The clean out was predictably horrible, but the procedure went well. That old usually bullshit line "It's pressure, not pain" actually seemed to be the case, and in spite of my recommendation Husband survived without drugs of any kind. (I figure you've got an i.v. line in you, the drugs are free and top quality, and it's not like you're doing anything else anyway—why not enjoy yourself? I'd probably be a drug addict if I weren't so busy already.)
He thanks everyone for their concern, as do I, especially considering I now have all kinds of useful advice about alternative flavorings and fancy toilet paper that will come in handy in . . . um, let's see . . . [counting] . . . four years. Yes, four years. You do the math.