ALOHA, ANUS!

My pal David Sedaris claims colonoscopies are somewhat pleasant experiences – really it's just the trippy anesthesia, but nevertheless, he's OK with them.

While I totally disagree, my most recent exam – my third! - had a fascinating aspect to it. You could almost describe it as a tropical escape, if you're still under the influence of Propofol.

Starting when you walk in the office door of an ordinary looking building in an office park. There, your eyes feast on an entire roomful of lush island greenery (real plants and trees), with a little bridge over a koi pond. There are bamboo, surfboard-like signs directing patients to either endoscopy or colonoscopy offices. OK, this is weird, I say to my husband.

Then we enter the office, which is wallpapered (who has wallpaper anymore?) in a large fern print with shades of green and pale yellow. The furniture is bamboo and rattan. There are curtains in another tropical print, and there are big framed photographs of island folks in traditional garb doing things like twirling flaming circles of entwined vines around.

None of this is garish, mind you. The décor is mellow. There are no fake parrots or anything like that.

I get called into the exam room. More of the same: tropical curtains, photographs of Hawaii. I finally have to say something to the medical assistant. “Oh yeah,” she says. “Dr. so-and-so (not the one I am seeing) went to Hawaii and just fell in love with it.” Ya think?

That was the pre-op appointment.

A few weeks later, I return for the actual procedure.

The bamboo signs direct us to a different area, but guess what—same décor as in the first office. A woman comes to take me back to the where the real business begins and I am astounded to observe a sea of people all wearing Hawaiian shirts! Doctors, nurses, technicians, who knows, you can't tell. Most have paired them with bright aqua bottoms. It's like you're at some sort of theme party. And yes, the walls are lovely shades of green, yellow, and tan, and those big curtains they pull around your bed are done in a tropical plant print.

This doc, obviously the owner of the practiced, must have really really loved Hawaii. I just can't get over it.

Suddenly, a woman approaches my bed dressed in all black. Ah, a non-conformist, I think. She tells me she's the anesthesiologist. After I tell her to knock me out with as much of the stuff as is humanly possible, I casually point out that she is the only one without a Hawaiian shirt. Her firm response leads me to believe she has been asked about this before: “You will NEVER see me in a Hawaiian shirt. I have been to Hawaii, and I did not wear a Hawaiian shirt while I was in Hawaii.”

Although jokey, she seems adamant about this. I decided to drop it, but a few minutes later, she tells me that they actually told her about the shirts during her job interview, and she made it real clear—No Hawaiian shirts. (She said she was surprised she got the job.)

To be fair, this anesthesiologist pointed out that the tropical theme seems to relax the patients. I agreed. She also told me that they brought in a well-known interior decorating team to carry this out, and we concurred that they did a fabulous job. Tasteful. It could have easily gone all Jimmy Buffett gaudy and cheap. As I said, not one single parrot decoration.

I sail through the procedure with so much anesthesia I don't even remember seeing my doctor at all. I am a bit confused when I am wakened by two guys in Hawaiian shirts telling me I am done. (Done with what? A kava-kava laced luau? Too many Mai-tais? Mutiny on the Bounty?)

Back I go to the holding area to be discharged. They bring me toast and cranberry juice. At this point, I am expecting a bowl of creamed tarot root in a coconut shell and a pineapple smoothie with a paper umbrella in it. But wait, along with the discharge instructions, one of the Hawaiian shirt-clad dudes hands me a wrapped Macadamia nut-caramel bar, made by “Hawaiian Host” in Honolulu. Seriously.

Colonoscopies are not fun. But this one was entertaining at times.