December Newsletter- now with audio!- A colonoscopy story, coaching corner, and more!
In this issue...
A colonoscopy story
Coaching corner
What I’m reading
A Colonoscopy Story
A couple of weeks ago I had both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, and I know what you’re thinking: overachiever.
And you’d be totally right, because when my GI suggested a simple blood test to get to the root of my abdominal pain, I said “No dice, Doc. I want tubes coming in and out of every orifice so I have something to write about.” She happily complied, and three miserable days of prep, procedure, and recovery later, I had Substack pay dirt!
The day before the procedure I was put on a liquid diet, which was by far the main thing I dreaded.
Sharting out the entire contents of my internal organs for hours on end? No problem.
Having a stranger shove a camera up my butt and possibly finding something terrifying inside? Piece of cake.
Spending an entire day without being able to enjoy an actual piece of cake? UTTER AND COMPLETE PANIC!
I started feeling hungry well before my normal breakfast time and spent the entire day sending “I’m hungry” gifs to my husband at work. He had blocked me by 11:00 a.m., but I persisted because what does “in sickness and in health” mean if not “accepting a slew of complaining gifs from your mildly-inconvenienced wife”?
Approximately every 7 minutes I would feel hungry, think “Man, I’m HUNGRY. I should really get a little snack,” remember what was going on, and sadly go back to googling hungry gifs, only to repeat the entire process minutes later.
I spent the rest of the day responding to people on social media who were inexplicably thanking me for getting a colonoscopy. The sentiment was nice, if a bit confusing, and I was unsure how to respond.
“Uh… you’re welcome for…me trying to find the source of the stabbing pains in my belly. Any time!”
I’ll save you the nitty gritty of the colonoscopy prep because it’s nothing you haven’t heard before. Suffice it to say, things got real biblical, real quick. The whole thing just felt so medieval.
“It’s 2023!!” I yelled to my husband as I ran to the bathroom for the millionth time. “This is really the best we’ve come up with? Starving ourselves on broth and then taking medicine to make ourselves violently ill so the doctor can see what’s going on up there? Isn’t there an app for this? Maybe Chat GPT has a suggestion?”
No answer.
He had put in earplugs hours before, which was probably a good call, to be honest.
By the morning of the procedure, I was so ready to get things over with that I absolutely sailed into that outpatient clinic. I was also in desperate need of their bathroom- it had been a long car ride.
“Just a few more hours and I’ll finally be able to eat,” I thought, recalling the detailed food order I’d told my husband to bring when he picked me up.
As the nurse prepped me, I heard someone in the next room offering a Dr. Pepper to a patient who’d just come out of anesthesia. I like Dr. Pepper okay, but at that moment I LOVED Dr. Pepper. To my starved, sleep-deprived, dehydrated mind, that offer of a Dr. Pepper sounded like a drink from the Holy Grail itself.
“Patience, my pet,” I reassured my gurgling stomach, giving it a pat. “Soon the treasure will be ours.”
Soon enough, it was go time. I sent one last ‘I’m hungry’ text to my husband, and was wheeled into what looked like someone’s office, complete with a disorderly desk and printed-out memes of The Office taped to the walls. (Was I in the right place? Had the orderly taken a wrong turn somewhere?)
There were maybe 3 people in the room, all going about their business, as if they looked into peoples’ assholes every day. Which, of course, they did.
In spite of my hunger and nerves, I couldn’t help noticing that the colonoscopy nurse, (is that what the proper terminology is?), had the longest eyelash extensions I’d ever seen. I was impressed by the apparent weight-lifting prowess of her eyelids, but I was also concerned that her visibility might be obscured at this point. I started to ask, but then she jammed a rubber stopper-like object in my mouth, presumably in preparation for the endoscopy, but who the hell knew at this point. She flipped me onto my side for easier access, (oh god, this was really happening), the anesthesiologist did his thing, and seconds later I was off to dreamland.
I’d like to take this opportunity to issue a complaint re: alleged Propofol euphoria. The one thing everyone agrees on when it comes to colonoscopies- besides the prep being something you wouldn’t wish on Elon Musk- is that the drugs are the best. For years I’ve heard how great this stuff was supposed to be.
So while I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the effects of the anesthesia- I was a little worried I’d say something incriminating in the recovery room- I was counting on it as a kind of psychedelic silver lining. Imagine my disappointment then, when this drug produced in me not the seemingly-universal euphoria everyone else experienced, but a little grogginess and some minor mobility issues.
