What to Expect When You're Expecting a Colonoscopy

I never expected to see the inside of my intestines.  Now, I have.

Hold your jealousy for just a moment. 

Ok. 

I had my first colonoscopy yesterday.  For the uninitiated, a colonoscopy involves emptying out your entire bowels, followed by a doctor shoving a camera up your back end to dig through your intestines for abnormalities.  It's really a wonder that medical science hasn't come up with a better method than this, but here we are.

People warned me about various things (the worst part is the preparation, stay near the bathroom the night before, you won't remember anything), but there's no way to describe this process until you actually do it. 

But I'm still going to try:

Monday night: enjoy my last real pre-operation meal and mentally prepare for what's to come.  Try to make the process easier by substituting popsicles for side dishes to my entree. 

Tuesday morning/afternoon:

Savor a single piece of bread for breakfast. It's the last solid food I'll get for two days.  Distract myself at lunchtime by walking to the building where Michelle Obama is speaking.  See the First Lady exiting the back of the building wearing a purple dress, walking by about 30 feet away, to no fanfare whatsoever.  She looks surprisingly delicate in person.   Weird. 

4:30 p.m. Tuesday:

Marvel at the size of the 4-liter container with mixable powder at the bottom that I have to ingest before the procedure, for the purpose of emptying out everything in my digestive system.  Mix with two pitchers of crystal light.  Remember that nurse warned me that drink taste would be a negative 2 on a 1-10 scale.  Pray. 

4:35: Stock all bathrooms with toilet paper.  Feed the cats.  Do the dishes.  Run out of things to use for procrastination.  Wonder how on earth I will be able to drink 4 liters of this stuff.  Pray.  If the world is really going to end in 2012, this would be a pretty good time.

4:40: Glass 1 of 9 commences.  This stuff isn't all that bad...

4:52: Glass 2.  Oh wait, this stuff is actually pretty terrible.  My first glass must have been mostly crystal light.

5:05:  Glass 3.  If I had to describe the taste of this stuff, I'd say, "drinking chalk." And somehow each glass of this is worse than the last.

5:15: Starting Glass 4, and nothing has really happened yet.  I wonder if I didn't mix this right? 

5:35: Glass 5.  Still no fireworks.  Chug down my final glass of Day 1 and prepare for the worst.  Wonder why nothing is happening

6:05: Ok, this is weird.  Is there nothing in me to empty?

6:15: Here it comes...Bathroom.

6:25: Run to the bathroom.

6:36: SPRINT TO THE BATHROOM!

6:42: Still in the bathroom. Begin to curse those who withheld critical details about this experience.  No one told me you only get 30 seconds of warning before this stuff makes your stomach explode. Or that the sprints to the bathroom wouldn't be the only kind of "runs" I'd be having all night.  Or that bathroom trips will be spaced out just far enough to prevent you from just staying in there.

7:12-25: Abruptly end two separate phone calls when nature makes calls of its own.  Wonder how anything can still be left inside.  Pray for death. 

7:30-9:00: Alternate prayer and bathroom trips, often multi-tasking the two.  Things eventually settle down.

9:00-6:00: Sleep in one-hour increments on the couch by the bathroom. 

Wednesday:

6:00 a.m: Glass 6.  This stuff tasted better yesterday.  Most be losing its freshness.  They should really put some preservatives in here.

6:15: Glass 7.  Consider whether its safe to take a shower before Medicine of Doom set in.  Take fastest shower in history.

6:25:  Let's just say I finished my shower just in time. 

6:33: Glass 8.  One glass left.  There's a light at the end of the tunnel, but no matter how much I force down, the glass is still half-full.  I swear this stuff is multiplying like the fish and the loaves.  And it isn't tasting any better.

6:45: Glass 9.  Chug the whole final glass so I can be done.  Run immediately to bathroom.

6:46-9:00:   Bathroom. Prayer.  Rinse and repeat. Literally.

9:00-12:00:   Alternate between bathroom trips, short attempts at naps, and worrying whether it will be safe for me to drive to my appointment at 12:45. Briefly flip by the Food Network, but can't stand to watch. 

12:40: Bathroom.  Really hope it's the last time, but pack change of underwear just in case.

1245-2:30: Leave for hospital, arrive and get prepped for operation. 

2:45: Still waiting in pre-op area for scheduled 2:30 procedure.  Worst part is that woman next to me won't stop talking to me, asking personal questions and giving me way too much detail about her various ailments. 

2:52: Now she's recounting the last 10 years of her medical history. 

3:00: She's now talking about solar flares and what the astrologers say they mean.  God help me.

3:10: At least the nurse is talking to her now.  I get a moment of peace.

3:15: She's telling the fourth different nurse about the proper method to stick her with a needle. Why doesn't my little bed come with a mute button?

3:18: Finally.  I get to have a colonoscopy to escape the torture of listening by this woman.

5:00: Wake up.  Ask questions that I won't remember shortly thereafter.  Reportedly commit myself to getting a tattoo of a dragon on my face and eating 3 entire pizzas, but have no personal memory of these statements. 



8:30: Wake up and ask the same questions once again.  Turns out I had two small polyps that had to be removed, but no other apparent damage.  Have the best toast ever made, and take some calls.  It's finally over.    

10:30: Sleep is calling.  Wonder whether the worst part of the experience was the lack of food, drinking 4 liters of the Laxative of Doom, the bathroom trips, or the operation itself. 

10:42: Decide the answer is "waiting in the pre-op area next to that annoying woman."  Fall asleep.