So, I had a colonoscopy last month. At just 45, I’m not even close to the recommended age of 50 for these procedures. However, after my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer six years ago, my anxiety about my own health has driven me to plead with my doctor for a colonoscopy every year since then. Thankfully, my mom is doing well now. Here’s my colonoscopy experience—grab a coffee and settle in.
For the past six years, my doctor has insisted that since my mom was older at diagnosis, it wouldn’t be deemed hereditary, so early screening wasn’t necessary for me. But you’d be amazed at how persistent a middle-aged woman with a healthy dose of anxiety can be. This year, during my physical, my doctor finally relented, probably thinking, “Alright already, just stop bothering me.” He didn’t say that, but he did agree to the procedure.
I scheduled it right away. First up was a mandatory COVID-19 test since apparently, the virus can escape through your backside. The day I went for my test, they had just started letting patients swab their own noses. Let me tell you, I’m not great at it. I shoved the swab in and the nurse chuckled, saying, “Yeah, that’s not far enough.” After a few attempts and some sneezing, I finally got it right.
Fortunately, I tested negative for COVID, so it was time for the dreaded colonoscopy prep. If you haven’t heard, this is the worst part. You must stop eating 24 hours before the procedure. I couldn’t believe it when my doctor told me this—I thought I might perish. The night before, I had to drink a terrible 16-ounce concoction that left me gagging. They tried to flavor it strawberry, but it was like masking a corpse’s scent with a cheap candle. It didn’t help.
I managed to get it down, but let’s just say I spent a lot of time in the bathroom afterward. The next morning, I had to drink that horrible liquid again. After that, I was basically just releasing air.
My mom drove me to the colonoscopy center, but she couldn’t come inside due to COVID restrictions. I got changed into a gown, and then they inserted an IV. Before long, I was wheeled into the procedure room where the anesthesiologist explained that I wouldn’t be under general anesthesia, but would instead receive propofol. I asked her to keep an eye on my breathing—classic hypochondriac move.
True to her word, I remember her saying she was starting the propofol and then suddenly woke up in recovery. “Jennifer! Do you want some animal crackers?” That caught my attention.
As I munched on crackers, the doctor came in and began delivering a barrage of information that I barely comprehended. I caught phrases like “huge polyp” and “precancerous,” my mind racing as I tried to process it all. I was terrified. Did I have colon cancer? Was I going to need another colonoscopy soon?
When I was finally allowed to leave, I was a mess of emotions. I cried all the way home, fearing the worst. The next morning, however, I felt a bit better. I was physically bloated but emotionally more optimistic. I left a voicemail for the doctor to clarify what he had said.
When he called back, he reassured me that colon polyps are common and typically small, but mine was a whopping 25mm. He said that if I had waited a few months longer for the colonoscopy, we would be having a very different conversation.
The follow-up colonoscopy in three months is to ensure he removed the entire polyp, as he had to take it out in pieces. He even tattooed the site in my colon so he would know where to look next time—though I jokingly asked if he could make it a fun design.
In the end, I feel incredibly fortunate. Although I’m not thrilled about going through this again, I’m thankful I stayed persistent. My experience serves as a reminder—don’t ignore your health concerns. If I had brushed aside my anxiety about my colon, I might be facing a much graver situation now.
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In summary, my experience with the colonoscopy was terrifying yet enlightening. The importance of being proactive about health cannot be overstated. If you have health concerns, speak up and advocate for yourself.