It is, shall we also say, a procedure best done while sedated so that one does not have to fully appreciate the glory of having ones innards viewed through a scope that is inserted well, guess where if you don't already know!
I have had the adventure, twice. On both occasions, although it is encouraged primarily as a preventative diagnostic, I had a little symptomology which egged me on. I was supposed to have the second within a year of the first because a little pre-cancerous polyp was found. Naturally, I didn't until fear gave me the nudge. And today was the day.
As an aside, or call it a free piece of advice, don't read the internet about the preparation if you don't want to become avoidant. Way too many tell you about their really bad experiences in nausea. You'll find out soon enough if you can tolerate the cleansing, purgation, evacuation that precedes the procedure. And on that topic, do not skimp on following the instructions on how to cleanse for if you fail to do so, you could wake up from sedation to find out that your doctor couldn't do the rotor rooter because things weren't pristine enough to start with--if you get my drift. I asked. And I was given the scoop, if you get my drift.
But enough of these pseudo-medical digressions. I lived to tell the tale, I am most pleased to say and this time without the attendant polyp, and so I am free for another three to five years!
If all done with a certain "devil may care" or more appropriately a kind of let go and let God attitude, it isn't all that unpleasant an experience withal, except for a bit of inconvenience (staying close to the water closet) and a less than tasty concoction (in my case) the scent of which has more in common with wallpaper paste and a potentially gag reflexive viscosity. Diet changes are required a day or two before and then two liters in two installments early evening and way too early morning of the day consumed every fifteen minutes within an hour. My brand by prescription is something called Moviprep.
Thus, there is little sleeping during the preparation. This allowed me the opportunity to see "McCloud" and a particularly interesting episode of "The Alfred Hitchcock Hour" between 2 and 4 a.m. on METv.
Len Speaks picked me up at 7:30 a.m. I could not help but remember how, only a few months ago, I was the happy driver (you are not allowed to drive yourself, nor to take a cab) waving goodbye to him as he was whisked into the surgical suite. All I wanted was a sip of water, which after 4 a.m. was forbidden to me. Len could keep track of me, much, as he said, like an airplane arriving at the airport, on a screen in the waiting room. I had a flight number of sorts.
I want to say that from the moment I was suited with my open backed gown (an inherently humbling experience) and ensconced in my wheeled hospital bed, covered with a warmed blanket or two, I was treated with respect and even pleasantry by every nurse, and technician, and anesthesiologist who took my blood pressure, or pricked me with a needle. And the Doctor came to say his hellos, fresh from his first or second prior procedure, in his crisp blue shirt with rolled up sleeves, ready to re-gown, and rout through 32 feet of colon. My colon.
It is a little disconcerting that at least four people have the duty to be part of the procedure. I did say to one of them, yes, I did, that I could say some variation of the saying, "You're up to your asses in alligators." They probably heard that sort of thing before. Groans.
Once I was wheeled into the procedure room, through kind of curved runway, happily without the literally take-off, I was given an oxygen mask (this was a first; I don't recall that the last time) and attached to monitors for the heart. And something was injected into my IV. And then. . . .oblivion in seconds. Say about 45 minutes later or less I was waking up in the same room to hear only good news and wheeled back to a cubicle to recover from the sedation. This was my third time sedated where I was "out". The first one, in 2007, the removal of an infected salivary gland, left me crying upon waking. The latter two, however--I felt refreshed, as if I had a good 8 hours of sleep.
And even better, I was clear-headed. I remembered the conversations before the procedure and I was alert enough to help my recovery nurse consider her options in dealing with an errant pool man (I mentioned I was a lawyer).
The doctor came by again to check in. Except for the invasion of my colon, it was all positively social! And I had photos for souvenirs of the twisting cavern that is our internal digestive system. You will be happy that I am sparing you those in these pages. I was tempted otherwise. Clean as a whistle!
And finally, I could have some water. And as one of the nurses accompanied me and Len Speaks out of the building, I could look forward to a nice Starbuck's coffee and a brief sojourn in the sun to drink it with Len.
For the rest of this day, I shall rest, as prescribed. I shall sit on my terrace in the after rain sun, with my cats in attendance. And sing my own happy song about my adventure in colonoscopy.
