Starting this afternoon, and over the course of an hour, I’ll drink it.

The stuff, BiPeglyte, is a combination of polyethylene glycol and electrolytes. THIS DESCRIPTION IS INADEQUATE.

Bi-Peglyte works by convincing your colon to suck in a ton of water from your body, which then flushes out everything that’s left. And it WORKS. If the Bisacodyl is a firm but kind-hearted friend encouraging your colon to empty, Bi-Peglyte is an emergency evacuation order.

I’ll have another 750 mL later today, and the remaining 250 mL tomorrow morning. Throughout this time, I’ll be absolutely, definitely, non-negotiably INDISPOSED.

I intend to spend the time thinking of a better brand name for BiPeglyte. Something more... evocative.

Then I’ll head to the hospital. From intake, to changing into a gown, to getting IV’d and sedated, to my photo session, to recovery, to departure, will take all of two hours. And for the most part, those will be two unremarkable hours.

Mind you, last time I emerged from sedation a tad early. It wasn’t exactly painful to have someone moving a camera through my colon, but the sensation was **intense**. I’ll be adding a request to top me up on the sedation partway through this time.

With any luck, they won’t find anything and I’ll be on my way home. Bland diet tomorrow night, and then gradually getting back to my normal.

And that’s what to expect from a colonoscopy.

The reason I’m telling you all of this is we’re kind of squeamish about anything medical that happens Down There. And if things like colonoscopies are shrouded in embarrassment, and people don’t feel free to talk about them, it can mean a lot of unnecessary anxiety.

So. You have some idea of what my next 36 hours or so look like. AMA.