Colonoscopy 101

I put this ridiculousness off for a year.  Before I even turned 50 my OB/Gyn started in on me.  "You really need to get this done at 50 so we will have a good base line".   Base Line?  Who gives a flippin' rip about the base line?  I've read Dave Berry's Column.  I know what happens.

Get ready to spew pop out your nose funny

So being the johnny on the spot person that I am, (I am SO BUSY) I promptly forgot about it.  Until my next visit and she stared me right in the face and made me feel 2 years old.  "It's not hard to do, what is your problem?"   "Have you ever read Dave Berry's column?" I feebly ask her, losing my confidence in my decision the whole time the words were coming out of my mouth.   Felt guilty as I left her office, then promptly forgot again.

Go to a new doc (a general practice doc) and get my foster care workup exam.  "You haven't had your 50 year old colonoscopy exam yet?"   What the crap?  Is this a colonscopy conspiracy?  Again,  "Have you read Dave Berry's column"?   Then she got me... "Yes I have, and it's funny as can be, but you need to get your colonoscopy."   Oh, dang it.  And she was persistent.  Even made the appointment with the gastroenterologist while I was out of the country doing good in Haiti, when I couldn't cancel the appointment when I got back.  How sneaky was that?   Conspiracy.  I tell ya.

So the first slap was when I took my piece of paper with the prep kit prescription to Walmart to get it filled.  "Oh, we don't keep that on hand here."   What?  This is walmart.  You have everything here.  "No, not this brand."

That should have been my first clue.

I put it off 3 days going to get it.  But walmart has that nagging persistent text messaging option that sends you an "Hey, IDIOT, Your freaking prescription has been ready for 2 days and you need to drag your sorry procrastinating butt up here and get this stuff that we don't carry"  every 30 seconds or so.

I go into Walmart to pick it up, and it is $75.  It was like buying a tire for your car.  I said, "WHAT?"  I had a 20% off coupon (how nice of the gastro doctor to think of me in this way) and I have insurance!  The poor technician, (who looked to be about 12), called the president of the united states (felt like it took that long) and came back and said,  "Well, your insurance paid $8  (side note, Don't get me started on stupid insurance) and with 20% off, it takes it down to $60."    $60 for something I don't even want.  Neat.

I take it home and hide it behind my potato chips and try to ignore it for the 3 days prior to my "Clean Out".  I am not happy.  I had a clean out in my 30's, and I had to drink gallons and gallons of some lemony stuff, it wasn't horrible, it wasn't delightful, just too much for a body to hold. And it took hours and hours and hours. I would fall off the toilet seat onto the tile in my bathroom, and with my cheek on the tile, whimper for my mommy.  Then another wave of "poopage" would hit and I'd crawl back up on the toilet and ride it out.  So I have Vietnam flashback memories of what will happen.  And none of them are good.

At our yearly hen party at my friend and classmate Fonda's house the weekend before the dreaded clean out, we talked all things colonoscopy.  Everyone there had had theirs.  All but the big sissy na-na, me.  I got a ton of good advice.   The one thing I took away that I really did was not eat anything too harsh on Monday and Tuesday before my big clean on Wed.   "Trust us, you'll be happy you did that."  So I ate soup, and drank a ton of tea and water on Monday and Tuesday.  No big deal.

Then Tuesday night, Hallie and I met with our foster placement person, and had our final home study.  She knew what was happening.  She saw the bottles on the counter, and hurried to get out of the house as fast as humanly possible.   "Good luck with that", she threw over her shoulder at me, as she fled my home.

Hallie was amazing.  Everyone needs a Hallie when prepping for a colonoscopy.  She urged me to play cards with her, whilst I drink my brew.

I thought it was going to be all lemony and stuff.  People said "Put Crystal Light in it, it will taste like lemonade."

I poured the first bottle into the little tiny plastic cup that had a "Fill with water to this line" and filled with water.  Wow, that's not too much.   This is going to be EASY.   (famous last words).

