Several months later, for Christmas, I opened one of the most strangely wonderful and hysterical gifts I have even been given. It was a small bound story…complete with color photos…about a Princess who loved her Queen very much. The Princess wanted the Queen to take care of herself. The Queen reluctantly realized the Princess was right and signed up for the royal treatment. A few benign polyps entered the storyline and then they all lived happily ever after. The story concluded with photos of my mom’s colon.
Since I had stood with my hands on my hips chastising my mom for not being timely with her colon care, I knew she had every right to wag her Queenly finger at me if I didn’t follow my own advice shortly after my 50th birthday.
With our travel schedule finally settled down for a bit, I went to the gastroenterologist’s office last Friday for a screening and to schedule my very first colonoscopy. Welcome to 50!! I had no idea how far out they schedule these things, so my mind swirled with panic when the medical assistant said, “How about Monday?”
“You mean in three days!?”
“Yes.”
Deciding the less time I had to fret about the infamous prep, the better, I snagged today’s 11:00am appointment. I left the tummy doctor’s office with a "bowel prep" prescription, two pages of instructions, a shopping list, and a reluctant promise to return in three days with a well-prepared colon.
When Rob went through this blow-out of an adventure two years ago (a benefit of having a slightly older spouse), I remember three things:
First, he nearly gagged on the second bottle of medical Drano he had to drink to clear his plumbing.
Second, he was pretty entertaining when he came out of anesthesia.
Third, with only a hint of sarcasm, he proclaimed, “Next time I have to do this, I’m buying a padded toilet seat.”
And so I headed off to Target, Walmart, and Walgreens for colonoscopy prep provisions. Yay 50!
I scoured the snack and frozen treat shelves for Jell-O packs and popsicles in colors other than the prohibited, stain-laden red, blue, and purple (all the good flavors). Lime Jell-O and non-redish purply popsicles not bearing fruit bits are harder to procure than one might think. Staring blankly at so many boxes featuring cherry treats, it occurred to me that there might be a niche market for specialized boxes of “Colonopsicles” in lime, orange, pineapple, and lemon flavors. You’re welcome, Popsicle® Marketing people.
As I headed to the checkout in Target with my bottle of magnesium citrate, padded toilet seat, and green popsicles, I decided I wasn’t in the mood for potential conversations or commiserations about my unique but telling set of acquisitions. Thank goodness for self-checks.
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| Note: The butterscotch pudding was not allowed. I got confused with the Soft Foods Diet I was on last fall for a dental surgery. This aging thing is a BLAST! |
Saturday I ate myself silly. Pastrami, pizza, cake, red wine. It was my last hurrah. Plus I knew none of it was going to be allowed to hang out for long, so I quite enjoyed my little binge party.
On Sunday, I was restricted to a clear liquid diet. Broth, Jell-O, popsicles, tea, water. So very boring. So very hungry. Do you know how many TV ads and Facebook posts involve images of food? So very lots.
I was so famished, I started salivating when a friend sent me a text with a hamburger emoji, encouraging me to keep my eye on the juicy prize. Rob was kind enough to eat his lasagna and garlic bread leftovers quietly when I wasn’t watching. But I was watching.
In my desperation, inspiration hit. White wine and a vodka tonic are both VERY clear liquids! Cheers to that! WHOO HOO! But a more careful reading of my pre-op instructions clearly stated alcohol was a no-no. BOO!
Sunday night at 7:00pm the real fun began.
I had to drink two bottles of a prescription strength laxative, twelve hours apart. The two hours after each of those bottles were the ones everyone warns about, with vague yet panic-inducing detail. The hours of “it’s hard to imagine where all that came from” and “just keep the fan running” and “bring lots of reading material.”
The first sip of the clear concoction last night wasn’t too bad. It was sort of a salty cherry flavor. It would have been better if it had been carbonated. And perhaps with a splash of vodka.
The second sip, I was transported back to the kitchen in our apartment in Montana when I was a kid. Both winters there, I had strep throat any week I didn’t have tonsillitis. The flavor of the laxative was far too reminiscent of the pink, liquid penicillin I had to pound as a kid. Those weren’t great memories. It wasn’t long before I decided to test the theory that you can’t taste things if you plug your nose.
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| Verdict: Plugging your nose does indeed take a lot of icky flavor away! However, it is very hard to drink without breathing through one's nose. The choice was quick and icky or slow and tasteless. I'm impatient enough I eventually released my nose. |
I will spare you the finer details of the rest of the evening. Suffice it to say, I was quite thankful for the squishy seat and portable electronic devices. Also, as I had Norovirus a number of years ago, I will say that colonoscopy prep is better than that gastrointestinal Sophie’s choice. The colon cleansing isn’t crampy and you are only dealing with one exit strategy. Always looking for silver linings.
I managed to mostly sleep through the night last night. I had one urgent wake-up at about 2:30am that was quickly resolved. When the alarm went off at 6:45am for my second bottle and foray into the bathroom, I was in the middle of a dream about eating a toasted ham and cheese sandwich.
I downed this morning’s 16oz of salted cherry ick in a matter of a few short minutes by pretending I was on the “Amazing Race.” Rob and I are big fans of the show and watch as if we were contestants. He gets all the physical challenges, we always pick puzzles over might, and I am in charge of all heights and eating weird stuff. I nailed this morning’s challenge.
By the time we were ready to head to the doctor’s office this morning, I was completely caught up on social media, had educated myself on a local bond measure, discovered a shop in Walla Walla that sells furniture made out of wine barrels, mused about a wildflower hike in the Columbia Gorge, and learned quite a lot about the burgeoning (legal) cannabis industry in Oregon. So much time to read!
My appointment this morning was super fast. I spent more time getting prepped and coming out of anesthesia than I spent in the OR. I think the whole exploration took about 15 minutes…with the accompaniment of the best play list I’ve ever heard in an OR. When I drifted off to sleep, I was head dancing to “I Would Walk 500 Miles” by The Proclaimers. It’s so fun to have doctors the same age as you!
Back in recovery, I was hoping for good news. Although I long ago learned I cannot think my way to good health, and my body really is in charge of such things, I must admit I felt a swell of “A+ gold star” pride when the nurse proclaimed: “You have a perfect colon!” No polyps to biopsy, no follow-ups, no need to come back for another ten years. WHOO THE HOO!!!
I was escorted out the door with color photos of my perfect colon, a chocolate croissant, and well wishes for the highly imminent Tillamook Cheeseburger, Mint Oreo Milkshake, and Rosemary fries. I might have mentioned them a few times to the nursing staff.
This afternoon, after waking up from my food coma, I sent a text to the Queen and King with celebrations of perfection and color photos to prove it.
“Congratulations!!” replied the Queen. “Thank you for all the color photos.”
“Wonderful!!” replied the King. “Glad everything came out alright.”
“That was last night!” replied the Princess.
And they all lived happily ever after.
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