Moon River

As we find ourselves capitulating to adulthood and - as such - leaving childish things behind as we begin settling into the long miasma of our 30s and 40s and beyond, we menfolk come to the realization that the passage of time and growing wisdom of the ages signals an opening of doors to all manner of exciting new experiences. Some of these are even informed by the growing sense of responsibility that our new(ish) status as fathers carries with it. The necessity of life insurance is one prominent example: the sudden realization that you, too, can be worth far more dead than alive is always a guaranteed feel-good moment. A thorough familiarity with regional Emergency Rooms is another: few things in life are as certain as the fact that once you produce and begin raising offspring, they will encounter a staggering array of colorful maladies and blood-soaked accidents (who knew the human forehead could bleed so much?) that will enable you to spend massive amounts of quality time in your local ER. If you're especially lucky and/or your children are especially clumsy, you may even come to know some of the nurses on a first-name basis.

These are all - to quote father-of-twins Charlie Sheen - scientifically validated forms of "winning."

And then there is that very special form of winning we will all experience, sooner or later. The kind that happens when a man and a woman an AMA-accredited physician love each other very much have a serious discussion while sharing dinner over candlelight one of you is sitting on a sheet of paper in a small, neutrally-colored office that involves promises of eternal devotion and several bottles of red wine the words, "It probably makes sense for you to have a colonoscopy."

Ah, yes. There is it: the magic word. Colonoscopy. In which someone actually (deep breath) scopes out your colon.

And you think to yourself... really? But... dude. Seriously. Really?

At some point, the answer will be: yes, really.

Here's the thing: nobody does this for fun. Nobody. But as the good people at the American Cancer Society point out, there are all kinds of relatively common things that happen to guys just like you - which I won't go into here, as they can be kind of gross and I'm more than a little squeamish - that make a colonoscopy a smart move. Why? Because while some of these things are indicators of absolutely nothing serious at all... some of them are indicators of things that are or could become cancer.

Right. There's the real word we should be concentrating on: cancer. (And let me be clear here: because this is a dad blog, we're addressing menfolk... but pretty much everything here applies just as strongly to women, too. So if you're a woman or have one in your life, pay attention: this mean you, too.) (And let me also be clear: there are plenty of other things that can be found/diagnosed via colonoscopy - like colitis and Crohn's - that you'd also do very well to get identified and get started on a treatment plan for. So let's not discount those, either, even if that's not our main topic of discussion.)

Here's the thing: if your doctor tells you (for whatever reason) you need to have a colonoscopy, they'll be looking for a number of things — but first and foremost, they'll be looking for signs of colorectal cancer or for things that might develop into colorectal cancer. Here's the other thing: the earlier they find anything... the better the odds that a) if it's something, they'll be able to kick its ass; or b) if it's anything that might develop into something, they'll get rid of it before it ever gets to that point.

In other words: your reluctance, anxiety and embarrassment over the idea of dealing with any of this may be entirely real. But when push comes to shove... it's not worth dying over.

Especially when you read that one of your DadCentric pals has recently gone through the same thing and can tell you - in all honestly - it's really not that big a deal. 

The DadCentric Lowdown On Colonoscopy

As I found myself heading into this funtastic experience, I scoured the interweb for a lowdown on how this whole thing worked... and while I found plenty of sites that offer a pretty good technical explanation of everything involved, I know I would have valued a first-person perspective on what happens, what to expect and how to handle it all with appropriately manful dignity.

Fortunately for you, DadCentric is dedicated to dropping science on our brethren pater familii — and, as such, I'm here to share my experience with you. To put it in plain terms: you'll be Frodo and I'll be Gollum, guiding you carefully up the hidden staircase to the promised land of Mordor. What could possibly be more reassuring? (Note: your actual experience with guzzling gallons of laxative, getting your colon probed and/or wrestling with giant fucking spiders and Orcs may vary. Reader discretion is advised.)

I Need To Have A What?

