This week I opted to get a colonoscopy. Because the colorectal cancer statistics have been freaking me out.
A story published in Scientific American reports that while the death rates of most cancers have decreased in Americans under 50, the rates of colon and rectum cancers have risen. Colorectal cancer is now the top cause of cancer-related deaths in young Americans.
The American Cancer Society recently changed the recommended age to begin screening for colorectal cancer from 50 to 45 for people of average risk, and earlier for people with an increased risk based on personal or family history of colorectal cancer or certain types of polyps. I fall in the latter category, and am rounding the corner into 40, so after consulting with my physician and insurance provider, I booked a colonoscopy.
And then I forgot I had booked it until the endoscopy office called a few days before the procedure with prep instructions which included:
- Picking up a prescription powder to mix with a giant jug of water
- Drinking that entire jug, half the day before the procedure and the other half the morning of
- Consuming only clear liquids for twenty four hours
The liquid-only-diet was something I had not prepared for, and as a person who suffers from severe hanger, I worried the 24 hour fast from solids would be a challenge not just for me but for anyone in my vicinity.
And it was. But hard things become easier when there’s an end in sight (pun not intended). Knowing it would all be over soon gave me the strength to persevere. As I sipped broth for breakfast lunch and dinner, I imagined the tacos I would eat when allowed to eat again, and how good that first bite would taste.
What was more difficult than abstaining from food was drinking the truly vile prescribed concoction. Once when I was about 11, the neighbor kids and I were bored on a summer day so we made concoctions out of random ingredients we found in my friend Annie’s fridge and we dared each other to drink them. I had to down a mix of Cheeze Whiz, expired tartar sauce and orange juice. Up until this week, that was the worst thing I’ve ever forced myself to drink. Now that title belongs to the colonoscopy prep.
I will spare you the nitty gritty details of what happened after consuming the first half of the solution. The truth is, for a while, nothing happened so I spent hours furiously googling “what to do if nothing happens,” then fell asleep, then woke up a few hours later because things were very much happening.
Then I had to wake up again at 5:00 IN THE MORNING to start the second dose. As I choked down the final sip, I felt a sense of victory. I, without vomiting, had completed all that had been asked of me (or so I thought). So when the time arrived, my designated driver and I headed to the endoscopy center.
The waiting room was full of other patients and designated drivers waiting for their loved ones to finish the procedure. Soon I was called back, instructed to put on a gown, and asked what was a series of objectively very embarrassing questions, but were asked so matter-of-factly I felt almost no shame at all.
And I felt no shame when the doctor performing the colonoscopy asked similar questions, then validated my anxiety, which at this point in the day was high, because I had foolishly googled how a colonoscopy works. In hindsight (pun kind of intended) I should have left that one a mystery. So when the nurse anesthetist told me I would get very sleepy very quickly I didn’t believe her because how could I possibly calm down when I knew what was about to happen?
But then I felt a tingly and very pleasant sensation and the next thing I knew I was in the recovery area, being nudged awake by a post-op nurse who, when I asked how it went, told me it wasn’t entirely successful because the prep had only sort of worked and visibility wasn’t optimal.
As I reflected on the night before, I wondered how that could be possible, and then on cue, the doctor came in and informed me that me, and my body, are “special” — which is why it took longer for the solution to work, and that next time I would need two days worth of prep when I came back in a year for a better look. This was a lot to process in my groggy state, but I did hear him when he said that even with my “special” body and its shortcomings, he was able to tell there weren’t any major issues that needed immediate addressing.
Then I was handed an envelope with photos I could have happily gone my whole life without seeing, and a typed description of the medical team’s finding that included the line “prep was poor.” As an oldest daughter with control issues and up until now an unblemished record, I did not take that well, psychologically. And I, feeling like a failure, spiraled all the way to the drive-thru, where I got the long-awaited tacos.
But I ate that first bite — which tasted as good as I had imagined — and I reflected on the experience. And asked myself if it had been worth it.
And the answer was a resounding yes. Despite the hanger. Despite the vile drink. Despite the unpleasant night in the bathroom. Despite the embarrassment of my “poor prep,” which will haunt my medical chart for all eternity. Despite feeling like a failure.
It was worth it because now I have peace of mind. When I hear more concerning news about the rising rates of colorectal cancer in the young, I’ll know I’m doing everything I can to prevent it. And yeah, those things are kind of a pain and kind of embarrassing, but are so much better than the unknown anxiety, or worse, a diagnosis caught too late.
All’s well that ends well (pun very much intended).