You Want me to do What?!?

Not so long ago I was experiencing some “plumbing problems” and decided that it would be a good idea to visit a gastroenterologist for some advice. After a ten to fifteen minute conversation, the doctor said I needed a colonoscopy. I asked if she was sure that such an invasive procedure was necessary, seeing as how no one had even examined the problem in question. She was adamant. Once I agreed, and not having the full understanding of what fate was awaiting me, she began to go over the required “cover your ass (as it were)” stuff.

I was told that I could not eat anything for the entire 24 hours before the procedure. The only things I was allowed to consume where clear liquids and popsicles. When I jokingly (sort of) inquired about clear alcoholic liquids, I was told that they were definitely on the “not to have” list. She then informed me about what else would be required the day before the procedure.

I shall forever refer to this day as “The Day of Poo”. When she mentioned that it was extremely important that I ingest liquids before I take the first round of preparatory medicine, I asked why. I was told that, should I choose to take the pills on an empty stomach, I should not be too close to the bathtub during my preparation, as I might lose consciousness and strike my head upon the tub. I became alarmed, and it was at that point that I started to gain a small grasp of what awaited me.

“Are you saying that I might poop so much, that I could pass out?”

“It’s extremely rare, but yes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m really not.”

“Dear God… um, okay.”

She then gave me a prescription for some pills and a half gallon jug of, how shall I say, “giddy-up juice.”

I was fairly nervous about the task before me, so I talked to several people. What I found out was that it wasn’t that uncommon for someone my age to undergo this process, but it was unusual that I had been prescribed both the pills and the liquid (most people only have to consume one or the other (usually the liquid)).

Finally the day of reckoning had come. At twelve noon, I ingested the four pills. I was told not to stray far from a bathroom, as within 30 minutes after consumption of the medication, I would be in dire need of such a facility. I spent the next several hours in my apartment, awaiting my next gastrointestinal call to duty. At one point, I supposed that the odor was somewhat reminiscent of a fertilizer truck running over a skunk in front of a pulpwood mill in the forests of my home state of Washington.

At six in the evening, I began drinking the clear, although somewhat viscous, fluid that would aid me in my journey toward intestinal purification. This process took many hours, as the fluid was not of the finest vintage, and here I am being kind – it tasted like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon. The instructions for my prescribed liquid had clearly stated that after you drink it, “A loose watery bowel movement may result.” This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground. At the end of the day, I was completely dehydrated and desperately ready for sleep. I was also perfectly capable of, how shall I say, going to the bathroom through a screen door.

The next morning came, and a friend came to pick me up. I was told to have someone drive me to and from the appointment, as I wouldn’t be able to operate heavy machinery after the procedure (due to the drugs they would inject into me). I checked in, changed into the ever-embarrassing hospital gown, got plugged into an IV, and awaited my fate. When the nurse came to fetch me, I was really not looking forward to what was in store for me, but at that point I was committed and sort of determined.

I was guided to a small room and told to lie down on the table. I specifically asked the nurse to make sure that I didn’t get the full dose of drugs, as I didn’t want to be out of it for the entire day. She said she would see what she could do. Once the anesthesiologist had performed her duties, the GI doc started the show. I was unaware of the start of the procedure (a little bit disturbing to say the least), but I could feel the scope make several turns inside my intestinal tract. I was also able to watch the entire procedure on a monitor. At one point, I asked the doctor where the camera was, and he pushed on my stomach, which in turn made the image on the screen shake. Pretty cool, in a horribly violating sort of way. Basically, I was my own Discovery Channel special.

It was at this point that my memory becomes slightly foggy, as to the salient details. I think I remember being taken back to my cubicle, and being placed back in the recliner. I definitely remember the woman being wheeled into the cubicle next to me. I’m not entirely sure what sort of procedure she had done, but her backside was extremely chatty, if you get my meaning. She was expelling so much air, and on such a frequent basis, that I was reduced to a giggling pile of goo. I was actually waiting for the curtain to move, as it was being exposed to hurricane level forces. Eventually my nurse stopped by, saw what appeared to her to be a patient shaking and crying, and she became briefly alarmed. I reached out my hand to her, grasped her arm, and said, “Please, for the love of God, move me!” As if on cue, the woman in the cubicle next to me released such a blast, that I thought I might explode from trying to contain the laughter. The nurse encouraged me to try and calm myself.

Finally it was time for me to be discharged. My nurse brought my friend Kristin to my chair side. I was already mentally unstable (more so than usual) due to a toxic/comedic combination of the anesthesia that was working it’s way through my blood stream and the flatulence of my neighbor. Kristin noticed that I was red faced (from laughter), and asked what was up. Shortly after I started to explain, the chatty Cathy next door decided to “speak up” again, as it were. Even though she was drifting in and out of consciousness, her anal diatribe was equivalent to the Gettysburg Address. Both Kristin and I were reduced to grade school like behavior. After returning to check on me, my nurse said that we were both being immature, although she was smiling when she said it.

In the end, I was discharged with no irregularities. Shortly thereafter, Kristin and I met up with her husband Phil for lunch, at a local and somewhat high-end eatery. It was so wonderful to ingest actual solid food, after the doctor ordered a 24 hour fast, I can’t even begin to tell you.

Anyway, I spent the rest of the day at home, enjoying the contents of my kitchen, thanking God that I wouldn’t have to go through anything like that for the next several years, and truly reflecting on how I would change my diet, to keep such a procedure at bay, for as long as I could.