That's right, lucky boy. Your doctor just told you to get a colonoscopy. If you're like most men between the ages of 30-50 in the English-speaking world, the first thing you'll think of is Chevy Chase... and the second will be: how much, exactly, will this suck?

Let's get part one out of the way:

 

As for part two: it will suck, but if you're fortunate not nearly as much as you fear. Honest.

After your doc gives you the word, chances are he/she will have the office staff set up the actual procedure for you. In my case, it happened at a local hospital; some docs may have facilities on-site or in nearby outpatient facilities to perform the procedure. If your doctor suggests something along the lines of "we can take care of this in a station wagon out back," you may want to explore other options.

Chances are the appointment will be scheduled two or more weeks out. This will give you adequate time to do all the dietary prep required by the procedure, research the procedure and everything related to it, and generally get worked up into a pretty substantial frenzy of anxiety. Enjoy!

The Prep: Initial Steps

Your doctor will give you a whole set of instructions on all the steps leading up to and through the procedure itself, but in broad terms here's what you'll have to look forward to:

• Starting about ten days out, you'll have to stop taking aspirin and a long list of other OTC/prescription meds that may interfere with various and sundry parts of the procedure, including the doc's ability to clearly see what's going on when they begin the actual "scope" part of the procedure as well as your ability to clot and heal in case they need to snip anything off while they're in there.
• Then, about five days ahead of time, you'll need to stop taking a handful of other meds (all I remember is that I had to stop taking Advil, which was wonderful when it came to dealing with the joys of recurring tension headaches) (what? tension? WHAT POSSIBLE REASON COULD I HAVE TO FEEL TENSE?) and - more pertinently - you'll need to start on a low-fiber diet. Basically: everything you've learned over the past couple of years about how to eat healty? Goes out the window. No veggies or fruit. No whole grains. We're basically talking five days of protein, pasta and cheese. Enjoy that for what it's worth.
• You'll also need, in the last couple of days, to weed out liquids that might show up in your colon scan — in other words, if you're drinking red wine or cran-grape juice, the tannins and whatnot might show up on the scope as being dark patches in yer innards. This is something you'd like to avoid. Plan your imbibing appropriately.
• A couple of days before the procedure, you'll need to fill a prescription. What you'll get is a gigantic, 1-gallon plastic jug pre-filled with... well, whatever the brand name, the reality is: it's laxative.
  
  Remember when I said that part of this experience would suck? Chances are that this plastic jug will lie at the heart of all of that suck.

The Day Before

1. First thing the morning before your procedure, you'll need to take out that big jug of suck. Follow the directions they provide, but the basic idea is this: you'll fill it about  1/4 of the way full with warm water. Then you'll shake it (you know: like a Polaroid picture) until all the powder dissolves into a thick, tasty cloud of goo. Then you'll get to add in one of the helpful handy flavor packets they provide (I had the choice of four different flavors; I went with cherry), shake that flavor mix in, and then fill the rest of the jug up to the "Fill To Here" line with cold water.  Then you'll shake it some more, stick it in your fridge, and leave it to sit there and chill up like a big ol' nasty cherry bomb (or lemon-lime bomb, if that's your pleasure) for the next 8-9 hours.
2. Chances are that your procedure will be booked for sometime relatively early in the morning. For the entirety of the day before your procedure... you're not allowed to eat anything. Let me repeat that: YOU CAN'T EAT ANYTHING. You can drink, of course, but it has to be what they consider clear liquids — namely, water, light-colored juices (e.g. apple juice or anything similar without pulp), ginger ale, etc. I panned ahead by purchasing and drinking several large bottles of lemon-lime Gatorade. It's no substitute for real food, but at least it's enough calories so you can get through most of a workday without falling over from lack of energy. (Personally, I was surprised by how little of a problem this turned out to be.)
3. Then go home... so that by 4:30 or 5pm (no later) the real fun can begin.

 

To be continued...