TMI Alert! In case the title wasn’t obvious enough, this post is about my colonoscopy experience. Adult potty talk to follow. Continue at your own risk.
Remember when your kids were young and it became commonplace — even expected — for most of your conversations to involve poop talk? Everything from diaper blowouts to potty training mishaps was fair game (to the dismay of any childless friends/visitors). Of course, as our kids got older, we refrained from talking about their bathroom habits, especially during puberty. And we certainly didn’t talk about our own bowel movements … until we reached middle-aged. Life certainly does come full-circle when your doctor tells you it’s time to schedule a colonoscopy for screening purposes, “now that you’re older.” Rude!
Unlike most “young people,” I had my first colonoscopy and endoscopy when I was 26 or 27, after I picked up a parasite while working in South America. The scope couldn’t “complete the turn” I was told, so I then needed to have a second procedure that involved a radioactive dye, a tilt table, and an x-ray machine. As horrible as that may sound to you, the prep for both procedures was the worst part. Back then, in the late 1990s, after a 24-hour fast, you were expected to jug a gallon of what I can only describe as swamp juice to “flush out” whatever food remained in your system. I think it was actually called GoLytely, which is ironic, given that there’s nothing “light” about what happens after you drink it. I’ll just say, it wasn’t pretty. Because I lived in a small, converted studio apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with only one bathroom, I strongly suggested to my roommate at the time that she spend the night at her boyfriend’s. I won’t go into the details, but fifteen minutes into my consumption of the vile fluid, she agreed — without hesitation.
I don’t remember much about the colonoscopy itself, as I was thankfully fully sedated, but I do recall waking up hazy, bloated, and very gassy. “Better out than in!” was the nurse’s refrain when she told me it was normal and to “relax and let it go.” [Hey, I warned you about TMI at the beginning and you still chose to keep reading this far, so don’t get all judge-y now. You had your chance to scroll on by.] But the worst part about the post-procedure experience: Hearing the “F” word over and over and over again (the one that rhymes with “cart,” in case you need it spelled out). I can’t even type it, let alone say it, so hearing it on repeat for more than 30 minutes made die a little on the inside (and cringe on the outside). Overall, I give this experience zero stars. The only bright spot was that I lost a few pounds … Oh, and my intestines were clean. No polyps or cancer. Just IBS and a parasite that had already worked its way out of my body. Insert vomit noise here!
Fast forward 23 years to yesterday: I had my second colonoscopy and endoscopy. This time, things were better. Sort of. I now live in a much bigger home without a roommate (well, at least not one who isn’t related to me by blood or marriage) and have my own bathroom (thank goodness for the master en suite!) with a bidet (my tush is very thankful for this investment, the silver lining to the great toilet paper shortage of 2020). And while GoLytely is no longer the prep liquid of choice, Gatorade mixed with Miralax is still disgusting, in my opinion, so this was only a mild improvement. Overall, the prep was still nasty, but definitely less so than the first time around. Afterwards, no one used the “F” word, not even once, but I was still hazy, bloated, and gassy, which I know is normal. Overall, I’ll upgrade my zero-star experience to one-star because it’s still not enjoyable, even with a bidet and polite nurses.
The good news (again) is, no cancer. But there were some things found in the endoscopy that needed biopsy-ing, so now I wait. That may be the shittiest part yet.
Stay healthy, friends, and get your screenings!
-LJDT
