Hitting Bottom

I put it off for nearly a year and a half, but in the end, I had to go through with it.  I’m talking about my colonoscopy.  I’m so glad it’s behind me now.  Before the procedure I didn’t think I would write about it, but afterward in those first, precious moments as the anesthesia wore off I realized: how could I not tell the tail?  I think in hindsight, I’ll be glad I did.

My family doctor mentioned it at my physical shortly before my fiftieth birthday a year and a half ago.  He said 50 is when you have your first colonoscopy.  I wasn’t thrilled.  The idea of sneaking a camera in through the back door wasn’t appealing.  Maybe it was a deep-seated fear.  I didn’t want to be the butt of jokes even though I knew colonoscopies are routine and fairly safe.  During my next physical soon after 51, the doc asked about it again.  “Don’t be a bum,” he said,  “Get it done.”  I didn’t want to be asinine.  The point of the procedure is cancer prevention.  What was at the bottom of my hesitance?  Why was I scared about this evaluation of my: colon.

Soon after, I started scoping out a place to have the procedure done.  I finally found one.  The doctor I ended up with had been trained in and worked as a physician in the military, possibly the navy.  I wonder if he attained the rank of rear admiral?  When we first talked, I asked him if gastroenterology was all it was cracked up to be?  He said that it was a gas.

I must say anticipating the whole thing was far worse than the actual procedure, though the preparation wasn’t much fun.  I assiduously followed the instructions: consume only a liquid diet the day before, then drink copious amounts of lemony liquid (what really cleared the runway) the evening before and morning of.

The actual event was almost fun.  After a nurse took my vitals and I’d had a chat with the nice anesthesiologist, I walked to the procedure room in the rear of the office (wearing only one of those hospital gowns that tie in the back).  As soon as they told me to lie down on the table on my left side, I knew the end was in sight.   Then the anesthesiologist turned on the juice.  One minute I groused that I wasn’t asleep yet and the next, I was opening my eyes in recovery, reciting poems and assuring myself I was still myself.

My dear wife drove me home, something the doctor required.  I think he was afraid that so soon after being anesthetized I might rear-end someone.

The bottom line is that I’m o.k.  He found three polyps, but they are not cancerous.  I ‘ll have to butt into line for another colonoscopy in three years.  In the meantime, I’ll promptly pay whatever insurance doesn’t, lest I be in arrears.

About literarylee

I sling words for a living. Always have, always will. Some have been interesting and fun; most not. These days, I write the fun words early in the morning before the adults are up and make me eat my Cream of Wheat.
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