Yesterday was an interesting day. I had my very first colonoscopy! As an added bonus, the doctor ordered an endoscopy as well.
Lucky me!
Let me clarify just a bit. I am not officially old enough to have a routine colonoscopy. A person isn't usually afforded such an honor until the age of fifty and as you know by now, I am NOT fifty!
No, as is usually the case, I am the exception to the rule. At my last checkup the doctor suddenly became concerned over the fact that I am anemic. I don't know exactly why he was so concerned at that point, seeing as how I've been anemic most of my life and for the most part have managed quite well. Neither do I have any symptoms to suggest the anemia is caused by anything related to the regions of my anatomy associated with those particular tests.
So, I argued a bit as Dr. D smiled and wrote out the orders to have tubes with tiny cameras inserted not only down my throat but up ... well ... you know what I'm talking about. Frankly, he seemed to be enjoying his little power trip a little too much to suit my tastes.
Everyone I've ever talked to who has had this procedure done, has told me the same thing. "The preparation the day before is the worst part of it."
Everyone I've ever talked to who hasn't had the procedure yet has also had a distinct reaction. Without exception, they've gotten looks of terror on their faces as they tried not to lose consciousness at the very thought of it.
While I definitely wouldn't describe any of part of the experience as a picnic in the park, I am happy to say I've now joined the former group in opinion . The procedure itself was a piece of cake compared to the prep work I had to endure the day before.
Thank goodness I read the instructions right after I woke up Monday morning. To my absolute horror, I discovered I was allowed only a "light" breakfast that day, and nothing but clear liquids from then until after the tests were completed on Tuesday. Adding insult to injury was the fact that I had to mix a laxative concoction and drink it at four in the afternoon, then chase it with yet more clear liquid.
By mid afternoon I was sick to death of "clear liquids". The laxative concoction itself was enough to make me want to throw up. I thought to myself that surely there must be a better way.
Figuring it couldn't hurt, I called the doctor's office and asked. Much to my dismay, I was informed that there was indeed no other way to do it. I had to accept my fate and drink the stuff as prescribed.
By six o'clock Monday evening, my belly was screaming in anguish. My husband could hear the rumblings all the way from the other side of the room. "What is that noise?" he asked, then laughed when I told him it was only my innards protesting the invasion of the nasty liquids I had swallowed. I prayed I would be able to sleep through the commotion that night and thanked God my tests were scheduled for the morning hours!
Tuesday morning finally arrived. At 6:45 I had to drink yet another laxative concoction, then drive an hour to the doctor's office. By that time I was actually looking forward to the tests!
Reminding myself that the "worst" was over, I concentrated on making it to my destination without any pit-stops or accidents along the way.
A distinct sigh of relief erupted from my lungs as we pulled into the parking lot. I sprang from the car and bolted for the nearest bathroom while my husband parked the car. The waiting room was filled with people old enough to be my parents (if not my grandparents) That was a small consolation. I felt like a toddler in a room full of college students.
The receptionist took my information and sent me to the billing office to write out a check for $450.00. I had to wonder why they needed my co-pay up front like that. Was there indeed a chance I wouldn't pull through? I immediately dismissed such a possibility.
After that I was told to go to the lab for a blood count. My results revealed that I was not anemic at that particular time. What a cruel joke! The nurse informed me that my iron levels were probably better than anyone else's in the office. Ha! I contemplated demanding that she call Dr. D to confirm my need for the colonoscopy/endoscopy but decided against it. I'd been through the prep work, by golly, I WAS having the tests done before I left that place!
After about 45 additional minutes of various embarrassing medical prodding and poking I was finally wheeled to the holding room. Being next in line for the procedure, I was asked if I'd like some music to listen to. I accepted, and asked if they had any Rod Stewart.
"No" Instead, I was handed an antiquated CD player and a headset. The CD was some kind of Indian flute music designed to make me relax.
