I had a colonoscopy yesterday. My post-treatment surveillance requires I have one every 3 years. I still had an ostomy the last time around, so this was my first one since getting reconnected and reversing all the things. And, it was awesome. I’m not still dizzy on fentanyl; I mean it.
I was more anxious about this screening than with any of my CT scans so far. Partly it’s the preparation: 5 days of nothing good to eat, 1 solid day of no solids, and the inconvenient flushing of your entire GI tract. Partly it’s the alien invasion nature of the test; cameras don’t belong where they put the camera. But mostly I think it’s the intimacy. They are looking directly at your insides and will know immediately if there is something to worry about. They might say so in that moment, thinking you won’t notice given the sedation, but what if you do notice and panic and end up sobbing on the table with a camera still in your large intestine??
It also requires an IV, and you know how much I love those. The nurse prepping me did all the right things. I told her of my vasovagal history, and she told me of her daughter’s vasovagal history - so, she knew just how icky it could be. I told her of my needle phobia, and she reminded me that the needle is just the delivery mechanism. She took extra care. I looked away, she asked about my vacation to distract me, she tightened the tourniquet and rubbed with alcohol and I took my deep breaths. She did the stick, and missed. She tried to get the vein without re-sticking - moving the needle slowly and subtly around under my skin - and I started to get the familiar tingle in my fingers, the sinking feeling. It’s cruel, I thought, that there isn’t a way to knock me out before getting the IV. The surgeon’s assistant came by to help; she picked a most awkward spot on the side of my hand, and did all the right things too, and got it on the first try (a more painful stick, but she was quicker). I stopped sinking, but had them wrap it so I couldn’t see it, just in case.
Then they wheeled me in and started the cocktail. I was sleepy but still aware. I saw all the insides - my patent anastomoses, all the evidence of prior surgeries, all the scar tissue, clear as day. I think I was talking, asking questions even. It was surreal and amazing. I was cancer free, still. I was delighted. And I was completely comfortable. I was wheeled out to recovery, looked at my wrapped hand, and I fell in love.
It’s not fashionable to praise plastic. It strangles our sea creatures and remains perfectly, unapologetically composed on littered streets and in landfills. But there are some plastics we need. One of these is the tiny flexible tube that slips in our veins, delivering medicine, comfort, hope, life. I love you, my intravenous fluid drip, just the way you are.
