Annals of a Colonoscopy
If you’re of a certain age, have inherited some particularly nasty genes, or are having gastrointestinal issues, your doctor will instruct you to have a colonoscopy. Don’t be blindsided by this backside-based inspection of your large intestine. These annals of my most recent colonoscopy will give you a heads up on the, er, down low.
One week before the colonoscopy: Meet the Gastroenterologist. Although pre-procedure meetings with doctors always feel like an insurance money-grab to me, I think this one is necessary. While I could have passed on the umpteenth review of my medical history — father died of colon cancer; two surgeries (an appendectomy and Caesarean section); yes, about a glass of wine a day — I wanted to discuss laxative options and review what was involved in the prep for this procedure. Though this would be colonoscopy number 5 due to my family history, I do my best to block everything out from one colonoscopy to the next so couldn’t remember everything.
Three days before the colonoscopy: Worry about what you are eating. As I finished off a delicious raisin and nut roll, I remembered that the doctor had said something about avoiding nuts and seeds in the days before the colonoscopy. Since I had never heard that advice before, I turned to trusty Google to confirm what the doctor had said. I quickly saw that not only should I have skipped the roll, I also should have passed on the potato salad (skins) and my usual high-fiber diet. I called the doctor’s office in a bit of a panic. I didn’t list all my sins, just the nutty roll. The nurse said I should be okay, but to be extra careful from here on in. I hung up the phone and put the other rolls out of sight so that I wouldn’t eat one accidentally.
The day before the colonoscopy, part one: Fast. This was tough for me. I’m a grazer, so I eat often, and I often eat without realizing it. I hated being hungry. When my stomach stopped rumbling for a minute, there was a show on NPR about artisanal American cheeses. And it seemed that everywhere I looked there was food. I remember doing laundry and thinking, “Why is Glenn hiding potato chips in the basement?” Even the dog treats meant to resemble Cheetos were tempting.
I used my hunger to my advantage and called our oil company to complain about a delivery they had made by mistake. The issue was finally resolved that day, and I have to give partial credit to my hanger for that.
Though I couldn’t eat, I could drink clear liquids, which was a plus. I stayed away from broth — it seemed meaningless without chicken, noodles, and vegetables — but I drank lemonade flavored Gatorade. It tasted like heaven.
I tried to be nice when my husband came home from work, reheated leftovers, and sat beside me on the sofa to eat them. I can’t say I was 100 percent successful (see “hangry” above), but it could have been uglier.
The day before the colonoscopy, part two: Prep. This laxative-poop-poop-poop-laxative-poop-poop cycle is what everyone is referring to when they say, “The prep is the worst of it.” At 6:00 p.m. I drank the first portion of the laxative the doctor prescribed for me. During my previous colonoscopies I had to drink what seemed like a bucketful, though I believe it was a half-gallon container, of the nastiest concoction imaginable. Luckily, medical advances and a good insurance plan allowed me to drink all that nastiness condensed into a 160-milliliter container (about 2/3 of a cup) this time around. I chugged the bottle and then chased it with six glasses of clear liquids.
Within the hour I made my first mad dash to the bathroom. At first it felt like a nasty bout of diarrhea. Then it progressed to what a friend’s child aptly described as “peeing out of your butt.” This took place over several hours, so I was sure never to be far from the bathroom. And just to be safe, I left the toilet seat up.
The morning of the colonoscopy, part one: Prep, continued. Though I couldn’t imagine there was anything left inside of me after a night on the toilet, I still had to wake up at 4:00 a.m., five hours before my procedure, to chug one last bottle of that cranberry flavored (according to the label, anyway) laxative and drink three to four more glasses of water.
I was awake before my alarm went off and went into the bathroom where I had all my supplies at the ready. I guzzled the laxative and drank half the water. Then I plopped myself down on the toilet and waited. And waited. Nothing. I finally dragged myself back to bed and, as soon as I started to drift off to sleep, sat bolt upright and ran for the bathroom. I repeated this several times — and finished drinking the rest of the water during my bathroom visits — until it seemed there really was nothing left in me. I crawled back into bed and fell into such a deep sleep that I had a tough time dragging myself out of it when it was time to get up and go to the Center for Digestive Health for my procedure.
The morning of the colonoscopy, part two: Surgical prep. I was asked to arrive 45 minutes before my scheduled colonoscopy. I think about 30 minutes of that time was spent answering the following question multiple times: “Can you tell me your name, date of birth, doctor’s name, and what procedure you’re here for today?”
The nurse had me put on a hospital robe, “Opening in the back.” Then she slapped an identification bracelet on me (in case I forgot the answers to those questions), took my vitals, and inserted a needle for the IV.
She left and the anesthesiologist opened the curtain. He asked, and I told him my name, date of birth, doctor’s name, and procedure I was in for, and reviewed all of the medical information I’d gone over with the nurse a few minutes earlier and the doctor the previous week. The anesthesiologist left and told me he’d see me shortly.
Then the doctor came and asked me my name, date of birth, his name, and what procedure I was in for. When I answered correctly, he smiled and told me he’d see me soon.
The anesthesiologist came back and wheeled me into the procedure room. There was another nurse there who introduced herself, and a nurse’s aide who introduced herself and gave my shoulder the gentlest squeeze.
The anesthesiologist put prongs for an oxygen tube on my nose. He hooked me up to a machine that would take my blood pressure throughout the procedure. He asked me to turn on my left side.
The doctor came in wearing his scrubs and asked me who I was all over again. When I answered correctly, the anesthesiologist began administering the sedative, propofol. I remember commenting about a funny taste in my mouth. He asked what it tasted like, but I was asleep before I could answer (metal).
Moments later — okay, that’s what it felt like, though it was probably about 30 minutes — I was in recovery. The nurse told me to take my time waking up. I so wanted to follow her advice in the extreme, and just roll over and go back to sleep. But a friend was picking me up, and I didn’t want to keep her waiting. The nurse brought me a glass of cranberry juice, and I slowly got dressed.
The doctor stopped by to tell me that everything went well, that he’d removed a small polyp he would send out for testing, but that he didn’t think it was anything. He told me to expect to feel gassy. I was still out of it and smiled remembering the post-colonoscopy conversation I’d had ten years earlier in which another doctor told me to feel free to fart.
My friend brought me home and, though the hunger had passed, because I could I shoved another one of those raisin and nut rolls in my face before falling into a deep sleep on the couch.
When I awoke, my insides felt a little off and I didn’t have my usual energy. But within a day or two I felt like my usual self.
Colonoscopies are no fun, but they can make for some funny stories. And most importantly, they can detect cancer early and save lives. My doctor actually called while I was writing this to tell me that the biopsy showed that the polyp he removed was completely benign.
“I’ll see you in five years,” he said.
It’s an appointment I don’t want to think about. It’s also an appointment I won’t miss.
