Moss, is humor writer from Tennessee. She writes a
weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny
things that happen to everyone.
She has written for the Daily News of Kingsport, Griffin Journal,
Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton
Advocate, and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News
Journal. She has been
published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks
at Guidepost Books. Her articles have appeared in
numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.
She is a
former board member and past Editor of the Columnists.com, website of the National Society of Newspaper
oldest and largest professional organization
for columnists. She is the Web Editor of
Humorists.com and a founder of the Southern Humorists writers'
organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com.
To carry her weekly column in your
to republish an
article, please contact her. It's that easy.
Follow her on
Follow me on Facebook
Create Your Badge
Write on my Wall
Online Since 1999
||Big C, little c...
little c: What begins with C?
couldn't believe it when I heard myself agreeing with my doctor.
"You really need to do this", he said. "How long
has it been? Never? Well, I'm going refer
you." He had referred me once before, but I conveniently
forgot to call and set up the appointment.
"It's not a pleasant thing, so people tend to put it
I could easily agree with that.
My gynecologist had been after me too. "You are like my
mother. She said she would only do it if I did."
I resorted myself and this time I called and made an
appointment. Now I was committed.
"The prep is the worst part," said friends who had the
The prep apparently consists of drinking 8 ounces of magic
powder dissolved in 10 gallons of Gatorade or Crystal Light and
locking yourself in the bathroom for the rest of the day with a
large can of air freshener.
The day before the big event, I dutifully mixed my magic potion
with orange Crystal Light and started drinking. Actually, it was
closer to 2 quarts than 10 gallons. I started to feel nauseated
after my first couple glasses, but I have a strong stomach.
As I sipped on the 8th glass, it hit me full force in the
stomach. I ran for the bathroom with orange Crystal Light
spewing from my mouth like Old Faithful. Orange liquid was all
over my clothes, in my hair, even in my shoes. So much for my
"What now?" I asked.
"You have to do it again, Mom, you didn't keep enough
down." said my daughter. So, another 8 oz bottle was mixed.
This time I opted for plain water. It wasn't too bad, sort of
like an Alka-Seltzer.
But I only got to the sixth glass before I was sick again.
"I give up! I can't do this test."
The next morning I wasn't sure whether to go or to call and
cancel. But I really didn't want to have to go through this
again. I felt empty enough.
The waiting room at the clinic was about the size of a walk-in
closet. One by one tense-faced people were called to the back.
The nurse called my name and took me into what looked like an
emergency room or pre-surgery ward. I had no idea this was such
a big deal.
I put on my backless hospital gown and got on my stretcher while
they asked me again all the questions they had asked twice
A sadistic nurse poked me over and over in the arm with a 2 foot
needle trying to get an IV started without success. Finally, an
anesthesiologist did it.
I was wheeled off to another room to meet my new specialist,
with a name too close to "whoops."
"How did the prep go?" asked Dr. Whoops. I told him my
story. "I have no symptoms."
But he didn't buy my excuses and I was doomed.
"We are giving you something like Twilight to put you to
sleep," said the anesthesiologist. Twilight? The only time
I had Twilight before was during childbirth. I hope I'm not in
the maternity ward. Boy, are they going to be surprised.
"You are going to feel sleepy" he said, before I could
kick him and flee for my life.
"Big C, little c, what begins with c? Cancer, clinic, cold
feet, colonoscopy." I dreamed in la-la land.
Then a nurse said it was over. Liar. So, where is my baby?
Dr. Whoops came in. "Everything is fine," he said.
"You don't need to come back for 10 years."
No big C, for me, only a little c.
"It's over? I can go home?"
I'm not sure if I will do it again in 10 years or not.
But I am certain I will never, ever drink orange Crystal Light
Copyright 2012 Sheila Moss
Nashville, TN 37219
$5.00 + $4 shipping
Buy it now!
$5.00 + shipping