"Procrassination" comes to an End

2013 has been a tipping point year for me...a time when I had to decide if I would slide into an ageing mindset or fight back. I decided that surrendering was more about failing to expect healthy behaviours of myself and that I owed more to my young family. So I set about on a serious mission to weight train, have my breast ultrasound, watch my diet and eat foods that didn't require an ingredient list. And at 58 I decided that it was time for a colonoscopy.

We had approached a surgeon a couple of years ago about a test for me but when he heard my history of multiple pelvic surgeries and unpredictable anesthetic outcomes, he began to hyperventilate and suggested I opt for an occult blood test instead. It was going to be too difficult, really painful and likely complicated with a perforation. Disappointed but slightly relieved I passed the OBT and reassured myself that the last thing I needed was a surgeon who got weak in the knees while inserting 20 foot tube into my colon.

We've recently experienced a surge of cancer diagnosis and battles...friends, neighbours, my precious sister...and vowed that I would not die from aspirating the sand that my head was stuck in. Opportunity presented itself when I met a young surgeon with slick skills, steely determination and a cool head and in response to my concerns, he didn't hesitate to book my scope.

Anyone who has been involved in anesthetizing me or other members of my family is not keen to do it again. My sweet dream experiences have been complicated by aphasia, hypoxia, dementia, ICU stays and an episode that found me finally conscious but standing in the hospital hallway 3 days post op wearing nothing but a chest restraint. In trying to tease out the medical culprits responsible for my unpredictable recoveries, Fentanyl and liberal mixing of anesthetic agents seemed to predict the worst outcome. So when given a choice between no sedation (too scared), conscious sedation (loss of inhibitions and pissed off) and full anesthetic with a single agent, I chose the latter.

The kids were naturally curious about my medical adventure and expressed appropriate yuks and eeewws when describing the details of how one examines a colon. Their main concern as young ladies was the ultimate embarassment that Daddy was going to hear me "fart", which was low on my list of concerns given the years of exposure to his musical colon.

Reports that the prep is the worst of the colonoscopy experience are not exaggerated and as a Celiac I approached it with trepidation. I stocked up on sports drinks in the appropriate colour families (no red orange or purple) and followed the directions to the letter. Following the first package of prep I downed the recommended glass of fluid every 15 minutes and waited. Tony got cramps, but my gut dismissed the insult completely. Three hours later a second dose of prep and my electrolyte solutions were nauseating me. I'd gained 6 pounds in 3 hours, my face puffed into a wrinkleless state and I appeared to have entered my final trimester. Tony got the runs. I'd spent several hours waiting in our bathroom, cleaning the shower, reading back issues of Style at Home, drawing up a blueprint to renovate the master suite and getting more frustrated having lost a gardening day while my colon napped. I insisted that white wine must be considered a clear fluid.

On closer inspection, I realized that one of the sports drinks had likely "glutenized" me and my small bowel had called in the border control. Sips of fluid remained suspended in my esophagus defying gravity, and my colon remained blissfully unaware of the impending insult. Dragging out my ER training in electrolyte balance, I decide that I was fluid overloaded and proceeded to create a new home made electrolyte solution thanks to a Pinterest recipe and a bottle of salt substitute (Potassium). After downing a couple bottles of that, I surrendered sending my husband upstairs to sleep in the spare room just in case something happened. I took a couple of dulcolax as a last hope and crawled into bed with the dog.

By midnight, my gut begins to speak a language that wakes my schnauzer out of a sound sleep and prep hell begins. My kidneys also decide to play along and by morning I have lost 6 pounds, and gained back my wrinkles and a bad attitude. I chose colonoscopy appropriate clothing(stretchy dress, no buttons or zippers), high heels just because I felt like it and proceeded to work a full days clinic before the procedure, banning staff and patients from the nearest washroom.

My surgeon was still calm as he explained the procedural risks to me and I questioned how the 20 foot long garden hose was going to fit into my 10 inch pelvic cavity. I also recommended that he add a little turquoise color accent to his white clinic walls, and insisted that he say that I looked younger than my stated age. The anesthetist looked worried and commented that I looked familiar and I warned him to not mix my drinks, or to euthanize me, regardless of what my husband said. My last memory was my husband's yelp as I gripped his hand and I drifted off into a sublime sleep while the brave surgeon battled with my bowel. I awoke minutes later to the sound of Tony whispering "everything is ok" in my ear and I requested that he order me a pizza.

And that was it. An hour later we were on our way home, greeted by the best reason for my ordeal: our two girls and two pups sitting at the picture window awaiting our return. I didn't die of anesthesia complications and I can cross colon cancer off my list of worries for a while. The operative report arrived today: the patient is an extremely fit woman who appears much younger than her stated age....

Thanks doc.