Nobody likes going to the doctor. Most of the time, you’re suffering from some wicked virus. Sometimes you go because you did something a 60-year-old man shouldn’t do. And then there are those occasions you visit your doctor every 2 or 10 years for your annual check-up. Yeah, I don’t believe in getting an annual exam, not when I’m feeling spry and healthy. It’s not like I’m afraid of needles or anything, but I’m not real fond of hearing the doc say, “Let’s check that prostate, shall we?”
It seems like every doctor and nurse I’ve seen in the past 12 years asked me if I’ve had a colonoscopy yet. Heck, I think my optometrist even asked, making me wonder what he saw floating in my eyeballs.
I think the real reason I put off having an annual physical was my fear of hearing the doctor say the C word. Not, not the “Big C”, but the other one: Colonoscopy. It seems like every doctor and nurse I’ve seen in the past 12 years asked me if I’ve had a colonoscopy yet. Heck, I think my optometrist even asked, making me wonder what he saw floating in my eyeballs. So, I finally gave in and agreed to get scoped.
Now, some of y’all might’ve had a colonoscopy already, so y’all might want to quit reading now and turn the page to check on any garage sales this weekend. But for those of y’all who have been pondering over getting one done for the first time, allow me to pass (no pun intended) some relevant information to you about the entire process.
I had heard from several people who said the actual scoping procedure is no big deal, but the prep is the worst part. As I was making the appointment, my nurse explained the prep, also known as colon cleansing. She said, “I’m not going lie to you. The prep is not pleasant.” Not pleasant? Having your grandbaby load her diaper while riding in your backseat is not pleasant. Stepping on a grass bur as you walk outside to pee is unpleasant. I’ll tell you what, that bowel cleansing prep you have to do the day before the colonoscopy is as far from pleasant as El Paso is from Beaumont.
Step one is going one day with no solid food at all. I figured I could do that as long as I had plenty of clear liquids and a few bowls of Jello. That wasn’t any fun but it wasn’t all that bad either. So I’m thinking the stuff I’ve gotta to drink at 5 o’clock that evening probably isn’t as bad as everybody said. Boy, was I mistaken!
Around 5:15 after swigging that awful concoction, my stomach began to sound like someone cranking an old Evinrude. After 10 minutes of hearing all that rumbling, my gut got real quiet. You know how quiet it gets right before a tornado hits? It’s kind of like that. And then some part of your brain sends you a message that you might want to grab some reading material and head to the bathroom farthest from other family members.
So, at approximately 5:30 p.m., that unpleasant part of the prep that my sweet nurse warned me about began. I won’t go into a lot of detail, but somehow, my entire large intestine unleashed its fury that was reminiscent of Mount Vesuvius’ eruption in 79AD. Holy crap, Batman! I’m not talking your run-of-the-mill food poisoning kind of symptoms. This is more like a dropping a stick of dynamite into a port-a-potty after a chili cook-off.
The worst part is just when you think it’s over, a second wave hits, and then another. And for the next 3 or 4 hours, you and your roll of Charmin are on standby.
Definitely not pleasant.
As for the actual colonoscopy, it was a breeze. I had to wait a while because the doctor was running a little behind (pun intended). Once the anesthesiologist gives you some Michael Jackson juice, you fall asleep and wake up 30 minutes later with a smile on your face, knowing you can tell the next doctor or nurse you see, “Yes, I have had a colonoscopy. Thank you for asking.”
We’re not even asking what other tests Clint Younts is looking at.
