The colon: It's more than punctuation!

As a young journalist, I didn't think of the colon as any more than a useful tool of punctuation. Well, times have changed!

Now I am an older (not necessarily wiser) semi-retired journalist, the colon has suddenly become a body part; a place of sudden interest to be probed by the medical profession.

And so it was, I spent yesterday curled in fetal position staring at what was the inside of my own colon on a flatscreen monitor. It's a good thing pink is one of my favorite colors.

After a certain age, the medical profession likes you to have the dreaded colonoscopy every ten years or so to probe the outer limits of that delicate area. (You have it every five years if you have a family history of colon disease.) I had my first one about nine years ago. No muss, no fuss...in and out and all was fine. I was so relaxed back then, I didn't even take the sedative and painkillers offered prior to the probe "going where no man has gone before". (Apologies to Captain Kirk and the crew of the Starship Enterprise). I had it done Commando! Gritted my teeth, dropped trou, and presented my nether regions to the world. Well, at least to the doctor. Hopefully, the film version will never be shown on a giant screen near you.

So, this year, I was ready (not very willing or eager, I might add) to undergo this test again. Now, I do have to say the prep the day before was more civilized than years ago with a newer product called Pico-Salax. Yes, kiddies, it is a purgative and you will not eat solid food for more than 24 hours. You do drink lots and lots of liquid...and I mean lots. Litres of water, tea, clear soft drinks, Gatorade. By the time you go to sleep the night before your procedure you should be squeaky cleaned out. You probably won't sleep much though and will likely be dreaming of pork chops and beef jerky.

C-Day Arrives: Present self at the clinic. Meet the doctor who is doing the procedure. The wonderful Dr. O. This doc is thorough to highest degree and has a nice sense of humor (which suits me, since it is how I try to get through all of these ordeals myself!). He spends quite some time asking general medical questions, history, specific problems etc. Asks if I want the sedative/painkiller medication. And I bravely say, "No, I had a colonoscopy nine years ago and didn't take it; I should be fine." At this point, I did not know I had undergone a metamorphosis and had turned into a complete wuss in the past decade. More on that later.

This time there was a slight difference in that I was having an endoscopy down the throat as well...so I was getting probed from both up and down that morning.

The doctor's assistant takes me into a room, and makes me comfortable on an examing table. She gets me ready for the endoscope first, by putting a circular plastic guard in my mouth to keep it open. Now this presents a problem for me. Painful? No. Tastes bad? No! Problem is, I like to talk when I have medical procedures done. And I couldn't talk with this thing in my mouth. I like to ask questions or astound the medical staff with my own sage observations and medical knowledge (Doctors either hate this or love it...) I even like to crack a joke or three. The good Dr. O comes in and asks if I am ready. I try to answer and out comes a mumbled phrase that sounds like Chewbacca gargling. I boldly reach up and take the hard plastic mouth opener out and talk. Then I put it back in. This happens several times as I think of something else I want to say. In, out. Talk. In, out. Talk. Dr. O gently smiles. "You like to talk, don't you," he says. He is observant, I will say that.

At some point I had to give in and let the procedure happen, if it was ever going to be over before his next patient needed the room. So Dr. O began snaking the endoscope through the round mouth guard and down my throat. Of course, I started to gag, forgot completely how to breath through my nose, panicked, and tried to breath through my mouth which was now stuffed with the mouth guard and several feet of black snaking plastic heading south. I could hear the doctor trying to calm me down, urging me to relax. "We are in the stomach, no signs of abnormalities or ulcers; a small hiatus hernia, no visable tumors etc. etc. etc."..... OK, this was all good. Then he started to pull the endoscope out...and I started gagging again AND trying to talk. Tube in throat, gagging and trying to talk is not a good mix!

OK, calm down, wussy girl...it is done, over. You are alive. You heard Dr. O say there were no real problems. Your throat is a bit sore, but you are FINE.

Onward, and dare I say - UPward. Time for the colonoscopy. Now since I had this done before, I was not worried at all about any discomfort. Well, a little, but not much.

And so, now resting on my left side, curled in fetal position, and looking once again at the giant flatscreen monitor, I can see something looming up in the picture. Oh God, it looks like a hose and that looks like, um, looks like - a part of me that due to the limited range of the human neck I have never seen before. If anyone calls me an asshole again...I can verify now that at least I do have one.

Trying to regain my dignity, I respond to Dr. O's question "are you ready to proceed?"
"Yes, go ahead," I say meekly.

Arrrrgh, me mateys, head for the open sea, full steam ahead. At least that is what it felt like. Steady as she goes. Aye, Aye, Captain O-Liner.

I am starting to see my colon on the screen in shades of lovely pink. Cleaner and glossier than a newborn baby's butt. Looks gorgeous...like charting unknown regions of the galaxy. Is that an ass-teroid I see, a shooting star? Oops, no... only gas bubbles.

Upwards we go. Owwwwwwwwww.......and I clench the table. Apparently that was me yelling. The scope is now attempting to turn a corner and my colon does not want it to. After several attempts with me trying to breath deeply (Doctor's orders), but really just yelling Owwwwww.....we finally make the turn. Across the transverse colon. I relax a little now and offer some light banter. "Hey I didn't choose to come here, but you guys actually chose to stare at butts for a living, ha, ha...." Not funny in retrospect, but it was as good as I had at that moment.

I am feeling pretty good now...with NO DRUGS, remember. I was just feeling happy I was now over the worst hump; that bend in the colon highway. I had forgotten this was a two-bend road. Up, across and down. Owwwww..... Owwwwww...... Owwwwwww...... Yes, three loud yells came out of me in close succession.

"OK, we'll stop for a minute," says Dr. O. I asked if we were done yet and realized we had to turn the second corner for the race to the finish line down the ascending colon. That right hand leg that leads down to the appendix.

I thought, "Oh crap....". I didn't have any left in me. But the sentiments were there.

After recovering a little, we tried again. And again. And again. Each time I felt like Octomom. Was I delivering octuplets or was I just having a colonscopy? I found myself wondering if I could request at epidural for a colonoscopy! I already knew the answer.

I gasped out that we should stop now without bothering to explore than last blind alley. I said it would be just fine by me if we skipped that part since the rest was fine. But Dr. O gently persuaded me to give it one more shot. I did, complete with more loud pants and Owwwws.... (He is a patient man with patients!) His assistant also got into the act by reaching across me and pushing externally on my lower abdomen. Finally we rounded the bend and were heading down the ascending colon. And there it was...one little pink polyp. The only one in all those feet of pinkness. Which would never have been found if Dr. O hadn't stuck with it. He snipped it off (it now goes for biopsy, but I have no reason to believe it isn't fine) and the ordeal was almost over.

A few minutes later the scope is snaking its way out the same way it went in....only with much less difficulty. Discomfort, but no pain to speak of. But there was enough gas being released to float the Hindenburg. Just nobody light a match, please!

So that is it...over for another decade. And you can be damn sure ten years from now I will take any free, cheap drugs they want to throw at me. My days as a medical stoic are over. Instead of older and wiser, I'm just older and wussier. I'll live with that.

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Sometimes you've just gotta laugh!