Colonoscopy: The worst part isn’t the camera
Jason Offutt
Lying in a hospital bed for a routine test, an IV with a needle the size of a broomstick in the back of my hand, I felt pretty good – and the anaesthesiologist hadn’t even administered the Awesome Fun Sleepy-Time drugs.
A nice man with his shirt tucked into his pants (a sure sign we had little in common) walked into my curtained-off room, smiled and made small talk. I like small talk with people I don’t know much better than big talk. Big talk leads to arguments at worst, me getting angry and sneaking out of a party with at least two snack trays at best.
“Do you mind if I pray with you?” the man asked.
Generally if someone asks this question they either got a cold chill when I walked by, or they know my family.
In this case the man was a pastor.
My good feeling started to vanish. A family history of colon problems means I’d undergone this routine test, a colonoscopy, numerous times. Each time I’d been nervous, but everything had turned out fine. Now that I felt fine, a pastor was there to pray for me. This seemed too much like Lifetime movie foreshadowing for my taste. Now I was nervous.
If you’ve never had a colonoscopy, this is when a doctor tells you to say “aaah” from the wrong end. It’s a lot like calling a plumber to snake out the pipes, except this time there’s a camera involved. OK, so that’s not exactly true; you’re dizzy so it’s like you’ve had a couple of drinks first.
The camera explores your large intestine (which may be the next step the paparazzi takes. “Look what Lindsay Lohan ate Tuesday – a cat”). The five-foot trek through the colon is much like a drive to Mount Rushmore, except the doctor’s trying to see if there are any extra presidents we should worry about. And by “presidents” I mean “cancer,” which is nearly the same thing.
The funny thing is, having a camera on a six-foot-long bendable arm stuck up your whazoo isn’t the worst part of the process. The worst part is the preparation.
The day before donning a hospital gown (designer’s slogan: “Just go naked with a clown nose. It’s less embarrassing”) the patient has to fast to clean out the system. “Fast” is, of course, the wrong word for something that passes by so slowly.
On the surface, fasting sounds easy. You did that in college, right? No. You passed out after a kegger and woke up two days later. That doesn’t count.
The day before the procedure, the patient can only consume clear foods and liquids, such as water, Jell-O, soda, tea and depending on your location, jellyfish. I think this is a torture method used at Guantanamo Bay. After living through the fast, I was almost happy to have the camera treatment.
Then, thankfully, a nice doctor with the Awesome Fun Sleepy-Time drugs came to visit and that’s how this ends. I woke up a half hour later with a smile and an “everything’s fine” from the doctor coupled with the impending doom of having to go through with it all over again in three years.
Hey, wait. Vodka’s a clear liquid. I’ve been doing this thing all wrong.
Find out about everything Jason at jasonoffutt.com.
