Colonized

Courtesy of webmd.com

Colonoscopies are generally performed as part of screening programs to check for potential colon cancer. In October 2019 my insurance company gave me a colonoscopy for my 50th birthday. This “present” was to fully cover the cost of the procedure per my health insurance plan with no copayment! That’s a big deal here in the U.S., where the health care quality is excellent but the financial framework defies explanation. But who am I to bite the hand that feeds me? I was grateful to get some peace of mind about my colon’s condition. But also antsy to have a metal probe put in my pantsy, if you know what I mean.

Prologue

I am pretty sure I wrote the following passage soon after the general anesthetic wore off post-procedure.

My colon is like the river in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Marlowe’s boat navigates the verdant interior waterways of the Congo; it permits him to check out the deep, unexplored and unknown dark territory. The boat is the foreign vessel invading the interior of the continent. It threads the line between known and unknown and symbolizes humanity’s good and evil sides.

Preparation

Once I committed to doing it, my colon screening began with cleaning. Preparing for a colonoscopy stinks. Clearing out your bowels can be tough. You get a prescription and a pep talk from the gastroenterologist’s admitting nurse assistant, and a knowing wink from the pharmacist when you buy the colon-blow juice. You need to restrict your diet at least 24 hours before the procedure. That means stop eating at 18:00 the night before the procedure and start drinking the horrid-tasting fluids. A few number ones and number twos result and you think, what’s the big deal about this? Then the intestinal typhoon hits south of the border, and your dignity disappears as fast as you-know-what flies out of your rectum. But a clean tube for the doc is a must, so you do it.

Not much sleep the night before, and no more liquids for a few hours prior to the procedure.

Performing the screening: Into The Mystic

According to a BBC survey, this Van Morrison song’s cooling, soothing vibe has made it one of the most popular songs for surgeons to listen to while performing operations. Similarly, once I was wheeled into the operating room, I remember something reassuring, like Enya or Christopher Cross. I had a chat with the doctor while lying on my left side on the gurney, hooked up to monitors. Soon, the sedatives flowed through an IV into my arm and it was hello, la-la land. I don’t remember a thing. Zippo. But thank you for rendering me unconscious.

Courtesy of the Mayo Clinic

The doc inserted a roughly four-foot-long, flexible tube-like instrument called a colonoscope into my bunghole. It had a light and video camera on the tip so he could scrutinize the lining of my colon to find any unwelcome guests, e.g. colon cancer cells or polyps. It also pumped in air and inflated my colon, giving him a better view of my innerspace and its lining. It also induced mammoth post-op farts, adding ample opportunities for hilarity and mild shame when the nurse checked in on me in the recovery room at the wrong time.

This camera went where no camera has gone before. I was told my procedure was normal, took between 20 and 30 minutes. It was the second time in my life I have been unconscious, and not unpleasant. Just blank. They wheeled me back to my recovery room  to wake up from the sedative. Luckily, no post-op nausea. It was no different than drinking three craft beers on an empty stomach—woozy to buzzed, then slowly back to sober.

Payoff--the clinical verdict 

My biopsy samples came back negative.  As I emerged from the ether of unconsciousness, I peered at my chart fastened to the side of the gurney. I am somewhat sure a comment read: “This guy is a real asshole. But he’s cancer-free.”

I think I doth protest too much. People at normal risk for colon cancer should undergo a colonoscopy at age 50 and every 10 years after that to remove colonic polyps and check for cancer. I’m glad I did it, but can certainly wait ten years for the next one.