Totally Tubular

Today is my birthday. Actually, today is also my husband's birthday. So first I will start by taking another opportunity to wish Geoff a Happy Birthday: Happy Birthday, Babe.

To my post:

I like to make things. Things like quilts, cakes, stew, love, roast, beds (I love clean sheets), babies, and chocolate chip cookies.

My body, and to be more exact, my colon, likes to make tubular adenomas. Colon. Let's just get it out there Katie Couric-style. And just to warn you, this post is all about preventative health care. And most of you are too young to warrant my writing this post, but some of you are getting close. And you may be scared. And you may feel a little humiliated.

Well this is where I come in. I'm putting it on the table. Actually, I put myself on the table last week.

Last week we hired a man to come out to install can lights in our kitchen. (Kitchen post soon to come--I type this with dried paint and caulk all over my hands!) Somehow the colonoscopy came up (probably because I am verbose and share too much information!). His wife had one because of a digestive condition. His father had most of his colon removed. He hadn't, in his mid-40's, had a colonoscopy yet. I know! Why the hell not?

I should have prefaced this by explaining why, at the young, tender, innocent (yeah, right) age of 31, I have not only had one colonoscopy, but three. My father had his 50-year old screening, which is the recommended age for the first one, and his colon was full of polyps. So he had all but about 20 inches removed. His gastroenterologist made the recommendation to his children that they all be screened in their twenties. I just sent that doctor a thank-you note yesterday.

So back to this electrician. When I lightly scolded him, he admitted it was because he was hesitant about the procedure.

How many people forgo important procedures out of fear?

Colon cancer is a big deal. In an Internet article the World Health Organization published in 2009, it states that there are 639,000 deaths per year from colorectal cancer. This is something that can, for the most part, be prevented through thorough colonoscopies, done at the right time.

But I understand. The colon holds you-know-what. And that camera and knife to cut polyps goes you-know-where. There is a stigma. You don't (unless you are my daughters) discuss bathroom-related topics at the dinner table, or in polite conversation.

I am even quiet about who I talk to about my procedures, finding the most discreet babysitter to watch my children. Until now. I want to be part of that Katie-Couric movement, taking some of the fear and shame out of it, hoping to make the difference in maybe one of my friends' lives.

So let me tell you about the procedure:

First, the colon prep. This is the worst part. The day before. Forced and intentional and hopefully thorough Diarrhea Day. DD. A force to be reckoned with.

There are a few different ways to clear the colon. It used to be a terribly horrible drink, then they improved it to just a horrible drink. Go-lightly is the name. I have never used this method.

My previous gastroenterologist up in Edmonds, Washington, just had me purchase some saline fluid at the pharmacy, drink an ounce or so, followed by a tall glass of water. Every hour, I think four times. I can't remember exactly. Yuck! I start dry-heaving just thinking about it. I'm serious; I'm very dramatic.

After two colonoscopies I complained about the saline drink. He said I could swallow a bunch of pills (we're talking 40 laxatives, the first dose of 15, then four pills every two hours).

This is what I did this time. My doctor said the prep went well. If it is good enough for him, I will do it this way next time. The diarrhea I can handle (though this last time I did wake up at 3 a.m. thinking I was going to die with the spasms and cramping, since I had taken my last dose of pills at midnight and there just wasn't anything left in me, but it went away after fifteen minutes or so); the yucky drink is a sin.

You'd think they (whoever they are) would come up with a good-tasting drink; but it is the salt that works so well as an osmotic, that tastes so disgusting.

Also with the prep (in the form of liquid or pills), you're on a clear liquid diet. Just what do you eat? Chicken broth (what I had for lunch and dinner, I cheated a little and added some garlic powder and pepper), popsicles, ginger ale, sprite, water, apple juice.

My doctor recommended I consume a soft-food diet (i.e. no steak or stew!) the day before I go on the clear-liquid diet. I did this and thought it was an excellent suggestion.

So at the end of prep-day you are all cleaned out. And that is the hardest part. Nothing in the mouth after midnight.

Day Two: Your fifteen (or 30-60) minutes of fame.

You have somebody take you to the hospital because you won't be able to drive home after the anesthesia.

You check in at the hospital.

You dress into a gown, everything off from the waist down.

You walk into the procedure room, attempting dignity with trying to keep the gown closed in the back.

The nurse puts an IV into you (the worst part of day two, in my opinion).

The anesthesiologist comes in and asks you questions about previous anesthesia, obtaining your height and weight, and any other health concerns.

The doctor comes in.

The anesthesiologist (or nurse) instructs you to lay on your left side, puts an oxygen mask on you, and then...the world gets quiet and dark.

I should mention that during my first two colonoscopies I woke up during the procedure. For my first one, there wasn't any pain, I just woke up and looked at the screen the doctor was looking at (an image of my beautiful colon--hey, my mama told me I was beautiful inside and out!) and asked him a few questions. He was surprised to see me awake. The second time I woke up from some painful pressure. When they saw I was in pain, they injected some more drug in my IV and I was quickly out again. My brother said he woke up during his procedure and they gave him more drugs. My sister said (and here is something I don't want to ever experience) she woke up when they were taking the scope out. She said she just felt a lot of pressure. No thanks. This last time, my anesthesiologist, after I told him that I woke up during the last two colonoscopies, said he wouldn't let me wake up until after the doctor was finished. What a nice man.

I woke up in the recovery room. I was SO happy! I told my nurse that quite a few times. It is funny, I was loopy, yet I remember being loopy. Sort of. I remember her telling me she was going to call Geoff. Then I told her, "I love him SO much!" and "He is a genius!" I do, and he is. It is just funny to me how emphatic I was that she knew those facts.

The nurse brought me my clothes. I was able to dress myself and sit in the wheel chair. She wheeled me out to Geoff. I sort of remember that.

I got into the car and Geoff went to Subway. After a day of not eating any real food, I wasn't very hungry.

We got home and I got into bed and Geoff handed me my sandwich. I ate it because I knew I hadn't eaten, but I wasn't hungry. I should have listened more to my gut than mind, because that sandwich stayed in my stomach for a few hours before being digested. A side-effect of the anesthesia, no doubt.

I slept after that. For a while. (I had babysitting scheduled until Geoff would be off work.)

A few days later Geoff called to tell me that the doctor (whom Geoff works with) told him that the little polyp he cut out was a tubular adenoma. There are a few types of polyps, and the adenomas are the pre-cancer type. Tubular, I think, is the most common, and though it is bad, it isn't as bad as the villous.

I'm just glad I went through that so I can say that today, I don't have any polyps in my colon. I'm sure I will grow more. I grew that little one sometime between my screening three years ago and last week. But for now, I am safe. My colon is safe. It is a bit naughty, growing those pesky polyps, but it is healthy for now, and I have less risk of cancer. Who doesn't like that?