Oh shit ...

So I asked my friends on Facebook: Which is worse — a root canal or colonoscopy?

Most said root canal — but one friend conceded that it’s “a toss up,” with the root canal most likely costing a lot more.

Only two thought a colonoscopy would be worse, and one of them commented, “Usually one is not fortunate enough to get to pick the procedure.”

True, although I did essentially “pick” to have a colonoscopy — after a couple years of goading from my doctor.

I’ve never had either procedure but by tomorrow afternoon, will be able to report on the latter. The worst, I’ve heard — and what I’m dreading — is the prep. Why voluntarily bring on diarrhea? Can’t we just wait until we catch a bad stomach bug, then ring up proctologist and request an immediate colonoscopy?

Since there’s no backing out now, I am thankful for my Facebook friends who put it in perspective:

“Think about how short lived the discomfort is! Two days later it is just a memory.”

And my friend Mary, who commented, “Both not the most fun, but I'll take either one over open heart surgery.”

Then there’s this to look forward to: “The best part is after the colonoscopy when they give you heated blankets and food.”

Who knew? Something to look forward to?

Post-Colonoscopy

Well, that was a whole lot of no fun. 

The prep or the recovery.

The things they DON’T tell you before a colonoscopy — like expect to freeze to death as your gut experiences repeated flash floods. And your butt is going to feel as if you were sitting in sulfuric acid. 

Then don’t expect to get any sleep — because who can relax and fall sleep with the threat of bowel matter gushing from your anus?

Also, you have to get up at 1 AM to start round two (yes, there’s a round two). For the next 3 hours, your gut will discharge every little particle left clinging to the intestinal walls. 

Then, just as you start to doze off, shivering despite wearing a down vest and lying under a down comforter, you have to get up and get to the hospital, where you check in — and hope to god that you are there on the right day.

I don’t remember a thing about the procedure. I think they gave me enough anesthesia to sedate a 300-lb constipated man. I barely came-to in the recovery room, and then felt ill when I finally did wake up.

Apparently the doctor came in and talked to me, but I have no recollection.

Despite nausea and a really painful gut, they didn't let me linger. No-sir-ree, they shooed me right out of there. Maybe they had other patients needing a recovery room bed — like airplanes waiting on the tarmac for a gate?

I wobbled to car, then into the house and collapsed into bed. I have no idea how long I slept. I was queasy all day. And despite not eating for 24 hours, had no appetite. Weight loss plan? 

Oh, and to add to the indignity, I still have liquid shit coming out of me. Make it stop! 

I can’t believe that I volunteered for this. But the doctor did find one polyp, so I guess it’s good I had it done. He told Andy it was small and probably benign and that I could come back in 10 years.

Yeah, maybe I’ll stretch that to 20.

Pardon sentence structure. I’m not supposed to operate heavy machinery for 24 hours. That might include a laptop, no? 

A week later …

Noooooooooooo!

That small polyp that the doctor removed during my colonoscopy, the biopsy showed that it was benign. But it was a sessile serrated polyp and its “risk for future development of colorectal cancer is unclear,” read the letter from my doctor.

I googled sessile serrated polyp, and it doesn’t make for good bedtime reading.

It’s a premalignant lesion caused (I believe) by a genetic mutation and is a precursor to colon cancer. Not a lot is known about them, other than that they aren’t all that common and that they can lead to colon cancer.

This is all that I’ve been able to decipher from a few medical papers that contain phrases like “CpG island methylation” and “epigenetic inactivation of the mismatch repair gene MLH1 resulting in microsatellite instability.”

Doctors should know that laypeople are going to google their medical conditions and include warnings to their patients. Like DO NOT USE GOOGLE WHEN LOOKING FOR MEDICAL ADVICE.

Particularly if it’s a skin condition. Because those photos are terrifying.

And what’s with the doctor sending me a five-sentence note containing the word “unclear”? And one of those sentences wasn’t even complete.

For the price he’s charging, could he at least reassure me that the polyp was small, there was only one, and give me some statistics from others who have had one small sessile serrated polyp removed? Perhaps via a phone call?

I feel like I have a time bomb ticking in my gut. And if it’s a genetic mutation, it’s not like eating more fiber will help.

Now I have to have another colonoscopy in 5 years, not 10.

The fuzzy mega colon plush toy that I bought at Philadelphia’s medical Mütter Museum is mocking me. 

Crap.

Cecil, the Sessile Serrated Polyp

I have named the polyp removed during my colonoscopy. It’s name is Cecil. It makes it seem less scary.