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3D Printing for the Colonoscopy

A solution for the solutions

Actors use a ‘body double’ for scenes that are outside their contract agreement. When I learned about the prep required for my first colonoscopy, I knew it was outside my contract with myself. All that drinking of purgative solutions and sprinting to the bathroom — it was a categorical no-can-do. I’d need a stand-in version of me.

Thus, allow me to present Steph2, a 3-D printed version of moí.

It took some doing to acquire a second version of me. First, I had to find a 3D printer that could print human beings. After an exhaustive search, I located a commercial machine that printed iguanas and armadillos, but not humans.

Given my short timeline for innovation to take hold in the 3D printing field, I paid the printer to fudge. “Think kindergarten self-portrait, not Michelangelo,” I instructed. Then I slipped an extra-large monetary clarification into his hand. He turned on his heels to rev up his printer.

The road to Steph2 was both expensive and full of flops. All the beta prints complained exactly like me. What I wanted was an upgraded model that would take all this colon prep like a serf to my queen. I was looking for 3D printed subservience.

Through a ton of trial and error, and most of my retirement fund (do not tell my husband), I eventually took home a very beautiful, very acquiescent, and seriously clueless Steph2. I almost cried as we drove home together from the printing shop, when she turned and said, “Me like colon prep.”

Training

I doubt I need to say this, but with a 3D print of yourself, it’s all about the training. Don’t skimp. It will take dedicated time. Just ask yourself, “Do I have time to invest in training?” If you waffle on an answer to that, then ask, “Do I want my Zoom calls pre-colonoscopy from a chamber pot?” Trust me, the training will come.

From my background in running, I understood sports-specific training. If you want to run the 400-meter hurdles, you don’t spend your time shooting targets from a set of skis. Training for Steph2 involved two big fitness goals. She needed to be a skilled diuretic drinker, and she needed to be able to get onto a toilet from any place in the house like a 400-meter hurdler.

Mental fitness is key when training a printed version of yourself, and I knew that. Repetitious messaging is your friend. I got two t-shirts made up — one for her, one for me. Steph2’s shirt said, “I am colon prep.” Mine said, “You want colon prep.” We wore them every day and read our new slogans to each other every half hour.

When the time finally came for me to start the prep for the colonoscopy, everything was precisely in place. Unfortunately, risk contingency is a hope, not a guarantee. I’m sad to say, my story didn’t end well.

A delegation of benevolence

Things started out fine. For example, two days before the procedure, you must change your diet — none of this, none of that. It’s a rigamarole of benevolent eating. I did not have such kindness for the gut, so I put Steph2 in the low-fiber seat while I continued to enjoy my raw veggies and nuts. Besides, she didn’t know her back end from a bowl of pudding. Yogurt, tree bark — it was all the same to her.

The following day was a strict liquid diet. I have two letters for this. B. S. This wasn’t my thing, so my printed doppelganger did the liquids while I threw single grapes into the air and caught them in my mouth. I munched while she sipped broth and slurped jello. That day went extremely well for both of us.

After a lot of dedication on my part, Steph2’s abdomen was ready for the onslaught. At oh dark 3pm we began. I mixed up the laxative solution, sat Steph down, and handed her the giant bottle. She looked at me quizzically. I nodded my head and ran my finger across my shirt. “You want colon prep,” I whispered softly to her face. She whispered back, “I am colon prep.” She put her lips to the bottle of intestinal magic and drank.

Then a fantasy began to run through my mind. There I lay in post-op, dreamy from the anesthesia, the nurses were congratulating me on my successful procedure. My husband was holding my hand with love in his eyes. Someone gave me a delicious drink. Another stood by with a tasty treat. It was an idyllic scene drifting sweetly in my head.

Abruptly I snapped out of it. Steph2 violently slapped her butt with her hand. She was trying to stop a flood. “Quick!” I yelled, “Like we rehearsed!” She shuffled off, a pained look on her face, slamming the bathroom door shut. The rest I’ll leave to your imagination. That day was our best day.

The morning of my procedure was relaxing. I handed over the TP rolls from the couch on which I lounged, as Steph2 hobbled back and forth to the bathroom. Finally, after she stopped drinking any liquids well before the surgery, I lifted a big glass of fresh-squeezed juice in our honor. “To us!” I said.

Best laid plans

At this point, things started to roll downhill. It occurred to me at the eleventh hour that I couldn’t be the one on the surgery bed. Only one colon had been prepped. Instead, I’d don a disguise and be Steph2’s official ride home from surgery. She’d do the colonoscopy. I put on a wig, we got in the car, and off we drove to the surgery center. What could go wrong?

A lot.

I’d been sitting in the waiting room enjoying a delightful novel while Steph2 was being probed and studied. Then a big commotion erupted from the back of the office. Those of us could hear it from where we sat waiting. People started running into and out of the front reception area. “Come here, guys!” someone yelled. “This patient back here is PLASTIC!”

My eyes shot up from my book. Oh crap.

Quickly, I grabbed my purse and jacket. I quietly slipped out the office door and ran to my car. Did I pay a retirement’s worth of money for the 3D print job I’d just left on the surgery bed? You bet I did.

When I got home, I let the doctor’s call go to voicemail. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. He left a long-winded, emotionally charged message. Then he dropped a bad egg.

“At any rate, Ms. Wilson, you will need to re-do the procedure in two months. Call my front office to schedule, and don’t even think about stepping foot in here with a plastic colon.”

I sat listening to his message. I slowly sipped my warm tea, carefully nibbled my breakfast, then I looked off into the distance. There was only one thing running through my mind.

Could there be a long-lost identical twin of mine out there somewhere?

Update: Stephanie Wilson eventually survived a colonoscopy all on her own, and found jello to be better than she ever imagined. She thanks Betsy Denson for fine-tuning this. Her editing ideas were spot-on.