Go Lightly old man...

“When a lot of remedies are suggested for a disease,

that means it cannot be cured.”

­ – Anton Chekhov, Russian playwright

It all began in my fiftieth year at the urging of my wife. I had heard stories about this, but figured if I didn't think about it, or more importantly mention it, the whole idea would slip into the ether. Unfortunately, waiting in the ether was Molly – my partner and cohort for the past forty-some years. As it turns out, she wasn’t just hanging out there, she was proactive.

I am a fortunate man, in that Molly is not a nag. She doesn’t hammer away at things she thinks ‘I’ or the collective ‘we’ should be doing. She's strong, and she's smart, so I suspect her management of me is pretty much invisible. That is unless it has to do with my health. Then she can be a bear – bear-ess?

So as the mid-century mark began to creep up, a quiet narrative started to slip into our conversations. You know, "Don't you think you should consider getting a colonoscopy?" Of course, I thought nothing of the sort. Why would I consider anything like that? My weight was good. I exercised regularly, slept well, and had a healthy diet – why would I want to have a very long flexible probe poking around my…well, you know, my private nether regions.

I got it that she cared about my health, but at eight years my junior, she wouldn't need to consider this for nearly a decade. Without getting into the detail, this was a battle I was less than adequately prepared to fight. I mean, what’s the comeback when someone both loves you and has data to back them up.

What to do?

So, there I was sitting in the waiting room of my local gastroenterologist getting ready to learn about an impending, albeit unconscious, intimate experience with a man I hardly knew. There would be no getting to know him. No conversations about life and philosophy – nothing. Just a strange man looking at my hindquarters in the most benign, and dispassionate way. I suppose truth be told if it were going to happen, this is the way I would want it to be.

His nurse indicated this was a safe and common procedure the doctor had performed hundreds of times. She explained that I would need to drink a hypertonic solution called GoLytely to prepare myself for the event. “GoLytely.” Sort of rolls off your tongue with an almost a poetic lilt.

“GoLitey” is Polyethlyne Glycol, in more recent years referred to as PEG-ES. The “ES,” standing for – electrolyte solution. Kinda sounds like something you would take if you were going to be hydrating out in the desert somewhere. Water is vital to ingest, but electrolytes are essential.  In this case, of course, it could not be further from the truth. The purpose of this benign-sounding torture producing solution has nothing to do with retaining anything. On the contrary, it is intended, once started, to remain within your digestives system until the same ingested volume exits, shall we say, the other end of the alimentary canal.

To be clear polyethlyne glycol should NOT be confused with ethylene glycol, more commonly known as antifreeze. Although by the time this cleansing is finished, one might wonder whether a good dose of antifreeze might not have been better.

If you want to get a clear idea of how this stuff works – envision a dam breaking and washing away everything in its path – and I mean EVERY-THING.

The drinking solution, of course, is nothing more than preparation for the big dance itself. I have always indicated an eagerness to take all the drugs available and at their maximum dose during the actual procedure. The best thing I can say about this is that I am exceedingly glad I never had an inkling of interest in this field. I haven't even spent much time imagining what professional conversations might take place between people who do this for a living.

Yet once again…

Last week, I had the opportunity, for the fifth time, to enjoy the rigors of this procedure. I thought I had gotten the system down. The first couple of times, I scheduled it at the earliest appointment in the morning. But when the cleanse began it was early evening, meaning I got practically no sleep. I'm not the sharpest tack in the box, but after the second one, I scheduled afternoon procedures. I'd go to bed early, get a good night's sleep, rise at the crack of dawn and start the cleanse. By the time I slipped into that open-backed, pride-defeating gown, I was rested and a clean machine.

As before, I scheduled this procedure for 2:30 PM. When I received the PEG-ES, it was in two doses – one for the preceding evening and one for the day of. This was new and a surprise. The instructions indicated it was a two-stage procedure, each of which would take about five hours. Once again, by-passing the intimate detail, each cleanse lasted nearly eight hours.

As politely as I can express, I was one unhappy camper when I showed up for my 2:30 appointment with my engines still running. That having been said, the intake staff were thoughtful and patient. After being prepped, and wheeled into the procedure room, the nurse anesthetist started the haze-inducing drugs. Just before disappearing into 'la la land,' a hand shook mine and a man I had never met indicated he was the doctor doing the work. I think I mumbled something.

A silver lining…

As with previous procedures, my insides were healthy with nothing untoward to report. That, of course, delighted the instigator of these regularly scheduled interruptions in the calm waters of my life.

The best news? When I received the report, it indicated I would not need another Colonoscopy. I interpreted that as meaning I would never have to do this again. Molly? She said, since there was nothing there, they would not need to do a second procedure. It did not mean I would never need one of these in the future.

To invoke the marvelous lyric of Marvin Hamlish from A Chorus Line: 
                    "...But I can't regret what I did for love..."

Really?

- ted