Comfortable and Furious

Colonoscopy: It’s About the Prep

Just relax, it will be fine

Editor’s Note: Alex is an actual medical doctor. 

Before you submit to the indignity of a colonoscopy you need to have what is charmingly called a ‘prep’, necessary to allow full and unobstructed viewing of the colon tissue. As the obstructing material is generally loads of shit, that prep is meant to blow that shit right out of you. It is a life-defining experience inasmuch as it tests your capacity for self-inflicted pain. After all, you need to drink the gatorade-like juice knowing full well you will be singing in Spanish at the top of your lungs within a half hour, tipping the cup of extraordinary ass spasms into your own already-regretting maw.

[Editor’s Note: The prep used to be even more harsh. Back in the 70’s, Radiologists were sick and tired of patients coming in with poo still in their colons.  Roscoe Miller invented a prep that was guaranteed to clean you out and have a successful BE or Colonoscopy….If you lived. It consisted of one 2.5 oz. bottle of X-Prep Liquid (Equivalent to 16 Senokot tablets…Followed 2 hours later by 2 oz. of Castor Oil. It was brutal.]

When it begins, your intestines begin to quiver, beckoning you from what seems far away, as though innocence is about to be lost forever. Then, as if playing with you, all feels well and under control, and you relax on your notably not-stain proofed sofa. When the explosion hits, you have seconds to reach the Bano or other suitable receptacle, and pretty much anything including linoleum would seem suitable when the moment of truth arrives. Thence onward the River Styx flows over-eth, and you void what feels like every meal you have ever eaten, every organ within your body, and your hopes and dreams follow. Once the wave has passed, you peer balefully at the rest of the gallon jug of Golightley, knowing that you need to finish it all, and that the saga must continue.

When your actual colonoscopy begins, Medicare regulations stipulate that the gastroenterologist have a smoking hot assistant. As you come to terms with this, you feel the orchestra that is about to appear behind you will gain you a friend and confidante for life. When the scope enters, the operator may say something like “You only need to worry when you feel my hands on your shoulders”, but otherwise the worst is behind you. You are blown up with gas to allow the GI physician to better visualize the meat walls, and several feet of scope march along with the help of the operator’s powerful biceps.

In the aftermath you are given time to reflect, and appreciate that sometimes going through pain can yield rewards in the end, if for no other reason than to make the dispiriting pain of everyday life somewhat more endurable.






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