2012-11-29 / Columns

“Liquid dynamite’s” fallout always memorable experience

Life & Times by Rusty Mitchum • Outdoors, Texas Style
By Janet Mitchum

Hi, I’m Janet. You know, Rusty’s better half. He’s out of town, so I’m going to take over his column this week.

I really do not like writing as much he does, but sometimes it’s good to get things off your chest. I’ve written in the past about my trials and tribulations having to live with Rusty and a lot of women have told me that I am not alone. They too, have men in their lives that drive them crazy.

Mine, I fear, has already driven me crazy. But I have to admit, as much as I hate to, it has been an interesting ride. Let me tell you what happened last week.

Rusty was scheduled for a colonoscopy. This was not his first, nor will it be his last. Due to a family history, he has to get them regularly. Anytime Rusty has one of these procedures done, it is quite an adventure, but this was the most interesting one he’s had so far.

Well, at least to me.

It all started the day before the procedure. If you have ever had this done, you know the day before is the worst part. You have to drink what Rusty calls “Liquid Dynamite” to thoroughly clean you out.

That day, I had been at work and when I got home, the first thing I noticed was that the house was, well….I guess you could say, rearranged.

The TV, which is normally against the middle of the wall in our den, was relocated off to the side, closer to the kitchen, and was playing at full volume. The couch was moved out from the wall toward the center of the den.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Sorry,” said Rusty, as he ran by me toward the bathroom. “Can’t talk. The porcelain Princess is callin’.” That’s what he calls the toilet.

It was then I saw why the furniture had been rearranged. This way, he could see the TV set from the bathroom.

“You’re watching TV?” I said. “Unbelievable.”

“Believe it sister,” he said. “Now get out of the way. You’re blockin’ Hank Hill.”

Not only was he watchin’ TV, he had a small table set up in the bathroom. On this table were the house phone, his office phone, his cell phone, a book, and his stupid harmonica.

He also had a score pad. He and my brother in-law, who had just had the procedure done a while back, had bet on who had to go the most after taking the prep.

“What did you do, set up shop in there?” I asked.

“Remember the Boy Scout motto, ‘Always be prepared’,” he answered.

“Amazing,” I said. “That coming from someone who was not a Boy Scout.”

“I was a Cub Scout. That’s close,” he said, still trying to see around me.

“Until you were kicked out,” I replied.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I was not kicked out.”

“That’s not what your mother told me.”

“I was asked to find another den, OK?”

“And why was that again? Oh yeah, now I remember. You started a campfire with gasoline and a Roman candle.”

“Hey, if I had used a match, that gasoline could have flashed up and burned me.”

“But instead, you set the woods on fire.”

“I didn’t know those little fire balls could bounce like that. Now, git out of the way. I can’t see the TV.”

He survived the night, although, I’m not sure how I did, and the next morning I took him to the clinic. After the paperwork, we were led to a curtained off area, and Rusty was told to put on a gown. I was reading a magazine, and looked up just as he was about to crawl onto the bed.

“Rusty, you idiot,” I said. “You’ve got the gown on backwards.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, the opening goes toward the back.”

“Oh, I thought this looked mighty sexy,” he said. I rolled my eyes. Yes, I roll my eyes. I’ve rolled my eyes so much over the years, I sometimes wonder how they’ve stayed in my head.

Finally, a nurse came in to get him ready.

“Hi, I’ll be your nurse,” the man said.

“You’re a nurse?” Rusty said. “They don’t have women nurses anymore?”

The man looked at me. I smiled at him, trying to convey to him a silent message that Rusty is a moron, and to please excuse him. I think he got the message, because he smiled back at me, and nodded his head.

When he finished, and left, Rusty looked at me. “Not the prettiest nurse I’ve ever had,” he said. I didn’t dignify him with an answer, I just looked at him.

“What?” he said.

Finally, they came to wheel him away. As he disappeared down the hallway, he yelled at me. “Don’t forget!” he exclaimed. “If I don’t make it, don’t tell anybody how I died.”

Everyone in the place turned to look at me. “Sorry,” I said. It was the only thing I could think of to say. They all looked sympathetic and smiled.

I was in the waiting room reading my magazine, when they called my name and I went back in. There was Rusty on the bed, sleeping peacefully, with another nurse watching over him.

“When he wakes up, please tell him he needs to pass some air,” the lady said.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I told her. She smiled and left.

“Rusty,” I said, and shook him a little. “Rusty, wake up.”

One of his eyes opened and I remembered what his dad had told me about the first time he saw Rusty after he was born. He said he opened one eye and he looked like a little green-eyed monster.

“What?” slurred Rusty.

“Wake up. The nurse said you had to pass some air,” I replied.

He pointed his finger at me. “Pull this,” he said, and then passed back out.

This was the highlight of my week. How was yours?

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