ELEANOR GOGGIN

It’s bottoms up I say

I’ve been on a check-up kick. And the culmination the other day was in the form of a colonoscopy. The ultimate in loss of dignity. I was told to bring in slippers and a dressing gown so I found a pair of slippers which were very expensive when I bought them about 10 years ago and were still tied together with the price tag on. And because I don’t wear a dressing gown, I grabbed a white robe that had been “in storage” for some time. With a hood. Like Rocky Bilboa. I’ve had this procedure before and had always been admitted by a female nurse and had never needed to use the slippers or dressing gown. I thought they were in case I was kept in. Not so lucky this time. It was not a female nurse but a very handsome boy. He asked me to take out my slippers and dressing gown and put the bag in the wardrobe. And then I noticed that the robe, which was white, had patches of yellow on it from age. A bit like myself. And I was unable to separate the slippers and needed a scissors to take them apart. Now I was on the back foot. Mortified. And then he asked me to take off all my clothes, including my underwear. And not in a husky I want to see your beautiful body sort of voice. And then came the ultimate indignity. He asked me if I had any metal plates in my hips or knees. And if my bra was underwired. Sweet Jesus, I muttered to myself. If I’m taking it off who cares. And then came the gown with my dainty little ass sticking out the back. I thought about running away as swiftly as my aging body would let me, but then they gave me that sedative that puts you into gaga land and when I was coming round I would have willingly run naked up and down all the corridors. Just for the crack (pardon the pun). That would have frightened that handsome young fella into refraining from asking such personal questions.