Modern Medicine- wondrous and challenging

I am sitting in my dining room on a cool, classic fall evening as the sun goes down and the streetlights illuminate the tossing colored leaves across the street. I am feeling more relaxed and content than I have for several days. I am savoring the memory of a full on cheeseburger, fries, and milkshake lunch which I wolfed down in the mid-afternoon. I am wondering how long it will be until I'll have a bowel movement. Yes, I know that's not a favorite topic for polite conversation, but today it's on my list of things to think about.
Earlier today I had my first colonoscopy, the medical procedure which involves inserting a "scope with camera and tools" into the rectal end of the digestive system and exploring all the way to the headwaters at the cecum scouting for polyps or other sorts of bad actors. Colonoscopies are touted as the most significant tool in preventing colorectal cancer that we have. For old guys past the half century mark like me, they show up as a recommendation every ten years. I've never had one and I have a digestive system that believes whimsical behavior is part of its role in my life. As a result, my doc gave me a referral slip and urged me to sign on. I shuddered because the image colonoscopies evoke combined with a terror that something might actually be diagnosed was scary. He noted my equivocal response and laughed. "It's not as bad as you've heard," he said. " They'll sedate you and you won't remember a thing. Worst thing that can happen is that you can say some pretty stupid things under sedation."
So it was that I found myself going through the two appointment process to 'get ready' and then to have the procedure. Today was procedure day. But getting ready started five days out with an admonition not to eat anything with seeds, nuts, or similar small objects. I was shocked to discover how almost everything I eat has some sort of seed attached or nurtured within. Two days before the event, I began taking a variety of noxious potions designed to purge the system. Exploration of the colon isn't effective against the alligators of disease if the waters are "murky". The regimen stacks three different forms of cleansing agent together, deprives you of any food that might create 'murk' and bans "dark" liquids like red Gatorade. I was in a froth just trying to make sure I was following all the directions in the right order. When I reached the steps for "night before procedure" I actually had to go back to all the empty plastic containers twice to check the instructions because the regimen was so much less noxious than I'd expected. The most difficult challenge was timing my passage near a variety of gas stations, retailstores, and parts of my workplace with the presence of restrooms being a high value. Sort of a musical chairs experience except that the music was of a single note.
So it was that today, washed with an inner cleanliness, I climbed in the car with my wife and we drove to the clinic. The four page instruction sheet is very clear about the fact that they will not let colonoscopites leave the office without a responsible adult accompanying them. No, say the instructions, you may not take a bus, taxi, or walk home. One powerful good that comes from colonoscopy is that it teaches you that you've gotta trust somebody in your life. I'm lucky, Mar (my wife) would stand with me through thick or thin. Not, of course, that she wouldn't be above writing something rude on my stomach with a Sharpie while I was sedated.
The whole process from check-in to checkout is rated at two hours. I had already scheduled myself for the cheeseburger with the works at 3Pm and was hoping there weren't delays.
I was finally called to the back and given a gown and a large plastic bag for my belongings. I had brought a book, but it quickly became clear that I wasn't going to read it while the upriver expedition took place. "You can take it with you," said the nurse "but you won't remember it." Then she explained to me that the gown was easy to put on--green ties to green ties and white ties to white ties---oh, and that they go in the front. The front? "Yes, she said, "I know it's counterintuitive, but the front." Okay I said.
The usual pressure, tempo, and similar anatomical checking took place and I was fitted with a nice IV. I was a little anxious. I haven't had anything remotely like surgery since my tonsils were stolen when I was six. The only exception has been dentistry. The idea that I was going to be awake one minute, slip into sedate sleep the next, and wake up some unknown time later having missed the time in between was hard to imagine. And I have to admit I don't like giving up control. The nurse explained that I could have the procedure done 'cold turkey' and I quickly decided that losing thirty minutes or so from memory might be preferable to worrying about how my posterior looked while the doctor and nurse made 'tut tut' noises and watched the video screen.
The procedure room was simpler than an operating theater. The nurse put in a CD, Van Morrison from the Bang Masters, and I was immediately more comfortable. I suspect even Van has had to have this journey to the heart of darkness. He's older than me. The doc finally came in and apologized for being late--he'd been admitting an earlier patient to the hospital. I didn't say so but that didn't sound reassuring. "Ready?" He asked. I thought about the cheeseburger and said "Let's get rollin'".
I have a vague memory of the recovery room. Mar says I actually got dressed while she was there. And I have a checksheet of things to look for or not do "post op". There are pen checks on the sheet and Mar insists I was present while the nurse went over them. I have a vague memory of walking down to the car. Just a bit ago, I had to ask Mar if we'd gotten the mail from the mailbox. We had. Most important though, I remember the cheesburger. And the fries. And the vanilla shake. Oh, and the outcome of the expedition up to the northern ends of my anatomy? Apparently nothing lurked in the murk. And they gave me a couple of color pictures to commemorate that fact-one was a passing shot of my appendix. The best thing though, is that I'm not due to go back down this road again for ten years.