Inside story: Colonoscopies aren't as bad as they used to be

Everybody told me that, like root canals, colonoscopy prep isn't as bad as it used to be.

The cleansing mixture tastes better, they said. We'll just see about that, I thought. I might have to drink only half a gallon of the stuff, instead of the full gallon of swill that it once was, but it had better be tasty. That's all I have to say.

Long overdue for a colonoscopy after skating by for 15 years without one, I agreed to it, but only during our Florida offseason. That's the time of year when the ass man isn't overwhelmed with snowbirds whose guts require inspection, and I'd have half a prayer of an early-morning procedure. Which, believe me, is highly desirable after a full week of avoiding seeds and nuts of all kinds, a day-long liquid diet accompanied by explosive elimination, and nothing whatsoever after midnight save a sip of water for important morning pills.

The gastro's office warned me that the scheduling folks tend to prioritize diabetics. I nevertheless scored a 6:45 a.m. appointment and prepared to feign lightheadedness in order to be rolled in even earlier. That little subterfuge might not be too difficult after a day of fasting, I figured.

But where did the admonition about seeds and nuts come from? I spent a week learning that many foods, which I never would have suspected of such behavior, propagate themselves by means of seeds. I had to pluck a dozen of them from the contents of a jar of roasted red peppers before Bill could make a lovely coulis with it. I had to leave an eggplant untouched when I realized that it, too, had seeds in it.

I ate part of a piece of pizza before discovering, to my horror, what appeared to be a stray tomato seed in its sauce. Like cockroaches, where there is one, there are surely others. What havoc might those puppies wreak?

What happens if a blueberry seed rears its ugly head when that scope is poking about? Is it mistaken for a polyp and needlessly lassoed, in a shameful waste of professional time and effort? Is it big enough that a deadly polyp might hide behind it and be missed? Who knew blueberries had seeds, anyway?

Of course, during serious prep, on the dreaded pre-procedure day of liquid diet and laxative purging, seeds and nuts become the least of one's worries. I tried to live through Prep Day as normally as possible, consuming what passed for meals at the usual times.

The prep instructions suggest "weak" coffee. The hell with that, I said. High test for this girl, loaded with enough sweetener to bake baklava. Then a hearty breakfast of Luigi's Real lemon Italian ice, sprinkled with a cheerful garnish of yellow sugar crystals. Onward, to a light luncheon of beef bouillon, alternating with purgatives the rest of the day, and even more Italian ice and beef bouillon, which makes a hearty meal when you have nothing else. I crunched the little undissolved bits between my teeth, like a hungry Eskimo scraping lichen from rocks.

I believe in preparing for things. I really do. So, I googled "colonoscopy prep" for the dozenth time and learned that I had the wrong color Gatorade to mix with the laxative powder that I'd bought. If the prep sheet had informed me that, not only red and purple, but also blue, Gatorade was out, I wouldn't have had to rush to Walgreen's for white Gatorade at the last minute. And if the fine print of the prep sheet hadn't thought to forbid alcohol for 24 hours beforehand, I would have bought Chardonnay instead.

At 2 p.m. it was time to mix an entire bottle of MiraLAX with my new Gatorade. Normally used in a dose one-fourteenth that amount, "to relieve occasional constipation/irregularity" and to produce "a bowel movement in one to three days," MiraLAX in the amount prescribed for me seemed nothing short of overdose. At best, it was guaranteed to produce results for which one normally stops its use immediately and dials 911.

At 3 p.m. I braced myself and began washing down laxative tablets with the stuff. Google said that I should expect something to happen after perhaps an hour. It happened at once. And continued happening all night long.

The good news?

I was wheeled in promptly at 6:45, treated with extraordinary kindness given my foul mood, and knocked out thoroughly within seconds. I then dreamed of partying at a tiki bar the whole time the doctor went about finding nothing wrong with me.

And unless I choose to go through this all over again at 80, I'm home free.