As I was stirred from my brief slumber, I must’ve hallucinated that someone asked me whether I wanted a drink, because I immediately requested a Dr. Pepper. My brain had held onto that scrap of information, and buddy, it was time to cash in.
My full powers of speech hadn’t yet returned though, so instead of the clearly-articulated question I had formed in my mind, what came out was, “Edjtelixk heksd wwannnna dDXeh Dodder Peppuhr. plz.”
The recovery nurse, who hadn’t, in fact, offered me a drink or anything else, stared at me in surprise. “Let’s wait until you wake up a bit.”
Social anxiety immediately flooded my body, which I will present as Exhibit A in my trial against the Propofol manufacturers. If this stuff was supposedly so strong, how come I still felt disproportionate levels of shame and embarrassment? How come, good sirs and/or madams??
I demand a refund.
“Ahhhhh shur, okie,” came my eloquent reply. “‘Am jus…rally thurssy.”
The nurse sighed, stopped monitoring critical information, like my heart rate and blood pressure, and headed off to get my drinkie. I shrank down into my bed a little, but was secretly delighted. In just a few short moments, that sweet, sweet nectar of the gods would be mine!!
She returned a minute later, placing a cold can of Dr. Pepper with a straw on the tray in front of me. “Now be careful not to spill,” she said.
“Am fin…” I said, promptly spilling the soda all down my front. In my defense, that straw totally set me up.
I clumsily tried to wipe the Dr. Pepper off my hospital gown with my hand, furtively glancing up at the nurse to see if she’d noticed. (Exhibit B. Are these the actions of a woman in a blissful stupor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury?) I was terrified she would deem me medically unfit to handle a soft drink and take my Precious away. Thankfully, she was busy writing ‘chatty’ on my chart.
After 15 minutes or so, I had reached ‘drunk jellyfish’ levels of consciousness and mobility, so the medical team determined this was the perfect time to let my doctor debrief me, and send me on home.
As the doctor gave me the rundown, I focused hard not on what she had found inside my nether regions, but on not looking like I was fucked up on Propofol. I folded my arms across my chest to cover the Dr. Pepper stain, placed a finger against my temple, and nodded a bunch.
In my mind, I was giving “educated, knowledgeable professor-type recovering gracefully from medieval medical procedure.”
In reality, it was probably more like “drunk-ass frat boy trying and failing to get out of DUI.”
“We found some mild inflammation in your esophagus,” the doctor said, ignoring me as I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “So stay away from soft drinks. In fact, you probably shouldn’t be having that,” she said, indicating my Dr. Pepper.
And then, in one swift, horrific movement, she plucked up the drink and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. I had taken 3 sips total, one of which was currently residing on my chest.
Forgetting my sophisticated professor role, I nearly burst into tears, missing the rest of the critical information. (Exhibit C: Euphoria, you say? Euphoria, my ass!!)
The doctor was jealous of Dr. Pepper’s qualifications. There was no other answer for it. How else could her sadistic, torturous behavior be explained? I searched for my phone to report her to the Be-A-Pepper hotline, but it was suspiciously nowhere to be found.
Eventually I made it to the car, where my husband was waiting with a breakfast sandwich and a hot chocolate, which may not be Dr. Pepper, but is still pretty damn good when you haven’t eaten in 36 hours. I spent the next couple of days making up for lost time with all of my favorite foods, and everything was fine again.
This is the part of the story where I’m supposed to give a PSA about getting your own colonoscopy, but I’m not going to do that.
I’m just going to say that if you do get one and you come across a GI named Dr. Yazbek, tell her I’m coming for my Dr. Pepper.
Coaching Corner: How do parents have time to create??
What I’m Reading: Congratulations, The Best Is Over!
I’ve been a fan of R. Eric Thomas for a long time. I read his first book, Here For It, I subscribe to his hilarious newsletter, and we follow each other on the Dark Place, formerly known as Twitter.
Full of laugh-out-loud anecdotes and poignant commentary, his latest book, Congratulations, The Best Is Over! strikes just the right balance of fun and thoughtful. Thomas’ wit and insight never fail to entertain, and he does it in a way that makes you feel like he’s talking just to you, sharing a laugh together over mimosas. One of my life goals is to make that happen in real life.
In the meantime, Congratulations… is a great substitute.
I am just impressed that they had Dr. Pepper to offer you at all? I feel like I only got a juice box? But I am with you on the food thing while doing the prep!