Today I prepare for a routine medical procedure that all normal humans dread. I don’t know which is worse, today’s preparation or tomorrow’s procedure. Both involve yucccchhh. And both involve indignities which — if done without signed consent — would send the perp to prison for a very long time.
My son has a toy rocket ship that’s powered by vinegar and baking soda. You put the vinegar in the bottom, the baking soda in the top, and when you attach the two parts, and tip it just right, look out. You have maybe three seconds to get out of the blast zone or else get spewed upon.
But, in the interests of men’s health everywhere, I am chronicling my misery — er, uh, journey.
I’m depressed that I don’t get to eat anything today except clear liquids, broth, and jello. What the…?!? How can anything clear be considered food? What planet is this? Today our church staff’s has a rib cookoff. Waaaaaahhhhh. Waaaah. Sniff. Sniff. I’ll be the doofus slurping gelatin — except it can’t be red.
But I’m not bitter. Because tomorrow I get to show up at 6:30 a.m. and wear a hospital gown. Yessir. I — an exalted servant of the King of kings — will be… oh, forget it. Martin Luther referred to his body as “Brother Ass.” That, right now, seems so appropriate on so many levels.
I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Just pray for a clean bill of health. And pray that today’s ribs look burnt. Thanks.
Here is the Bible verse I’m clinging to for today and tomorrow:
“Then they rent their clothes, and laded every man his ass, and returned to the city.” Genesis 44:13, KJV.