Butt Invasion (with Bonus Song)

It all started on a sunny, warm day.  I went to the doc for tummy troubles.  I left with a long list of instructions, 2 bottles of poison, a restricted diet, and an appointment for an upper GI and butt invasion, AKA colonoscopy.

Anyone who has had a butt invasion will tell you that the worst part is the prep.  I can’t say they are wrong.  If you are under 50 and having a butt invasion, it is probably safe to assume that the test is scheduled because you are having digestive issues.  So why do they give you poison to drink that causes more “issues”?  I know, it has a specific purpose, but it just seems a bit silly to me.

That wasn’t the worst part for me.  The worst part was the waiting.  About 10 years ago I had an upper GI and I woke up during the procedure.  Waking up with a tube down your esophagus is not pleasant.  It was quite scary.  So I was a bit nervous today.  I was sure to tell each and every person that I came in contact with today that I was nervous and each person assured me that I would not wake up because they now use a different drug to prevent that from happening.  But, I was still nervous.  And when I’m nervous, I sing.  So I sang this song:


Torture Therapy Part 2

     Today was my second torture therapy session.  It started out with electro-shock therapy. I was once again instructed to strip down.  I think this is to prevent me from running away once the torture begins.  Electrodes were attached to my neck and back.  ‘You will feel vibrations, ” she said. Vibrations is putting it mildly.  What I felt was shocking.  So shocking that my body was moving involuntarily.  I couldn’t control my arms, shoulders, and legs.  After what seemed like a lifetime, the tormenter returned, removed the electrodes, and began the abrasive rubbing.  It seemed as though she were trying to separate my muscles from my bones.  This time I didn’t care, because I was so relieved that the electro-shock therapy had ended.
     Once the tormenter was through I was instructed to get dressed.  By this point I could hardly move.  I dressed and was immediately escorted to the next chamber.  Here the doctor came in and instructed me to lay face down.  Once I was on the table she put a staple gun on my back and neck and stapled me back together.  Perhaps if they hadn’t torn me apart this step would not have been necessary.  When I finally returned home I noticed that I did not have any staples in my body.  Perhaps the leftover electricity in my body had rejected them or, more likely, there were never any staples to begin with.

Torture Therapy


  I just got back from my first biweekly torture session. It’s supposed to help retrain my body to function normally. It’s a multifaceted approach that involves massage, chiropractic adjustment , and physical therapy .  Since I am new to torture therapy, they only performed one procedure on me today.
     I was told to de-robe because torture is best served nude. Next I was instructed to lay face down, that way I wouldn’t be able to see the tormenter.  It wasn’t long before the stranger walked in the room. The tormenting began with intense rubbing.  Not slow, relaxing rubbing, deep, fast, chaotic rubbing. If the tormenter got to a muscle area that was tender she applied more friction, harder and longer.  She then grabbed my left arm and swung it around in unnatural ways. She began to stroke it intensely as if she were striking the truth out. Next she flung it across my back. She quickly walked to my right side where she grabbed my left wrist and pulled it across my back to the right side. She repeated this pulling on the other side and then moved to my legs. I didn’t think the distress could   get worse than what I experienced on my arms, but I was wrong. She lifted my left leg up and whipped it out from under the sheet. She then bent my left knee out to the left like a frog’s leg. Next she picked up my left foot and twisted my ankle out to the left. It wouldn’t move any further so she pushed down on it, so hard that the rest of my body came off the table. She didn’t appreciate my body’s response so she began trying to detach my skin and bones by abrasively stroking my skin and muscles. Eventually the torment ended.  It was time to stand up. I was lightheaded. “Walk this way,” they said. “I can’t  take anymore,” I thought.
    Dr Torture returned to discharge me for the day.  She warned me that I should not exercise that day.  No kidding.  I couldn’t if I wanted to.  I was lucky to be walking.

High Maintenance

     I consider myself a low-maintenance woman. I don’t wear makeup.  I don’t like to shop.  I would rather have hiking boots than heels.  For a low-maintenance woman, I’m pretty high maintenance.
  I have to have my meds!
    You made me breakfast in bed?  Thanks!  But first I have to get up and take my supplements and medications.  You want to bring them to me?  That’s sweet, but I actually have to mix some with water.  You’ll do it for me?  Thanks!  They actually don’t mix well together, so can you bring me 3 glasses?  But, don’t forget a plain water.  And can I have some coffee?
And that is just breakfast…