Schedule carefully
I've had two colonoscopies, 5 years apart, and the key lesson I learned from the first one was to double check the date. They wanted me to set it up ~5 months in advance; that's way too far in the future for me to know what else might be going on. I goofed up badly, not realizing that my appointment was set for the Monday after the Super Bowl. Being my first time, I didn't fully comprehend the horror of prep day.
In my family, Super Bowl Sunday is one of the top food days of the year, on a par with Thanksgiving and Easter and the Christmas Eve Feast of 7 Fishes. So we had two dozen people gathered to watch the big game, everybody chowing down on wings and brats and tacos and beer... everybody except me. The only comestible I was allowed was that gallon jug of prescription phlegm lightly seasoned with some artificial lemon flavoring.
The prep goo is unappetizing enough by itself, but when you're surrounded by the most sinfully yummy junk food on earth, the contrast is stark.
I was a starving orphan at a bakery window, helplessly drooling at the sight of bowls and plates and crocks of seductive, unattainable ambrosia. The savory scent of nachos and onion dip taunted me mercilessly, but all I could do was sniff it and then try to choke down another glug of lemon-scented wallpaper paste before rushing off to the powder room. I lost count of my sessions on the throne, which guaranteed that I missed all the key plays, the best SB commercials and the halftime show.
Five years later, I took no chances. I made sure to schedule my procedure for a Tuesday.
I've had two colonoscopies, 5 years apart, and the key lesson I learned from the first one was to double check the date. They wanted me to set it up ~5 months in advance; that's way too far in the future for me to know what else might be going on. I goofed up badly, not realizing that my appointment was set for the Monday after the Super Bowl. Being my first time, I didn't fully comprehend the horror of prep day.
In my family, Super Bowl Sunday is one of the top food days of the year, on a par with Thanksgiving and Easter and the Christmas Eve Feast of 7 Fishes. So we had two dozen people gathered to watch the big game, everybody chowing down on wings and brats and tacos and beer... everybody except me. The only comestible I was allowed was that gallon jug of prescription phlegm lightly seasoned with some artificial lemon flavoring.
The prep goo is unappetizing enough by itself, but when you're surrounded by the most sinfully yummy junk food on earth, the contrast is stark.
I was a starving orphan at a bakery window, helplessly drooling at the sight of bowls and plates and crocks of seductive, unattainable ambrosia. The savory scent of nachos and onion dip taunted me mercilessly, but all I could do was sniff it and then try to choke down another glug of lemon-scented wallpaper paste before rushing off to the powder room. I lost count of my sessions on the throne, which guaranteed that I missed all the key plays, the best SB commercials and the halftime show.
Five years later, I took no chances. I made sure to schedule my procedure for a Tuesday.