So I think I might have mentioned that the day before the procedure, you can't eat anything solid. You can have clear liquids, including chicken broth if you want. That sounds pretty awful, but by 8:30 PM, it was the most delicious thing I'd ever had.
I also drank a bunch of white grape juice and apple juice and laxative enriched Gatorade, but I still felt very very hungry.
I normally get pretty nervous about going to any sort of health check thing. I worry that something will be discovered that will make life "inconvenient" at best and "over" at worst.
I know it's silly. If there's something to be found, it's usually best to find it and get it taken care of. Usually. Not always. That's why they advise against Prostate checks these days. The checks and treatment if cancer is found are statistically worse for you than the cancer.
So - colonoscopy.
I expected to be absolutely beside myself with worry on the day of the procedure.
I was nervous, but I was mostly hungry. By the time I got there, I just wanted the whole thing to be over, butt cancer or no, so I could grab a bite to eat.
I stepped on the scale after a day of fasting and purging. I expected to see a dramatically comical drop in weight. Two pounds lighter than the day before. Damn. That's nothing.
Two days after thanksgiving, I typically weigh 6-8 pounds less than the day after Thanksgiving. Did I mention that I'm a pretty regular guy?
Even though I was too hungry to be freaking out about the procedure, I was nervous about one thing. My blood pressure. I have a condition known as "white coat syndrome." When I go to the doctor, my blood pressure elevates. The only thing that brings it down is not being at the doctor. So before I go to the doctor, I worry about what my blood pressure will be. I'm fairly certain that worrying about it is not the answer to lowering it. C'est la vie.
A few years ago, my doctor and I did a bunch of monitoring and calibrating and so on.
At home, I'm typically around 116/74 with a heart rate of 44-46.
At the doctor's office 144/88 HR 62.
So when they get you all gowned up and on the table, they jab the back of your hand with a needle for the IV and drugs. They cuff you for the blood pressure machine, and they let you watch TV while they get ready to shove their huge camera snake as far as it will go.
My blood pressure was right around 178/108. My first thought was, "Hey, shouldn't we get me to a hospital or something?"
The nurse just laughed and said knowingly, "That blood pressure will come down in a few minutes."
Good Morning America was on the TV. The last time I saw Good Morning America, the guy who played Lucas Tanner, M.D. (David Hartman) was on it.
Good Morning America that morning was about "The world's most awesomest pizza" or something.
They had renowned pizza guys on there showing off their wares. I was reminded that I was pretty hungry. My stomach began to rumble and I feared an unscheduled lemonade spill. I was still only 5 hours removed from my most recent laxative O.D.
The nurse came by and pushed the Blood pressure button again. 170/100.
"Don't worry. It'll come down," she said all sing-songy and shit. She knows something, I thought, as she hummed her way out of earshot.
Then Kim came over. Kim told me she was going to be giving me the drugs and that she and I would just hang out while the roto-rooter guy did his business out back.
Kim then took 2 syringes full of - might as well be called 'Heaven' - and pushed them into my vein. She said in about 30 seconds, I'd most-likely not have a care in the world.
A few minutes later, smug "your blood pressure will come down" lady stopped by ... 112/66. What the hell? "Told you so," she said in slow motion, her face melting as her voice dropped a few octaves.
I was so so relaxed. I don't know what that stuff was, but I was happy. The doctor came by and started up the snake. It was obviously a quality piece of equipment. Craftsman. Gas-Powered. Oh, it took a few pulls of the cord to get it started, but that baby roared to life in no time. Good ol' Craftsman.
Then it gets a little fuzzy as the sedation kicked in. At about this time, Good Morning America got weird too. "The world's best pizza" segment ended and now I was watching some bizarre short feature about "The world's wettest and pinkest caves."
I must've dozed off about that time because I don't remember much until I became aware that some lunchlady-type nurse had repeatedly been shouting, "I'm going to need you to toot."
"Toot." I repeated. I knew it probably sounded like a question as to her meaning. But I knew what toot meant. I just didn't know why she was saying it.
"Fart," she clarified, "We need you to fart." Obviously, she meant for me to "toot" with all of the grace and dignity I could muster.
To be continued ...
Next week: Fart Lady, Results (you won't believe what they found), Gandolfo's.
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