It didn't work.
I sat up and wrapped my arms around my knees, listening to the conversations coming from the other side of my curtain. Every patient coming out of the procedure room was asking the same question. "Is it over with already?"
I vowed not to ask such a silly thing. Of course it was over! They'd been asleep and now they were awake, right? How odd that they'd have to ask!
At around 11:30 (my appointment was scheduled for 9:45) I looked at the clock for the last time and wondered what my husband was doing out in the waiting room. The last thing I'd said to him was "Order a pizza for me while you're waiting, ok?"
I wondered if maybe I should have told him I loved him instead.
Once it was my turn, things moved extremely fast. Two nurses pulled my gurney into the procedure room. One of them rolled me over on my side and put a clean cloth under my head. The doctor's smiling face appeared beside my bed. He introduced himself and explained what was about to happen. Then, he asked if I had any questions.
Yes, I had questions! Questions like "What in the world possesses a person to go into a field where they spend the day running tiny little cameras into people's body cavities?" But before I could ask, he put a blue mouthpiece between my lips which I assumed was designed to hold my mouth open for tube he was about to run down my throat.
Apparently he wasn't really interested in any questions I had at all. The blue mouthpiece made it impossible for me to form any sounds aside from a few grunts.
That is the last thing I remember. In what seemed like no time at all, a different nurse was telling me to sit up and dangle my legs over the side of the bed. Before I could stop them, the words "Is it over already?" came from my mouth. Arrgghhhh! I was no better than the rest of the patients who'd gone before me.
For probably the twelfth time that day, the nurse said, "Yes, it sure is!"
Then she added, "That was a great sleep, wasn't it!?"
Still feeling pretty dazed, I asked her if the Dr. had talked to me before he did the procedure.
The pretty nurse's face finally came into focus and I could see that she was laughing.
"Yes, he did!" She promised.
As the fog subsided, I remembered seeing the doc and talking to him briefly. Good! Maybe I'd gotten my money's worth after all.
I noticed it was only 12:30. It had been less than an hour since I'd last looked at the clock!
The pretty, smiling nurse assisted me as I walked to the bathroom and changed back into my clothes. Then, she put me in a wheelchair and pushed me into a room where my husband sat waiting.
I asked him where my pizza was and he laughed. The nurse sat down and asked if I seriously wanted pizza. I assured her I was only joking ... which I definitely was. Oddly enough I really wasn't feeling all that hungry by then.
"Good, because you really need to keep your meals light for the rest of the day." She informed me.
The doctor came in to give me my results but first told me that I was a "very good sleeper". Apparently I'd dropped off in the middle of his "pep-talk" before the procedure. He seemed to have found some entertainment value in that fact. I told him I was glad to oblige.
My tests turned out normal for the most part. I do have something called "Barrett's Esophagus" and that's not necessarily a good thing. It will call for more frequent endoscopy's as the years go by. At least endoscopy's don't require the nasty laxative concoction to be taken beforehand.
His final instructions for my General Practitioner were to "investigate other causes for anemia".
At least I can tell Dr. D "I told you so!"
Before I left the office I was given some lovely parting gifts which included the canvas bag I'd used to hold my personal belongings while I was having my tests and four pictures from various areas of my esophagus, large and small intestines.
All that for $450.00 plus whatever my insurance pays. I couldn't help but think I could have had a pretty decent Caribbean cruise, or at least a real "designer" bag for that amount of money.
Oh well! The good news is that for now the dreaded colonoscopy is a thing of the past. I won't need another one for five years or so. It would have been longer than that, but I had to open my mouth and mention that one of my thirty or so first cousins died from colon cancer. That will teach me.
In the meantime I will be hoping and praying they come up with a better way to prep for the test. Maybe by the time I go back in, someone will have found a way to skip that awful part of it and get right to the "great sleep" aspect. There are nights that I would gladly pay a few hundred bucks for that!
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