All is better than well.

Colonoscopy done.  Like my older brother warned me, the worst part of the whole thing is the 24 hours before the procedure.  I was knocked out for the actual event, and after just a couple hours I was up and feeling (relatively) normal.

I knew I picked the right doctor when, as they were prepping me, they asked me my birthday.  When I told them it was April 13^th, one of the nurses told me that was her birthday too, but not the same year.  Then I said something about how I turned 13 on Friday the 13^th and she started laughing.  She was born in ‘88 had her 13^th birthday was on a Friday too.  Weird coincidence, and it might have been the anesthesia kicking in, but all of a sudden I felt a lot more relaxed.

And it was good news.  Not a single polyp.  Nothing. Nada.  Told me not to come back for ten years, 2021.

Whew!  Now I can watch those Doug Miller PSA commercials without feeling even a twinge of anxiety, just the sorrow for the preventable loss his family is living with.