Reader: I am writing to you after only recently having endured a hellish ordeal. Just hours ago, I began taking the laxatives to prepare for my colonoscopy tomorrow. I made sure my bathroom was tastefully appointed: Squatty Potty lined up, potpourri nearby, scented candles lit. I felt a tug at my stomach and settled on my throne. That’s when I realized I forgot the most important thing: my phone.
I am no stranger to colonoscopies, nor to toilet time. I have ulcerative colitis, and colonoscopies are the best way to see how I’m doing in there. But my phone is an integral part of enduring an extended toilet experience. How was I to entertain myself without it? Sit silently and let my mind wander? I don’t think so. The last time I thought my thoughts, I remembered when I called my math teacher “dad” in the eighth grade. Fortunately she took it well.
Being on the toilet without my phone slowly turned into psychological torture. I would have given up any number of secrets for a bit of relief. The allied troops are stationed in the mountains! Our radio codeword is “rambunctious”! The treasure is hidden inside the stomach of my neighbor’s dog! Alas, I was stuck there.
Then I remembered a lifeline: my neighbor Kelly. We had met once in the halls of our apartment building, and I knew I could trust her. I had no choice but to scream through the walls: “KELLY! I NEED YOUR HELP! PLEASE CONNECT TO MY BLUETOOTH SPEAKER ‘ROCK BLOCKER PLUS’ AND PLAY INSTAGRAM REELS FOR ME! I WILL BE ON THE TOILET FOR THE NEXT TWENTY TO FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AND I LEFT MY PHONE ON THE COUCH! KELLY? CAN YOU HEAR ME?” I only learned later that Kelly had moved out months ago, and poor Ms. Kozano thought the ancestral ghost that haunts her family had returned.
While I survived my laxative-induced torment, I now know better. My phone is safely duct-taped to my back like in the movie “Die Hard.” Next time I have a colonoscopy, I’ll be ready.