12 Years a Coward

I think it was 12 years ago that my doctors started nagging me about getting a colonoscopy.  In that time I repeatedly refused with some pretty good excuses: Didn't want it, colonoscopies were for old people (denial is comforting) no one in my family has ever had colon cancer, a friend had his colon punctured during the procedure ( true), don't like going to sleep, couldn't afford it (pre Affordable Care Act)...my excuses were endless and my colon remained virgin territory (unlike the rest of me).

Shortly after my experience with diverticulitis - I gave in. I scheduled one and promptly put it out of my mind..until I had to face the dreaded day of PREP. For the uninitiated,  prepping for a colonoscopy ranks right up there with self-flagellation or watching a Steven Segall movie. Pure torture.  Wanting to be fully prepared, I spent hours scanning the Internet for colorful descriptions of the experiences of others on Prep Day.  From these horror stories I constructed a solid plan for what I would do and how I would do it. I was ready.

The people who developed the array of Prep products clearly have a sense of humor.  I was given a powdery substance that came in a 4 liter plastic jug which would, at some point, be filled to the "fill line" with water.  This product came with the unlikely name GOLYTELY. Honestly, I couldn't make that up

As part of my plan I would spend the day before Prep Day preparing to prepare. I would make jell-o jigglers, mix my Golytely concoction and refrigerate it because, according to the directions, it was more palatable that way. I would buy broth, 7 Up, Ginger Ale and Gator Ade.  By Sunday night I was ready for my day of clear liquids only and my evening of "cleansing".

Not eating all day isn't fun - so I'd planned to see clients on Prep Day, do my volunteer stint at the food pantry, send my husband out for dinner and camp out in the bathroom from 4- whenever.  I packed a cooler with my clear drinks, some extra ice, and long drinking straws, two plastic drinking vessels that had 8 ounce hash marks (so I could ingest the correct amounts) and a pile of magazines I hadn't had to time to read. I found a lavender scented candle to burn and made sure I had the softest TP imaginable. Oh - and a large tube of A&D ointment (highly recommended).

At 4:00pm I drank the first 8 ounce glass of Golytely.  It was cold, I placed the straw as far back in my mouth as possible and I chugged. At best it tasted like drinking the ocean with a lot of pee in it.  I grabbed for the Gatorade and took a large gulp.  It cleared the palate (so to speak). This became my routine. Because I had to drink 8 ounces every 15 minutes until the first 2 liters were gone.  I never touched the other drinks. The Gatorade was perfect. I never read the magazines either.  I danced. Jumped, Ran around the room. Hopped on the stair stepper (aka clothes rack) and did everything I could to get things moving. The drinking did not get any easier.  Strangely enough, I was no longer hungry.  It was over an hour before anything moved. And then everything moved. I was grateful for the Lavender candle. Really grateful.

When things quieted down I felt safe to move around the house.  This was not such a good idea.  Unlike the normal passage of stuff through the body, this treatment changes everything.  The directions clearly state "stay near a bathroom".  They didn't define "near".  I won't describe what happened but I will tell you it happened not once, but twice. I'm a slow learner.

Spent, exhausted  I got up the next morning and had to repeat the routine at 5:00am. Well, I sort of repeated it (I stayed in the bathroom)  I didn't drink the remaining 2 liters.  I drank 16 ounces.  I felt "clear" and declared that if I hand't done it right that was just too bad. No  way I was ever going to do this again.

I don't even remember the procedure. I do remember Dr. Armanisuit (not his name - but his suit) because he had done an endoscope 6 years before.  Dr. Armani Suit was impecabbly dressed -as usual. Crisp burgundy shirt, perfectly tied tie, dark Indian skin and gorgeous perfect hair.  Handsome man who, when he spoke and made a point, would roll his eyes upward, lower his lids and manage to look like he had no eyes. The man who was going to snake a camera up my butt had moments of having no eyes. Lucky me.

I guess things turned out okay.  The nurse said I wouldn't have to come back for 10 years.  I told her I would be dead by then and did not think that making an appointment so far in advance was a sound idea.  I'm not going back anyway.