I have recently been inducted into the “Old Man’s Club”. It wasn’t a surprise really because I knew the day would finally arrive. Once the gray hair arrives along with the bifocals, it’s just a slippery slope to full blown old mandom. But I’m fairly certain that things occur that solidify the arrival.
I’ve always been curmudgeonly, so I guess that wing of old mandom came a little early to the party. That party arrived when I turned 30… I think.
The true slap in the face was when I was finally allowed the chance to get in on the hugs from a young lady at the grocery store. She’s very attractive and possesses one helluva sexy, husky voice. And every week she gives hugs to my father-in-law and our friend Bait. I just never stepped up to the plate because it just seemed a little too intimate for someone that you rarely see more than once a week. And besides, I’m a younger man and I don’t want her to see me as that creepy huggy dude. Not that Jim and Bait are creepy, I just saw myself more of a threat to her because she doesn’t know if I’ll be one of those cats that go out of their way to see her on a daily basis. You know… dropping off little “thinking of you” items and just being all around disturbing by following her every move around the grocery store. I’m thinking that she now sees me as “safe” instead of “dangerous”.
The next slap hit the other cheek when I went to the doctor and she told me to start taking an 81 milligram children’s aspirin every day. Apparently, it’s something that’ll help me with keeping a heart attack away. I’m not the fittest guy on the planet, but yeah… The aspirin deal is kind of like getting that AARP membership envelope in the mail.
Then the ol’ colonoscopy time finally came home to roost.
I must say that it wasn’t as bad as everyone says that it is. Now, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t enjoyable at all. Just not as bad as I had feared.
The way that people explain it… They’d rather eat flaming pieces of charcoal instead of going through that ordeal again.
I stopped eating after 8pm Monday. Then it was nothing but liquids on Tuesday’s menu… Water and the dreaded “prep” liquid.
At first, the thought of having 4 Dulcolax pills at once was crazy. Dangerous. I kept thinking that I’d overdose and go out like Bon Scott or Keith Whitley, but in the reverse sense. But I did as the doctor ordered and then an hour later it was time to drink the “prep”.
The “prep” wasn’t the most pleasant tasting liquid, but it just wasn’t horrid. It was drinking bad and thicker water.
Then the rumble began as I was trying to watch some things on Netflix. I would TCB it, drink more of the “prep”, and return to Netflix. Rumble rumble repeat until about an hour after drinking half of the “prep” for the day. And if it felt like that I needed to pass a little gas, I didn’t take a chance. Oh no, I couldn’t be making gravy in my shorts.
I kept having a fear that I would pass gas in the middle of the night and wake up in a puddle of bowel mud. I nearly slept somewhere else to keep Jamie from being awakened to such a horror. Because she would have surely lost her dinner waking up to that scene. But the night was quiet on all fronts. And backs.
I had to start it all back up again 6 hours before “Operation: Camera Hose” was to commence. So, at 6:30 on Wednesday morning, drink and purge began again.
My output looked like the yellow Triaminic cough syrup. I didn’t understand that at all until I asked the doctor before the procedure. He said that was a good thing… It was my bile.
I asked my friend Bait take me for stupid reasons… Jamie calls me her “rock” in this world of craziness because I’m usually easy going and slow to anger. I didn’t know how I was going to react to the sedation. I didn’t know if I’d come out like a drunkard or crying like my mother at family gatherings. I just didn’t want her to see me in a weakened and vulnerable state. I have never been doped up like that before. I didn’t know what to expect.
Hell, other than my birth, I haven’t been in the hospital for more than a few hours for stitches or waiting with, waiting for, or visiting. I’ve been very lucky with my health and yes, I know that I have taken it for granted. I know that I’m a terrible person.
So, I had a series of “firsts”!
My first IV. My first gurney ride to the procedure room. My first time being put to sleep with a drug… For those keeping score it was Propofol. I remember them telling me that it was going in, I said “Oooo that’s tingly”, one lady said “…you will be falling asleep righ…”, and that’s the last thing that I remember until I woke up being wheeled into the recovery room.
I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t drunk. I felt fine. I wasn’t an emotional mess. My fears were all for nothing. I didn’t have Bait in the recovery room. Because if I were a mess, I didn’t want him to deal with me either.
They finally offered me a drink. Sadly, they didn’t have any Miller High Life so I settled for some apple juice. I hadn’t had a beer since 8pm Monday night when I stopped eating.
The doctor told me that they only found on polyp that was 6mm long and that I did a fantastic job of prepping. I had strange fears that they find something like a Matchbox car or Lego from my early days on this earth, but they only found the one thing. And when I saw the pictures, it all looked like good healthy bowel. I thought my gut would be filled with stalactites and stalagmites like a cave or something from a horror movie.
After my first wheelchair ride to my patient pick-up, I waited. And I waited. I waited for 45 minutes. I asked the girl if they could call up there and ask them if Bait had been alerted about my release. They said that he was alerted, but that turned out to be false. Someone found him just outside taking a phone call. So, they took him down to me and some guy on a big golf cart took us up to Bait’s car.
You can see that I’m now a gray and neutered panther. And I’m okay with it. I’m dealing with it. Hey, it’s part of the life experience. Right?
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