Two years ago I wrote about the colonoscopy that didn’t happen due to my uncooperative nature while in a semi-conscious state. Apparently I need to be knocked out cold before I will lie motionless and let a stranger shove a thingy up my rectum.
It took me two years to get around to scheduling it again. I took comfort in the fact that the doctor told me they traveled about “halfway up my colon and everything looked fine,” so I was in no hurry to repeat this invasive procedure. I was instructed to call back in “six months or so” and be sure to let them know I needed general sedation with an anesthesiologist.
That’s the part that makes me nervous. I have a fear I will never wake up. Or worse, I will wake up and not be able to move and no one will know I’m awake. It’s called Locked-in Syndrome. Don’t Google it. Or I will wake up and a nurse will tell me three months have passed. I know, it’s ridiculous, but I have a mind that veers to the dark.
None of that happened! It was a breeze. The day before was long and awful, but the procedure itself was fine, I guess. I don’t remember anything because I had a fabulous, cute, young doctor who administered the proper dosage of Propofol with a quiet, “Here we go.” I felt the burn in my veins and the next thing I remember was him waking me up.
In hindsight (haha), the timing of this thing turned out to be perfect. I scheduled way back in December on the first Monday in February not realizing I would be doing my prep on Superbowl Sunday. Not that I care much, but there’s usually a party and chicken wings somewhere. Not a good enough reason to reschedule, though. It was a kid weekend, but Mike offered to take the boys to his parents’ house so I could “prepare” in private. I appreciated that. I’m sure he did too.
A couple weeks before my appointment Mike found out he had to work an event in San Francisco on the Saturday of that weekend and that his company was going to book a room for him at the Four Seasons. What?! Score! A night in the city where I could eat anything I wanted the night before I was going to starve myself and poop all day! YAY! I opted for a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs from Tomasso’s. Soooo good. Then we walked around North Beach and found an Italian Bakery where I blissfully ate a cannoli.
After a perfect night in the city we ended our stay on Sunday morning with black coffee in the hotel bar sitting by the fire discussing the ingredients used to flush my colon. Then we gratefully went our separate ways. Mike headed back to the boys and his parents, and I headed home on the most glorious sunshiny first day of February.
I arrived home, closed all the blinds, put on my jammies, snuggled the cat, drank tea, ate popsicles, watched movies, and prepared myself.
My dear friend Elizabeth picked me up at 7:15 on Monday morning to take me to the hospital. While driving there, I mentioned that I was starving. I hadn’t eaten real food since Saturday night. She said, “We Jews do that.” I said, “Do what?” She said they fast from sundown to sundown on
I can’t remember which holiday. I told her that wasn’t the same because you can eat all day until sundown and then just go to bed. Then you can get up and eat that same day at sundown so you are asleep during most of your fast. I was without food for much longer than that, I told her. Also, I had to drink awful tasting metallic fruit liquid and (I will spare you) was up all night. We went back and forth. I almost smacked her, but instead I told her not to argue with a starving girl. Then we kissed goodbye in front of the hospital.
I got settled into my room and met my anesthesiologist and crew of nurses, who were all great. The little Filipino nurse whose first language was not English and was tasked to start my IV came at me with, “I’m going to hurt you now.” And she did. Twice. But I forgave her because she was very motherly and covered me with a warm blanket and put a thing that looked like a vacuum hose under my sheet. Very warm air came out of that hose. I want one for the house.
2015 so far.
Physical. Check. Cleared to train for a half Ironman triathlon.
Mammogram. Check. No evidence of anything suspicious. “See you in two years.”
Colonoscopy. Check. One tiny polyp removed. Biopsy Negative. “See you in five years.”