I recently had a colonoscopy and let me tell you, it was wonderful.

I say that because getting the colonoscopy meant the colonoscopy prep was over. And starting the colonoscopy prep meant I could stop dreading the whole process.

You see, the only thing worse than a colonoscopy is preparing for a colonoscopy; and the only thing worse than that is the anticipation.

Well, no, that's wrong. Learning I have cancer that could have been caught earlier if I'd only subjected myself to a day of discomfort would be worse.

And that's why I decided to do it.

"It" being drinking four liters of osmotic laxatives, then rushing to the bathroom so many times that my 5-year-old started to exclaim, "The potty? Again?" each time I was mid-sprint.

The laxatives prepared my bowels for the procedure, during which, apparently, they needed to be as clear as the rushing water in a cold mountain spring.

Drinking from the jug and pondering what it was doing to my insides, I was reminded of watching my Greek grandmother make magiritsa, a traditional Easter dish, so many years ago.

"What's that?" I asked my dad as my grandmother held one end of a hazy white tube to the faucet.

"Lamb intestines," he responded. When he saw the look on my face, he gave a dismissive wave. "Don't worry, she cleans them really well."

I guess if my grandmother could make intestines clean enough to eat, these industrial-strength laxatives could make mine clean enough to stick a camera into.

As I drank, I read the papers the pharmacy had included with the "prep" liquid, which I was informed would be lemon-lime flavored.

Lemon-lime, indeed.

It actually tasted more like a vat of lukewarm spittle over which a particularly malevolent leprechaun had half-heartedly waved a moldy lemon.

"We can get civilians into space, but we can't make something that tastes better than this?" I complained to my sister-in-law.

One feels food scientists should redirect their efforts, at least temporarily, from making mac and cheese that tastes like Cheetos to improving the flavor of these laxatives.

The pharmacy's instructions said sucking on a lemon drop might make the drink more palatable, but I can't drink 3 liters of anything — not chocolate milk, not freshly squeezed orange juice, not ice-cold sauvignon blanc.

The best part of the prep was that my stomach was too full of what my husband called "joy juice" to complain about the fact that I hadn't had any solid food for 24 hours.

When my kids asked why I had to keep drinking, I stammered.

"Well ... the doctor needs my insides cleared out ... so they can put a camera ..."

"Up her butt," my husband finished, helpfully.

The boys gave me shocked looks.

"Is it going to hurt?" one asked.

"Absolutely not," I replied. "I won't even feel it."

And not only was that true, but I wasn't afraid, either. I wasn't even awake.

The last thing I remembered on C-Day was the doctor telling me I might taste something a little "spicy." I tried to stay awake, curious about the procedure, but couldn't.

The next thing I knew, I was trying to get up.

"I have to use the bathroom," I said, when the nurse moved me back down to a lying position.

"No, you don't," she replied. "You just had a colonoscopy."

Well, what does that have to do with anything? I wondered.

Eventually, I remembered I couldn't possibly have to use the bathroom. There was nothing in my intestines to expel.

As it turned out, there was no cancer in there, either.

I'm relieved, not just from seeing the end of the procedure but from the hope that by the time another one rolls around, maybe scientists will have discovered all the potential Oreo cookie flavors and will move on to improving the prep liquid.

Sauvignon blanc flavor, anyone?

To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.

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