Journey to the Center of Me

OK, so I'm now at that age where you have to start doing fun medical things you never thought about before. I'm going to tell you about one I just went through. If you don't care for these sorts of things, avert your gaze.
My doctor (Yes, I have my own personal doctor who sleeps in a cot in the garage) suggested I get a colonoscopy. This is pretty much the full deal. Well, I was just delighted to do it. I just get excited about having total strangers probing around my nether regions with strange instruments. But I couldn't think of a way out so I agreed.
First, a day before, they have you take super colon blow. I think this was some edible form of Drano. It worked. As it turns out that was about the worst part.
Then, at the appointed hour, I go in. They made me feel pretty comfortable considering I was wearing one of those dumb-ass backward shirt things with the air blowing up me bum.
They hooked up an IV line and when it was time, I went in and laid down on the padded table. When they were ready they injected something into the line. I thought I would try to tell when it came on. No way.
Some time later I became aware of where I was and was able to check out the TV screen. It looked like Carlsbad Caverns only really clean. Then I drifted off again.
Then it was over. They told me that since there was nothing in there, they had to pump in some air to keep it open. And now that it was over they would take me into the colonoscopy recovery room with several other people where you were encouraged to release all remaining air. I was still sleepy but I could hear people cutting righteous air biscuits. I later joined in.
I wondered if the staff had a name for a place where you are actually encouraged to cut the cheese. Do they call it the fart room? I named it The Flatutorium. And I've decided it would be good if all employers offered one at work just like a baby changing room or a smoking zone.
Of course only men would use them because everyone knows that women don't fart.