Let's Talk About Poop, Baby, Let's Talk About You and Me

 Well, Valentine's Day is upon us, and what better way to celebrate it, then talking about poop? That's right. I had my first colonoscopy last Thursday. I know, I know. I should have had one years ago, but I was doing these guaiac cards once a year instead. If something tested wrong with the poop smudged cards I sent in THEN they would make me do a colonoscopy.

They never came back bad, but about a year ago, I ran into one of my daughter's grade school friend's dad at the store. Got that? Sadly, he was dying of prostate cancer, and we were talking about preventative tests, and I happened to mention about my doing the guaiac cards instead of the colonoscopy. (because these are the type of things that totally NORMAL people talk about when they're casually shopping and run into a friend, right?) He gave me a little lecture about how important it is to do the REAL test, and he was right. 

Sooooo, at 56 I had my first colonoscopy. Like everyone told me, the prep was the worst part. A week before the procedure, you're supposed to only eat meat and white bread and pasta, and cheese, and very little of what I normally eat like veggies and whole grains and beans. I'm not sure why they want to stop people up for a week before they let everything explode out of them. Maybe it's for dramatic effect? Also, I was allowed to have ice cream, and I figured since everything was going to go right through me the next day, I made sure to get some Ben and Jerry's the night before I had to fast. It was absolutely guilt free.

The day before the procedure I had to fast and they had me start taking a laxative at noon. Then at four I had to take more laxatives, and then at six they wanted me to start drinking EIGHT WHOLE GLASSES of the Golytely shit. It wouldn't be horrible if you had to drink a glass or two, but eight? JAYSUS! It had this weird, vague, salty/fishy taste to it. After the first three glasses, I decided to add a little dash of Squirt soda to it. I didn't want to have to drink more than the eight glasses, so I didn't add a ton, just enough to take the fishy edge off of it, and keep me from puking it all up.

Needless to say, the Golytely and laxatives did their jobs, and I might have to rewatch "Nightmare Alley", because I had to keep pausing it and running to the bathroom, and then "Where were we?" and then like that there for about two hours. Poor John.

At nine, and then at ten, they told me to take a couple of Gas-X tablets before bed. The next morning, I had to do the Golytely bit again, and all this time not eating for two days. I did spend a considerable amount to time fantasizing about what I would eat the minute after the procedure was over.

The nurses and doctor were all very nice. I warned the nurse that I have bad rolling veins, and that she needed to really hold them down, but she spent a lot of time digging around in my arm anyway and said, "Yer not kidding!" I used to do phlebotomy, so I get it, and if that's the worst thing that happens to you during a procedure (which it was) than you're pretty damn lucky. (which I was)

John came with and went next door to 30HOP for lunch and a beer while I was busy having someone stick a camera up my butt. He made it back to the recovery room, just as they were wheeling me in. Perfect timing! The doctor came in and said everything was fine and there were no polyps or other problems and I wouldn't have to have another one for ten years. Thank Jeebus!

I felt a little dizzy afterward, but not much worse than normal. We decided to go to Los Agaves for a late lunch for me, and since my stomach was very small, I wasn't able to eat very much, but it still tasted pretty damn lovely.

So, if that all wasn't the most romantic prelude to Valentine's Day, I don't know what would be. It had all the sexiness of backless hospital gowns, uncontrollable pooping, and reminders of impending old age. I'm not sure what John and I can do to top that next year. Maybe I'll let him sit in on my next mammogram?