One sip.  I dropped the cup on the counter and went into convulsions on the floor, it was so nasty.  Even typing this reliving it, I am shuddering.  That was Satan's noxious brew, abso-stinking-lutely.

I threw ice cubes in it, I grabbed a straw, I held my nose, I filled a "Chaser" glass full of non-sweet tea, because any more sugar anywhere in that combination of nastiness would have made me hurl it all on the floor.   It was obnoxiously vile.

I facebooked about it, and had people giving me wonderful advice.  They had no idea what was happening.

Hallie and I would play cards, so I could pretend it was just a really bad drink, and Hallie would chant, "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG" and beat her fists on the table so I would think it was funny.  And it was funny, so it helped.  Kind of.  Until I had to swig that vile swill.

I posted a picture of the box of the nasty brew of Satan, and my cousin Dora Sue FINALLY knew what was happening at my house.   "Oh, Laura, that is the worst prep in all of the world of history of mankind, ever ever ever".   Uhm, yes, yes it is.

The thing is.  You don't need much vile brew to get your stomach pissed off.  When you ingest something so heinous in your body, it will reject it quick as lightning.

Hallie fixed the bathroom up for me.  She had me set for the long haul.  She thought she had time.  I thought she had time.  She barely escaped before the carnage started.

The instructions clearly state that you are to stay close to the toilet facilities.

They aren't kidding.  At all.

It was almost one hour of drinking and gagging the dregs of Satan, and it took less than 15 minutes for my body to reject it.  15 minutes.

1 1/2 hours, and two episodes of Grey's Anatomy on Netflix later, I stumbled/crawled/skipped out of the bathroom.

It was only 8:30.

And Hallie was no where to be found.  She totally turned on all the Scentsy's in the house and "Peace Out"'d over to her grammie's house.  Poor kid.

And, joy of all joyousness, I had to get up at 6 am and drink a whole 'nother bottle.  Bubba called me while I was propped on the toidy, and told me to get that noxious brew cold for the second round.  "Put it in the fridge and get it cold as you can".

The second round wasn't as fun.  No facebook comments, no Hallie banging on the table, just me, the glass and the awaiting toilet.

I only managed to gag down half a glass.  I drank 2 gallons of water during that 6 oz of brew.  Anything to get that taste out of my mouth.  For.the.love.of.all.that.is.holy.

I kept thinking about the advice that Lisa Essary had given me on FB the night before.  "That kit is made for a 300 pound man.".  Yay, I'm only gagging down half then.   Took me one hour to get that done.  And 30 minutes to evacuate it.     I was also given the good advice of having wet wipes.  Though at the end of that onslaught, a water hose pointed at my behind would have worked even better.   Don't even TOUCH me.

Yep, the prep sucked.  Where was the crystal light goodness?  It was NOT happening at my house.  I looked up the main ingredient (Sodium sulfate and potassium sulfate and magnesium sulfate) and you know what I found??   Pictures of goat urine, and middle school kids armpit sweat, mixed together in a cup.

I have really funny friends.  Abby Webster posted this on my page during the course of my evening toilet stay.

But the very very funny one came the next day from my 16 year old cousin, Austin.  Every single time they come to our house, the conversation ALWAYS ends up on poop.  Always.
.

I'm pretty sure that was exactly how I looked.  Only watching Netflix while I transformed.

I was a big girl and didn't ask for a Valium before my IV, and mom and I chatted waiting on the doc to start the 17,000 mile journey up my exit door.

He met me in the room where the procedure was done, asked me about Dale Rogers Training Center, and before I could answer him, I was waking up with a nurse saying to me, "Hello, would you like something to drink?"  Now that's what I call service.

Come to find out, they had to use 20,000 feet of tubing because I have a 'Long' colon.   Couldn't have proved it by me, with the way that brew blew through my body.   But it's beautiful and non-polyp-y, and best news of all... I don't have to do it for 10 years.  I might actually have it paid off by then.

Awwwww, the joys of growing older.