Colonoscopic

         
            I learned I can fast, I can tolerate pain, and I have some fears...

Let me share how I microscopically reflected on my colonoscopy.

The colonoscopy date was set and I dreaded the thought of eating nothing but liquids the day before. I thought about how HUNGRY I would be!!

               The procedure was scheduled for 3:30 in the afternoon, and I was anxious thinking about how I would deal with only liquids all day, and then nothing but the prep “special sauce” that night and into the next day.

               I would be so HUNGRY!

And I am crabby when I don’t eat. Sometimes when my stomach is empty, it hurts and I feel nauseous. I had no idea how I could survive those couple of days with no food.

               But guess what? I did it!

That first day the beef both satisfied my hunger, and at other times when I started feeling the pangs of hunger, I drank water. I did not feel crabby, and I did not get nauseous, and I was able to drink coffee!

               The day of the procedure the “special sauce” filled my stomach to capacity, and I did not really feel hunger pains until about an hour before my procedure arrival time.

               And yes, I did think about food then, and several times I thought about grabbing an apple, or a piece of cheese…

Even when my husband made himself a hamburger for lunch, I just mentally resigned myself to the fact that I would have to wait until after my procedure.

               But OH, what I great meal I will have then!

               In hindsight, I learned that I could last two days only eating one meal. It wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but I did it. One day and a half of only liquids. I survived. I had more self-discipline than I thought.

                During my procedure, in my dehydrated state, the nurse spent some time looking at my veins and contemplating (out loud) how they would insert an I.V. I tried not to be anxious about it, but the concerned look on her face was all I could focus on.

               I consciously forced myself to relax while she tied the band on my arm and attempted an I.V. It was incredibly painful, and I vocalized as much.

               Unfortunately, it was not a “good” vein, and she had to pull the needle out.

               Now my anxiety was on high alert, as my nurse brought in someone else to help her find a good vein. Both of them seemed concerned as they examined my arm. Then they saw a THIRD NURSE walk by the door and called to her to come in to assist.

               They told me, “She has more experience.”

               And indeed, she was that good! Before I knew it, she quickly poked that needle into my hand (yes, my hand!). It hurt, but not nearly as much as the previous one!

               “It’s good!” she exclaimed!

It was like a gift from heaven! I wanted to kiss her I was so relieved! And when she apologized for hurting me, I told her emphatically, “No! Thank you so much!! You were very good!”

               I learned I can tolerate some pain.

                Once the I.V. was in, the doctor came in to talk with me before the procedure. When he discussed the “risks” of the procedure--one that stood out and caused my hair to stand on end, was the risk of a heart attack from the anesthesia.

               I immediately flashed back to a time for me when an unexpected heart attack changed my entire life. And here I was, sitting with the same yellow duck-like “grippy” socks on as he had been, facing a procedure that could result in a heart attack.

               I barely heard the rest of the risks before he was handing me a pen and pushing the clipboard toward me. The sweat in my arm pits felt obvious as I resigned to the procedure and signed the consent form.

               Again, my anxiety reared its ugly head as I contemplated this complication. But with a “history of polyps” (as they told me on several occasions), did I even have a choice?

               I learned that facing a procedure with the risk of a heart attack felt very real to me, and honestly, scared the shit out of me.

               Once they wheeled me into the operating room, I asked the nurse at my side, “Is it too late to change my mind?”

               She said it was not.

               I felt stupid in my fearfulness, and replied, “No, I’m just kidding. I’m fine.”

               Even though I was not. Not at all fine.

               I learned that when faced with a potential heart attack head on, I was afraid.

                The heart attack is more closely related to the whole idea of dying. That these moments in the operating room, like Ed, might be the last breaths I take. This was a real, potential risk with a surgical procedure.

               It encapsulated the whole idea that my time on this earth could instantly be over, and it is an incredibly scary thought.

               One of the things, first and foremost, which makes it scary is because I do not feel prepared for it. I have not made my will. I have not talked to my kids or spouse about my final arrangements. I do not know that I have experienced all that I wanted to experience yet—have I climbed my mountain and sailed my seas?

               And more importantly, have I told all the people I wanted to, that I loved them? And have I accomplished all that I wanted to?

               And indeed, as more of the aging actors and musicians of my time are dying off, even the older generation that I once knew—grandparents, great aunts and uncles, the pastor who married me back in 1988, my old friend the retired pastor, all now gone from this earth—realistically I know that my time on this earth is coming to a close.

               I have always believed people were a top priority, that God calls us not only to make disciples, but to love our neighbors as ourselves. Have I done that? Is it reflected in the life I have lived?

               If I were to pass tomorrow, would I be satisfied with what I have done with my time on this earth?

               I think we all need to reflect on that, as morbid as it may seem. None of us will remain on this earth forever, and are we living like there is no tomorrow? Are we making the most of every opportunity??

               I am somewhat thankful for the colonoscopy, and the fear I momentarily felt, as a reminder that life is short, and I need to make the most of my remaining days.

               And that my friends, is the biggest takeaway from my colonoscopy! I highly recommend you make your final wishes known and be sure and tell your loved ones how much they mean to you now, before it’s too late!