having a good reason to go back to bed. As most of you know, I am dedicated to fitness, but it isn’t all joy and "up and at‘em” stuff. Sometimes I am thinking, “s…, I haven’t done the walk yet” or any of the other stuff I do.

But this morning, after a horrendous day yesterday of adhering to the prep guidelines for a colonoscopy, I had the procedure. On getting home, I ate a gyro sandwich, obscenely spiced, and delicious. I am told to rest, not clean house, not cook, not drive, not do anything. So, with a clear conscience I am going to flake.

The prep was so difficult that I couldn’t finish the entire 64 ounces of Gatorade with laxative powder in it. I stopped after 3 10-oz. -glasses, although the med staff told me I had to do the whole regimen otherwise I wouldn’t clean myself out thoroughly, and then a demon would descend from the medical center and tear my heart out as well as put my photo on a billboard with the legend, “She cheated …”. I took the chance. I had eaten lightly the day before and I figured that if, after 8 hours, all I was dispensing was liquid that, perhaps, I had drunk enough. Part of the difficulty is that you are instructed to drink first, 10 oz. of Citrate of Magnesium, and then the 64 oz. of doctored-up Gatorade and finish within four hours. Start at 3 p.m., finish by 7 p.m. I countered the taste by sipping hot chicken broth between glasses.

At the hospital, I told anyone who would listen that I firmly believed the waterboard torture down at Guantanamo didn’t actually use water, but Gatorade. Some of them got it. (After all, this is Cape Coral, the intellectual wasteland of SW Florida).

The nice part is that the staff are competent, good-natured and helpful. I had spent the night with chills, a heating pad and 3 blankets and heavy flannel night clothes. When I got on the gurney, my teeth started chattering, so the nurse at the hospital believed me and gave me 3 heated heavy sheets and a cap, and made sure I was tucked up. What an angel.

The doctor was cheerful. He is one of the better ones. He laughed at my jokes (I am a sucker for a good audience). I had seriously considered putting a sticky label on my rear that said, “Do not fold, spindle or mutilate” but by the time I left the house with Ed driving, I had so little energy that my sense of humor dived too.

The doc didn’t find any polyps as he did last time, and that is better than good.

I lost three pounds. Let’s see if I can keep it off.

Sorry no pix of this awesome spectacle.

xx, Teal