I have recently completed, and survived, the test that strikes fear
in the hearts of most men and women…...the colonoscopy.
Like everything else in my life, I made the appointment and gave very little thought to it until the day was almost upon me. I have to say I’ve had this test several
times before and knew what to expect. Monday evening I read through the materials to
make sure I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. I realized I was supposed to have stopped
taking aspirin five days ago….scratch that.
I read through the “day-before-lift-off” dietary instructions. Clear liquid,check…jello,check…coffee with no
cream…groan. Okay…it’s basically one
full day of aggravation, but I had a lot of writing to do so I would be able to
keep my mind off food, and drink, and comfort.
Opening the bag from the pharmacy I realized the medical
“Drain-O” they give prescribed looked
different this time. I read the
directions on the huge white bottle, which did not match the directions on the
sheet given to me by my physician. A
call to the druggist (“That’s what they called in…so it’s definitely not our
fault”) confirmed that I had the wrong concoction. Now I knew I’d have to follow the diet sheet
tomorrow and get the other stuff
called in, picked up and ready to go before six p.m. That’s actually the “witching hour” when you
start to swill the awful stuff that causes your intestines to go into full
battle mode.
Tuesday morning I called the doctor’s office to explain my
dilemma. After talking with the nurse (“That’s
not what I called in…so it’s definitely not my fault”) she agreed to call in
the proper stuff, which I would pick up after work.
After listening to the druggist explain (a.) what was called
in, (b.) how it was interpreted, (c.) what
I was given, and (d.) why it’s not the fault of said druggist, said druggist’s
staff, anyone who has ever worked in that particular drug chain or any of their
relatives, I paid for the nasty stuff and went home.
Now we’re on track.
I have the big white bottle marked off into four parts, one part to be
drunk every fifteen minutes until it’s all gone or you pass out. After you finish that 32 oz assault you need
to drink 8 oz. of plain water, and mentally prepare yourself for the next 32 oz
sip-fest.
At this point the good news is your hunger is completely
gone….maybe for the rest of your life.
Drinking the murky, room temperature, slightly thickened liquid took all of
my will power. The taste wass less
repugnant than some of the stuff I’d had in the past…but even the “new
improved” version of this was like drinking thick swamp water, with a twist of
lemon. The only way I can get through it
is to carefully park my mind someplace else, then open my throat and pour it
down.
There is a one hour wait between the first bottle of this
stuff and the second. Before I knew it
I was mixing the two packets of powder in the big canister, adding room
temperature water to the fill line, and shivering as I anticipate drinking 32 more
ounces of this stuff.
As I drank the first 8 ounces of the second bottle a deep
rumble began. Somewhere in the center
of my body a hot, clawing creature seemed to be looking for an escape route. Since I knew perfectly well what that route
would be, I decided it was time to set up shop in the bathroom. That’s pretty much where the rest of the
evening was spent. The only thing that
made it even remotely bearable was Wi-Fi.
After what seemed like an endless night, morning arrived. The
gut wrenching siege seemed to be over just in time to head to the hospital for
the procedure. I felt like a dried corn
husk, but coffee, water, even chewing gum was forbidden.
As I’m wheeled into a procedure suite I spy my trusty
physician, whom I’d seen just two days ago at a strings recital. We chatted about children, grandchildren and
husbands before getting down to business.
As we made small talk, which I was desperate to keep going, I was acutely aware of the nurses in the room
as they prepared some dreadful looking equipment for my procedure. One nurse wrestled impossibly long tubes,
another had hoses slung over her shoulder and other things that might have come
straight from the garden shed. Isn’t
that the new and improved pocket hose?
Did you get the second one free by just paying the shipping and
handling?
Finally I could keep the doctor’s attention on other things
no longer. Right on schedule an IV
dripped some cloudy looking stuff into the veins of my right arm. A quiet, but friendly, nurse repositioned me just
as the light switch in my brain clicked off.
A short time later I emerged from my black velvet cocoon to the sound of a chirpy young nurse telling
me how wonderfully I’d done. Not being
able to remember any of it (thankfully) I had to take her word for the fact
that I may just be an outstanding colonoscopy patient. She chatted on as the fog began to clear from
my head and I said the first thing that popped into my mind, “Can I get a cup
of coffee now?”
If I knew where research was being done to simplify and/or
improve this necessary test I would support the effort. Show me where they’re working to come up with
a better tasting drink, or a device being that can be contained in a
capsule and
downed with coffee, and I will write a check to support the work. As it is, I likely won’t have to submit to
this undignified test again for several years.
I want to go on record as saying I am grateful for the tests that help
us stay healthy…no matter how unpleasant they are. Let’s make a toast to the doctors who perform
these on a daily basis.
This one’s for you, doctor….bottoms up!!!
Life is Good
Have you ever given any thought about how many emotions can
be invoked by the sound of a telephone?
I haven't for a long time, if I ever really have at all. 
