Old People Shit: Colonoscopies

 

Smile for the camera!

Yes, it’s time for another shitty post. One day I hope to be regular…about my posting schedule, that is.  For now, you’ll just have to enjoy them when I manage to squeeze one out.

Colonoscopies are a fun thing you get to do when you’re older. And now you don’t even have to wait as long as you used to because more young people are presenting with colon cancer. Eek. Seems like the earth itself is not the only place climate change is happening. Fifty used to be the age screenings started, and now it’s forty-five. I envision a day where twenty-one will make you a legal adult and your first colonoscopy will eclipse the first legal drink as your rite of passage.

Matt and I are both frequent flyers on the Up The Butt Airlines. He’s had aggressive polyps that have been invading his space since before age fifty, and I have a family history, so I’m on the five-year plan. And my number came up in 2020. Trust me when I say that was one year I REALLY didn’t want someone poking around up there looking for shit, because I figured that would be the year they would find something. I was secretly hoping for the phone charger that had gone missing, but I was honestly expecting much worse.

Those who have had it done know...the procedure is nothing because you’re asleep, but the leadup is where all the magic happens.

First you go to the pharmacy for the the Shit Kit, aka prep kit, which is some kind of magic liquid that tastes horrible going down and transforms to boiling lava when it hits your innards. Sometimes it’ll have a fun name, like GoLytely. Which is adorable because, trust me, there’s nothing lightly about how you’re gonna go.

Liar, liar, pants (literally) on fire.

I was given split-dose prep, which means drinking half and going through hell the night before and then doing it again four hours before the procedure.

The day before the test, you’ll fast except for clear liquids.

*Pro tip from your old aunt Claudia—fuck the prep instructions, vodka IS a clear liquid.

Black coffee is a clear liquid but vodka isn't?
I call bullshit.

Midway through starving yourself, you take two laxative tablets to prime the pump. Late in the afternoon, you start drinking the prep solution, which is essentially 2 liters of seawater with a packet of fake citrus flavor mixed in to make it taste like sickenly-sweet seawater. You drink 8 ounces of that swill every 15 minutes until it’s gone, while also drinking extra water to stay hydrated and to ensure maximum bloating and discomfort while you wait for the lava to do its thing.

About this time, some people start feeling pukey. And if you throw up the prep, it’s game over, so here’s another pro tip; visit your dispensary for some CannaMelts--edibles that dissolve under your tongue. Take one and it will help settle your stomach and the buzz will distract you a little from the horrors you’re experiencing.

I did the research for you. You’re welcome.

If you think drinking the seawater is bad, wait until it transforms to boiling lava and you’ve sprayed it out the other end for hours. Basically, it feels like you’ve shotgunned a giant drum of Drano and then parked yourself bare-assed on the mouth of an active volcano. And since that rhymes so nicely, let’s just call the whole process the Drano Volcano.

Round one goes on for awhile, and just when it tapers off and you think your butthole might not spontaneously combust after all, you mix up round two and start all over again.

Partway through round one, I began to regret making fun of people who hoarded toilet paper during the pandemic, because I was starting to see the need.

About an hour into round two, I started wondering if fire extinguisher foam would interfere with my test results. Because by then the Drano Volcano had ignited the Great Ass Fire of 2020, and it was raging.

And by the time I got to the hospital for my procedure the next morning, I could barely waddle and had smoke and sparks shooting out my tailpipe.

Miraculously, after the test the doctor came in and said, “Well, you're good, we didn’t find anything. But we did have to extinguish you a couple times and some pesky spot-fires kept cropping up in your bush. Here’s some burn cream in case you need it.”

Note for next time…fire extinguisher foam is O.K.

I never did find my damn phone charger.

APB out on this guy. White male, approx. 5', looks a bit snaky.