Saturday, April 19, 2014


A lot of my readers are waiting to hear about my colonoscopy. Some have had theirs done, some have heard horror stories and some are just worried. I have decided to spell out my experience with almost every detail, to put others at ease. First of all, I was scheduled to have my procedure done at a West Bridgewater site. It's in a plaza...but it's not exactly like shopping.
They had called me in advance and mailed detailed instructions ahead of time; and being a good patient, I vowed to follow the rules exactly. And they stressed "no driving" afterwards. Somehow, they stressed this to the point that I suspected that they were a branch of the Registry of Motor Vehicles. Have they heard about my recent accidents? I got hit by others...really.
So, the evening before, I dutifully drank this magnesium citrate, a "sparkling laxative" as the bottle describes the contents. This was followed by Gatorade. I got the frosty kind. They emphasized not to get the red or purple colors. OK I did that, and the second dose would be scheduled for 4 a.m.
Hey -- I wake up sometimes anyhow, so why not drink more of that stuff, rather than go on the computer or start laundry?
I went to sleep, telling myself to wake up on time, and slept like a rock! Seriously, I opened my eyes and looked at the clock: 4 a.m. Whew! Am I lucky, or what?
I took my second dose as scheduled.
My husband drove me over to West Bridgewater and sat nervously in the waiting room. It's always nice to have an ADD person take you to a medical procedure.
Somehow, I tend to waltz into things like this without much of a care...and I was sitting with the nurse, as she gave me my wrist band and we went over the paperwork, where everything is double-checked in advance.
Then she said the P word.
She said that they would be giving me propofol and....she got that far and I said "Propofol?? AArrgh! That's what Michael Jackson took!!!!" She said "Well, that is not to be used in a home setting. We use it every day here, and you will be monitored the whole time."
I was completely calm till she said the P word. I couldn't get Michael Jackson out of my mind. Oh well....there was no backing out now.
I got into a johnny and waited for my turn. Meanwhile, behind a curtain I heard them bringing out David to recover. "Daaaavid....David...David, it's time to wake up! Can you hear me, David? It's all over. Daaaaaavid."
Soon it was my turn, and I was wheeled into a small treatment room where they got me ready with intrusive oxygen tubing in my nose (I didn't like that.) and hooked me up with all of the necessities to proceed. They dimmed the lights and monitors came alive with brightness near me.
The young woman from anesthesia started to inject my Michael Jackson milk into my IV and told me that I could now go to a happy place, and asked where that might be. I said " cat!"
She looked surprised (maybe thinking, "This is already making her loopy"...) but I clarified: "Well, by that I mean that my cat curls up in my lap and it's very peaceful."
"Oh" she answered, and asked me where I got my cat, etc...while watching my reactions. I explained that I get them all at my back door, feed them and take them for their medical treatments. Then I said to her "OK, I am really feeling that now---I'm getting woozy." She smiled and nodded.
And that's when I let complete strangers take charge of my next half hour.
In my mind, 1 second had elapsed, and I was back in the recovery area, with a little can of apple juice and a package of Goldfish on the hospital tray next to me. Also there I found pages of a report all filled out, stating that everything was fine. I looked at the monitor next to me and saw my BP was 117 over 78 and I thought. "Well, that's good."
I sat up and for just about 3 seconds felt dizzy; but welcomed the juice and Goldfish crackers, which made everything right, after not eating for the previous day and a half. I wondered if Daaaaavid ever woke up.
So, after having the doctor and a couple of nurses come by and smile and talk with me, (I don't have to go back for 10 years.) I got dressed and started out the back of the building where my husband had left the car. I asked if I needed anything else, and they said I should take the papers on the tray. I hurried back to get those, and the nurse said "Slow down! Don't hurry!" I realized that I have a habit of doing that, and I know they don't want people to fall, I slowed down to keep them from calling the walking police.
They also grilled my husband, making him promise that I would not drive all day, to which he agreed. (What have these people heard about my driving, anyhow?)
They told me to go home and sit around, not doing any housework. I said "Oh good."
Actually, we stopped at KMart, and I waited in the car. Then we went to the Milk Bottle, where I had oatmeal, and Bill had lunch...because if you have a diabetic husband with ADD, you probably should do this. That's all I'm saying about that.
I think if you are going to recover from should probably do it at your favorite restaurant, such as the Milk Bottle. I know my granddaughter would agree. We go there every Saturday after gymnastics.
Then I went home to my Happy Place.
Yes, I sat and watched TV with my kitty on my lap.