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Worst part surely is to get ready, set, go!
(by Lauri Gross - April 29, 2010)
VITAL TRIFLE, BY LAURI GROSS
Worst part surely is to get ready, set, go!
In "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," Harry and Professor Dumbledore find themselves in a tiny boat crossing an eerie lake inside a dark cave. At the center of the lake is a basin full of green potion.
Dumbledore determines that the only way to take possession of the locket at the bottom of the basin is to drink the potion -- and he really, really needs that locket! He knows that drinking the potion will be nearly unendurable and possibly fatal, but still he remains focused on his mission.
He gets Harry to promise that he will do everything in his power to ensure that Dumbledore drinks all the potion in the basin, no matter how he protests or what may happen. Reluctantly, Harry agrees. Dumbledore empties goblet after golden goblet, becoming delusional and tortured by the process. But still Harry forces the green liquid down Dumbledore's throat, himself sickened by what he is doing to Dumbledore.
I can relate.
I recently had my first colonoscopy, and, as everyone has heard, the "prep" is the worst part. During my "prep," I truly felt like Dumbledore, facing a basin full of a toxic green potion.
To undergo a successful colonoscopy, one's intestines must be empty. Not "I just used the bathroom" empty. I'm talking, all 28 feet of your small and large intestine so completely empty as to be positively gleaming, shiny, clean, so much so that a food particle would simply have nowhere to hide and would willingly turn itself in to the authorities. I made most of this up, except the part about 28 feet. That I got from Wikipedia. But still, I think it's basically true.
So, to get your intestines this shiny clean without removing them, you have to follow the "prep." When I picked up my prep kit from the drugstore, the pharmacist smirked as she handed me the one-gallon jug. They don't smirk when they hand you your blood-pressure medication or your antibiotics, but they do when they hand you a gallon jug and colonoscopy prep kit.
The prep-kit instructions said not to eat anything solid -- and to drink only clear liquids -- for a day before the procedure. Serving my family full meals while I dined on jello and clear broth was actually not that bad. The liquids did keep my belly full enough to ward off the pangs of hunger. But through it all, I couldn't deny the existence of that gallon jug.
Per the instructions, I poured the packet of powder into the jug and filled it with water. My drugstore provided a choice of flavors for the powder. I chose lemon-lime. As instructed, I refrigerated the solution. At the prescribed time -- I think it was about 6 p.m. -- I began drinking, a la Dumbledore.
The prescription indicated I should drink 8 ounces of the solution every 15 minutes until I had consumed half the gallon. So this took one hour and 45 minutes. I think I kicked Dumbledore's butt in terms of how much time he took. He didn't have a time limit, and his life was as stake, but still.
The instructions also said I had to chug each glassful. Well, it didn't use the word "chug" exactly, but it did say, "Drink it quickly and do not sip." The lemon-lime flavor was not so bad, but the sickeningly sweet smell and the thick, slimy nature of the stuff was definitely not pleasant.
The instructions warned that I would experience a rapid, thorough and frequent emptying of my intestines. "You may want to remain at home during this time," the pamphlet gently suggested. The instructions also warned of nausea. "Call your doctor if you vomit from drinking the prep." I wanted to vomit, to rid myself of the extreme bloating, but, alas, I did not.
According to the instructions, I needed to finish drinking the second half gallon of prep solution five hours before I left the house for my appointment in the morning. This meant I had to get up at 3 a.m. to spend another hour and 45 minutes drinking 8 ounces every 15 minutes until I had emptied that jug. So I did.
So as not to wake the rest of the household, I sat in our basement playroom at 3 a.m., huddled under a blanket against a chill, with our two cats as my only company. At least Dumbledore had Harry Potter by his side. Little by sickening little bit, I chugged those 8-ounce glasses and would have done a victory dance as I downed the final ounce; only my belly was too full, and I was too sleepy.
Eventually, everyone else woke up and began their day. The kids left for school, and my husband drove me to my appointment. I met the doctor, and a nurse inserted an IV to deliver a "mild sedative." The next thing I knew, a nurse said my husband was on his way to pick me up. "But wait, you forgot to do the colonoscopy," I secretly considered calling out, but then I figured I that "mild sedative" might just have been a figure of speech.
So, indeed, the prep was the worst part. As Dumbledore died from complications indirectly associated with his "prep," I bet he wishes he could say the same.
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