Howdy, ya’ll! We made it to another Friday, which means it’s my turn! Today, I’m talking seriousness…well, as serious as my silly self can get. Many of you may remember my recent bout with diverticulitis. A lifetime of unhealthy eating landed me getting that most unsavory of procedures, a colonoscopy, at the ripe age of 35. Good news is I’m hopefully in the clear. Bad news, I have to drink yucky Metamucil. (And I thought Fiber One cereal was bad enough. Shudder.)
So how did the cavity search go? Amazingly well. It all started Sunday afternoon, with me drinking what seemed like twenty gallons of liquid, which I can only compare to salt water. As I’m not fond of salt, it was quite nasty. I did as the doc asked, starved myself practically all day, drank the nasty stuff, and waited for the explosion. And waited…and waited…and waited some more. I won’t go into all the details, but needless to say I had a very mild afternoon. Not nearly what I imagined would happen. Thank goodness!
Monday morning, the hubby and I loaded into the car and drove 1 hour to the surgery center. At the suggestion of our own Becca Jameson, I decided to undergo the procedure sans sedation. The registration clerk looked at me like I’d grown two heads when I proudly stated I wanted no sedation. She threatened me with a greater risk of bleeding. I called shenanigans, smiled, nodded, and refused to sign the sedation paperwork.
Next up came the “holding” room. I got an IV in my wrist. I’m a very hard stick, so I’m glad it only took one attempt even though the wrist has got to be the absolute worst place ever for an IV. And this is coming from a gal who got put to sleep with a needle in her freaking thumb! I sat there, shivered, waited, shivered some more. The anesthesia doc came by to try to talk me into his services. I politely declined. He questioned my reasoning to refusing. My “I’ve got to go back to work after this” didn’t seem to do the trick. Finally I told him the real truth, “Dude, I just wanna see what my guts look like.” I was finally given the okay to proceed without the drugs. Meanwhile, my temp is hovering around the 94 degree mark as I rock my buttless gown.
Here comes the fun part. I go into the surgical room, totally not expecting that I’m fixing to be hooked to oxygen and heart machines. About freaked out for a second. The oxygen cannula thingies always make me feel claustrophobic and I was told to focus on my breathing, just like I was having a baby. Let me tell ya…if we were talking childbirth, this chick would’ve been screaming for whatever painkiller they had! I’m brave, but not stupid.
I’m told to lay on my side and then I’m draped with a few towels. The nurse tells me “Don’t worry. You’ll be covered.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the doc seeing my bare ass is the least of my worries. Once you’ve had three babies naturally, your sense of modesty goes right out the window. The first step is being pumped full of gas. I must admit, this was my favorite part. I became a human air balloon. You can literally feel your guts expanding. It tickles a little.
Next step, is the camera. As my glasses had been taken, I had to squint really hard to see the screen, but I caught a few glimpses of my guts. A polyp was found and just as I’m getting ready to panic, the doc tells me it looks fine. There’s some more plundering around my insides, nothing more than a flutter here and there, and a second polyp is found. Once again, it was proclaimed to look normal. Less than 10 minutes, and I’m being wheeled to recovery. Immediately my husband is suspicious of my good humor. My response of “that was pretty dang cool” obviously isn’t the norm.
So what have I learned from all this? Umm…I suppose I should say I’ll eat more fiber and get healthier. But in reality, what I learned was the colon is a pretty dang interesting organ. In five years, when I go for my follow-up, I’m totally doing it all over again.