Colon-NAP-scopy, the Rest of the Story

I hadn't planned on writing a follow-up to my last blog about preparing for my first ever colonoscopy, because really, who wants to have a colonoscopy, let alone read about someone else having a colonoscopy?

Not me!

Which is good, because I really don't remember anything that happened Monday. Except that I slept. A lot. And sleeping is my very next favorite thing, right after eating.

So, if you ignore the part where I couldn't eat solid foods for 24-hours and I couldn't eat or drink anything for 8 hours, and concentrate on the part where I got to sleep for more or less seven whole hours, my colonoscopy wasn't such a bad thing.

I've taken to calling it my colon-naps-copy.

I'm still a little hot about the whole “no eating or drinking” clause, because I woke up Monday morning thinking “Woo Hoo! Coffee counts as a clear liquid! Come to Mama!”

But then I thought – and who knows why I had this rational thought after not eating solid food for 24 hours already – “Wait a minute....” And sure enough, there in CAPITAL LETTERS, buried in the middle of the instructions, it said “DO NOT EAT OR DRINK ANYTHING 4 HOURS PRIOR TO PROCEDURE.”

Of all the mornings to sleep in.

Yes. Yes, I would have set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. just so I could have a cup of coffee. If I would have remembered that little detail.

Everything turned out for the best, though, because Me+No Coffee=Tired.

This means that after arriving at the hospital at 8:30 a.m., checking in and changing into an adorable matching gown and robe set, I sat in the waiting area and promptly dozed off. I woke up in time to listen to the final boarding instructions and to have the I.V. started (not of coffee, unfortunately), then promptly dozed off again.

After this short nap I was given my boarding pass and ushered down a short hallway and into the procedure room. Once comfortably seated... er, arranged... on my side, the Wonder Drugs were administered. I don't remember what they were exactly, but it doesn't matter, because I will always refer to them as (cue the choir of angels) The Wonder Drugs.

Nurse A (my favorite nurse of all times) administered The Wonder Drugs and told Nurse B (second favorite) to mark the time. It was 10:03 a.m. This freaked me out a little because in all my vast TV medical drama watching experience, the only time they ever “mark the time” in a hospital is when someone dies.

I was still checking to make sure I was alive when (and this is where things get fuzzy) Nurse A asked the time (10:05, apparently she realized I wasn't dead yet), and the doctor asked me if the drugs were working. I couldn't figure out why she was asking me this so soon, or how I would know if they were working, or why her voice was coming from across the room when she was standing directly over me and why her face look so loooooong and wavy.

And that's when I thought “Yes. Yes they are working. And I like them.”

The next thing I knew it was 11 a.m. and I was in the recovery room.

My husband, the long-suffering King, was there waiting for me and looking forward to taking me to the Hamburg Inn for breakfast. Despite not having eaten for more than 24-hours, I vetoed food. Apparently when they were scoping my colon, they left behind a fully-inflated beach ball. I couldn't bend over to put on my socks, much less think of eating. If you've ever had a fully-inflated beach ball in your tummy, you know that not even pancakes or biscuits and gravy sound good (although they sound good now, hint hint).

I managed to stay awake for most of (a little bit of) the ride home, then curled up tight around my beach ball and slept for another five hours.

Best. Day. Ever.

I have decided to use my enforced fast as inspiration to clean up my diet. I have made a pledge to become a mindful eater, to pay more attention to the foods I eat. This means I will carefully consider and fully appreciate each and every Cheeto and Oreo that I stuff into my mouth.

Long story short? If you are putting off having a colon-naps-copy – I mean colonoscopy -- don't. Early detection saves lives. There's nothing to worry about (but I'm not a doctor).

And everything to nap for.