The date had been lurking on my calendar for three months, July 23rd. Memory flashes of a Robin Williams bit flickering in my head whenever I thought about it. [check it out here , caution adult language]. Dates like this sneak up on you, they seem so far away and then the dreaded day is tomorrow. Colonoscopy Tuesday, oh boy. When my doctor said I was at the age when he thought I should have one I was less than enthusiastic.
The process started three days before with a restricted diet which of course makes the best things for you a no no. No fresh fruits or veggies, the staples of my weight loss. And on top of that all the kids were over for a barbeque Sunday. Sal made me a couple of salads without the illegal ingredients so it wan't a huge issue.
Then the day before it comes down to gatorade, jello and clear broth. I have to say I enjoyed the beef and chicken broth, but the taste of orange jello will never again pass over my tongue.
Along with a minimalist diet comes a few packages of stomach roto-rooter which didn't taste as horrible as I was told. For the longest time nothing happened and I was re-reading all of the instructions thinking I had missed a step. Hours later, in the wee hours of the night I was wearing a path between the couch and the bathroom, I'll leave further details to your imagination.
We reported to the day surgery department promptly at 9:30 only to sit for an hour and a quarter before being called in to get started. It all got real in a hurry when the nurse started explaining about polyps, clipping, biopsies and other less pleasant things. I hadn't thought much about results, dreading the process seemed enough. When I heard I would probably fall asleep and the worst part was the previous night I wasn't convinced.
Sal left after being told it would be a few hours. As other patients returned there was the continuous expulsion of gas and nurses telling the groggy source that it was good to get that out. I really didn't want to be lying there in the middle of who knows how many people sounding like a three cylinder motorboat with two spark plugs. After re-reading an old issue of Macleans I was finally on the way. I remember answering a few questions and asking one, then waking up back in my parking spot feeling ready to go. I had a few cookies and a drink. Sal showed up a few minutes later and I dressed.
The doctor is supposed to come by and go over things. I had a vague memory of a nurse telling me all was good, no polyps and then zzzzzzz. I was still in dreamland when that happened. After sitting for an hour plus I went to the nurse's station. I had been up and around for nearly two hours. I was told there were four more procedures to go and then ignored. I just stood there until another nurse came along. She offered me the chart and showed me everything was clear. She wouldn't say go but said I had nothing to worry about and I have a follow up with my own gp anyway. Off we went. All in all nothing like I had feared but I'm glad it's off my calendar.
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