Some Lasts Are Time for Celebration
Updated: 9 hours ago
At almost 80, I'm becoming more aware of “lasts.” On Monday, I’ll have my “Last Day in My 70s” party. Tuesday is the election, and I didn’t want to compete with that.
But this week also brought the dreaded once-a-decade procedure: the colonoscopy.
Actually, I dreaded the day before more than the procedure itself. A whole day without real food. Clear liquids, chicken broth, and lime gelatin only go so far.
Fortunately, it was my day to volunteer in our library. When my shift ended, I offered to stay longer to finish entering the newly ordered books into the computer. Partly because I enjoy doing it. Partly because I wanted to finish the job.
And partly because going home meant another exciting meal of lime Jell-O and chicken broth.
You always build it up to be terrible in your mind, and it seems it's never as bad as you thought. The only 'uncomfortable' part was from 10 PM last night until 3 PM this morning. Amid all the prep and the bathroom trips, I even managed to get 4 hours of sleep.
With the new pill medication, I had several sudden, unexpected leaks. It’s a good thing I had just done laundry that day. I went through six pairs of panties.
At least we have two bathrooms and plenty of air freshener, so my bathroom confiscation didn't affect hubby. My friend's son-in-law had only one bathroom during his colonoscopy prep. His wife almost checked into a motel just for a little peace and an occasional turn in the bathroom.
It’s the first time I used the pills. In the past I used to down that gallon of icky gallon of GoLYTELY. And I’m not talking about Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's.
I had an awful experience 30 minutes after my second round of pills. I started throwing up. I was mortified, not only because of the experience, but because I was worried it might have somehow ruined the prep. In big bold print, they said, " You must drink 32 oz during the hour you are taking the pills. And in even bigger, bolder print, it said DO NOT DRINK ANY LIQUID AFTER 3 PM.
Okay. I think I just got rid of a) some of the medicine and b) a lot of the water. The instructions said I MUST drink the water. The instructions also said I MUST NOT drink anything after 3.
Which MUST wins?
Before the procedure, I decided to warn the anesthesiologist about the nausea episode, and he replied, “Oh, that happens all the time!” If it happens all the time, why didn't they tell me what to do if that happened?
The people at the facility were great. Upbeat and joking. And fast, which always helps. Nothing makes a medical procedure seem longer than spending two hours in a cold pre-op room wearing a drafty gown with an IV stuck in your arm.
I had the best preoperative nurse ever. Even the IV, which I usually dread almost as much as the procedure, was painless. I have terrible veins and have endured nurses poking, prodding, giving up, and finally summoning “the expert.” This nurse found the spot, and I barely felt it. I almost asked for her business card in case I ever need another IV.
The procedure went well. At least no one told me it didn’t. The doctor confirmed what I already suspected: this would be my last colonoscopy.
I’m not celebrating Monday because I’m glad to see my 70s go. They’ve been good years, filled with people, pets, adventures, and memories I wouldn’t trade for anything.
But my last colonoscopy?
That 'last' I’m happy to put behind me.
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