Hey, here’s a fun topic that everyone loves talking about: colonoscopies! Yay!
Please, try to contain your applause.
Earlier this month, it was time for me to get my first one, and I have to admit, I was a bit unsure of what to expect. Most of what I have heard were vague jokes from comedians or hushed whispers from acquaintances, but while I was well aware of the procedure and the importance of it, the actual logistics were surprisingly absent.
Last year, I had my first inclination to what goes on, as someone I knew had to get one and I was the designated driver for them. Thanks to my adjacency, I had at least some inkling of the very basics: a week out you had to avoid certain foods, no eating 24 hours prior to the procedure, and you had to take a lot of medicine that could make you vomit. You were knocked out for the procedure and were not allowed to drive afterward, hence needing someone to pick you up.
Even so, it seemed that for such an important procedure that everyone has to get eventually, it was still shrouded in mystery. But then, I guess, to be fair, it’s not something that comes up often in everyday conversation:
ME: “Hey, did you see the football game yesterday?”
NEIGHBOR: “No I haven’t, but let me tell you about my colonoscopy from a couple weeks back.”
ME: “...erhm, okay?”
So, as something of a public service, let me walk you through my experience. At least, the parts when I was conscious.
First of all, as previously mentioned, a week before your scheduled quality time with your gastroenterologist, you probably need to adjust your diet. Mainly, no nuts, multi-grain bread, or anything that has seeds in it. Those things can hang around in the colon for a while, just chillin’ and watching the body waste go by. For the same reason, as you get closer to the date, you have to cut out fiber.
This was the hard part for me, because I had restructured my diet a while ago to be heavy in fiber – lots of veggies, fruits, and whole wheat bread and pasta. Now, when it was time to deprive myself of them, I was at a loss, usually resulting in me circling the kitchen and forlornly eyeing the broccoli, apples, and whole wheat fettuccine just laying there… suggestively.
I sustained myself on white bread and eggs, until the day before the exam, at which point I had to further restrict myself to a liquids-only diet. And even then, clear liquids only. Nothing red or purple, or close to them, as those can leave coloration that will show up as blood during the exam and just lead to all sorts of sophomoric hi-jinks. So, again, my beloved Cranberry Canada Dry and fruit punch dry powder mix had to go.
Interestingly enough, you can have jell-o during this time, I suppose because jell-o has been anointed by God as the most holy of foods, able to be absorbed directly into our fatty tissues, or something. But still, no red or purple jell-o, so the berry blue flavor I had at home was, like a formula 1 racer at a soap box derby, disqualified from the event.
In short, I couldn’t or drink about 93% of what I had in the kitchen.
Next, you need to go through a medication prep to flush your digestive system of excess and debris. For me, this consisted of two bottles, one to be taken that evening and the other in the morning before the procedure. They came in a box along with a mixing cup for water and instructions to mix the medicine with water before drinking.
Naturally, my doctor instructed me to forego those directions. “Ignore what’s on the box and use the guide we provided,” I was told. Said guide basically said that watering it down is for wimps and losers, and that real awesome people drink that stuff straight from the bottle. That’s right, this liquid drug was going down unfiltered, baby! None of this, “on the rocks” garbage – here in New York we take our colonoscopy medicine straight up! Which, for a colonoscopy, makes perfect sense.
Okay, then!
When it was time to chug, I could tell from the smell that this was going to like when your college roommate dares you chug some 80 proof vodka because, well, neither of you are very smart. Also, I was aware that the last person I knew who did the medical prep wound up throwing up, so I took the approach of pouring it in under my tongue so as not to get too much of the “flavor.” Sure this made drinking it slower and more awkward to swallow, with a couple of moments where I almost choked, but hey, it worked. I finished the bottle and immediately started in on the approximately 147 liters of water I was required to chase it with.
You have to drink all of this water within an hour or so of the medication, which I assume is to hydrate your body for the fireworks to come. And ye gads, did they ever come. But just to be clear, these were not the brightly colored fireworks that fire up into the sky and bring joy to all who see them, but rather the earth tones that erupt downward from your posterior and bring worry and concern to all who see them. And for heaven's sake, I hope nobody is seeing this stuff but you.
The next morning, I had to do it again with the second bottle. This one was tougher to stomach, and I mean that literally. Even with the water afterward, I felt like I might join the crowd of “Those who have heaved,” but thanks to some deep breaths and repeating my mantra of “Don’t throw up don’t throw up don’t throw up” the moment passed.
Finally, my wife drove me over to the doctor’s office where the big show was to happen. I was a bit surprised at how straightforward everything was in terms of people and devices. When I think of medical procedures, I think of big ones like when I was in ER after getting hit by a car or the procedure for my heart, but this was much more low-key; I’d say the next step up from a dentist visit. I was in a hospital gown and on a gurney, but it was the only one around I saw. There were a few people around me, but not many, and the room looked more like a standard exam room than a surgical theater. Again, this is probably all due to my lack of knowledge of what goes on.
They attached the IV to me, plugged the oxygen strap in under my nose, and then administered the anesthesia via the IV. “Okay, you should feel the anesthesia start to take effect,” the anesthesiologist said as he pressed the plunger on the tube. “Have a good rest.”
Based on how he said it, I was expecting it to hit as he was talking, but I didn’t feel anything right away. I was about to speak up when I started to feel a tingling sensation, and next thing I knew I was being tapped on the shoulder by the nurse in the recovery room.
No pain, no discomfort afterward, and once I was awake, I wasn’t even groggy. A bit tired, still, but I’ve had rougher mornings than that. Like, every morning.
My wife picked up and brought me home, but not before I got an A+ on my report card of the procedure. Which, I was delighted to find, included several full-color photos of the inside of my colon! Wow! We have to pay extra to get copies of our daughter’s school pictures, but here the photos are just part of the service! Woot!
In all honesty, though, I have been through enough health issues over the past year that having photographic evidence of my excellent health, at least in this realm, was very gratifying.
In fact, I’m tempted to ask for digital copies of these so I can have them printed out to poster size, frame them, and hang them in our living room. Now that would be a conversation starter.
“Interesting abstract art you have up there, Matt,” you might say.
“Why thank you,” I would answer proudly. “It’s actually a portrait. A really, really, up-close portrait. Let me tell you all about it.”
To which you would no doubt reply, “...erhm, okay?”
I didn't have anaesthesia.