I’m Preparing to Have a Camera Stuck up My Bottom

Colonoscopy Prep is Not Fun

Cameras up bottoms is not a topic I thought I’d ever write about. Especially a camera up my bottom.

That is what will be happening to me tomorrow. Yes folks, I’m having a colonoscopy.

It all started with a horrid stomach bug that wouldn’t go away. I had to stay in for a week. I was afraid of accidents if I strayed too far from a toilet. It eased off a bit, and by Christmas Eve, I thought the situation had improved.

“Stuff it,” I thought. “It’s Christmas. I’m going to have whatever I want to eat tonight.” And I did.

I had a great time. We had two parties to go to. I had cheese, wine, snacks, then at the second party a full dinner and a lot more wine.

“Ha!” I thought, “a full stomach and the relaxing effect of alcohol is the answer all along.”

Not so. After we got home, I was lying in bed reading, waiting for my beloved to finish his shower. Then my tummy started cramping. Thirty seconds later, I rushed into the bathroom, shrieking, “Don’t look, cover your eyes.” I sat on the toilet, and my bottom exploded in a spectacular manner.

“Don’t say we never try anything new,” I said brightly, from the toilet. My loyal partner still had his hand over his eyes in the shower. “Don’t worry. I can’t see anything. Do you think you might like another shower after I’ve finished?”

“There’s three things in this world that you need: Respect for all kinds of life, a nice bowel movement on a regular basis, and a navy blazer.” — Robin Williams.

The exploding bottom situation hadn’t improved by New Year, so I thought I’d better go to the doctors again. I’d already had two phone consultations with a young-sounding male doctor. Lots of talk about motions and bowels and consistency. I’d also taken in a ‘sample’. I’ll let you imagine that. I don’t fancy reliving it.

The third time I saw the doctor in person. Nearly five weeks of unreliable toilet habits had me slightly worried. I’m a practiced hypochondriac, so bowel cancer had already crossed my mind.

Thinking about the talk we had in a lunchtime learning session at work, I remembered that it can be treated if bowel cancer is found early. The trick apparently is to get checked out as soon as you notice anything at all. This includes a change in bowel habits. Then there is a good chance of getting cured.

The doctor, who I had never met before, was young and handsome. He was the one from the phone calls. We had another nice chat about my bowel habits. I felt we were becoming intimate, and I was almost disappointed he didn’t want to examine me.

Nothing had shown up in the sample. Nothing that is tested for anyway. The doctor asked me if I had ever done any of the bowel tests I get through the mail every year.

I admitted that I’d never done them. Mostly I throw the envelope straight in the bin. I have everything else checked, though.

My boobs are squashed regularly by the mammogram machine of doom. They always ask if it hurts. Of course it bloody hurts. A part of my anatomy that usually doesn’t come out in public is being squashed between two metal plates.

I have cervical smear tests every year too. My “on the spectrum” gynecologist, who once told me I had the vagina of an eighty-year-old, regularly inserts metal thing-a-me-bobs up my lady parts. She always takes a photo and likes to ‘go over it’ in detail with me.

The photos are kept in the cloud, she told me. Very secure. Just in case someone wants to steal a copy and put it all over the internet. So what if they did? I’d just deny it was mine.

One time, when I had a biopsy, my gynecologist stuck a thing with a claw up there. I had to cough while she did it. Apparently, if you cough, you don’t notice that you are lying in a doctor’s chair with your feet in stirrups, legs akimbo. With a doctor’s face four inches from your fanny.

“A good reliable set of bowels is worth more to a man than any quantity of brains.” — Josh Billings.

Given all that, you think I’d be game for sending off a ‘sample’ once a year. But sending bits of my poo through the post in an envelope is a bridge too far. For me anyway.

The doctor thought I needed to be checked out, “Considering your age,” he said, “we had better be on the safe side. I’ll book you in for a colonoscopy.” Charming. I’m crossing him off my Christmas card list.

The second I got home from the doctor’s, my bowels went back to normal. Typical. But we are considering my age and being on the safe side, so the colonoscopy will go ahead.

Preparing for a colonoscopy is a three-day process. Remembering the word colonoscopy took longer. I kept telling people I was having a colonectomy or a colostomy. Apparently, colonectomy isn’t even a word. It’s colectomy.

I am now on day three.

For the last two days, I haven’t been allowed to eat anything with fiber. I can eat peeled, cooked vegetables, white everything, and no seeds or nuts. I can’t have nuts anyway because of my nut allergy, so that’s no loss.

We had to order white toast bread and cornflakes from the supermarket. My usual fare of multi-grain bread and porridge is banned.

I could also eat as much cheese, yogurt, custard, and ice-cream as I wanted.

Hang on. White bread toast, dripping with butter?

And ice-cream? Maybe this colonoscopy thing isn’t that bad after all.

This morning I had three slices of white bread toast dripping with butter for my breakfast. The third slice was really for the dogs who always share my toast. Spike is no trouble. He wolfs down anything I give him. Woola is fussier. He likes plenty of butter and expects me to sit and hold the toast while he licks it off.

Straight after breakfast, I took the laxative tablets with a large glass of water, which made me feel sick. Usually, I don’t drink water. I drink tea and wine. I also had some ice-cream. I didn’t want it, but liquids are where it’s at on day three. It’s not often you are instructed to eat ice-cream by a doctor, so I took advantage of it.

“If one’s bowels move, one is happy, and if they don’t move, one is unhappy. That is all there is to it.” — Lin Yutang.

It’s noon now, so I’m limited to water and black tea until tomorrow afternoon. I also have some sort of concoction that will empty my bowels that I must take later. I’ve been instructed to stay home and stay close to the toilet. That doesn’t sound good.

I’ve told the family I won’t be cooking dinner today. I don’t think it will be sanitary, what with me running in and out of the loo. No-one is allowed to lock the bathroom door either, just in case.

Final thoughts

The violent evacuation of my bowels and having a camera stuck up my bottom isn’t my first choice for a list of end of week activities, but there we are. Best to be on the safe side. We have to consider my age.

One good thing is that I will get drugs tomorrow, so I won’t remember anything. My partner has to pick me up and come to the de-brief session so he can relay the findings to me later. After the drugs, there is a good chance I will sit there like a gormless giant puppet and not remember anything.

Sounds fantastic. The most potent drug I usually get my hands on is codeine when I get a migraine.