fundament, n., = the buttocks, etc.
All is well.
Let's begin with that. The results of my colonoscopy yesterday were fine--no polyps, no sign of cancer. A relief.
Now let's back up ...
In order to prepare for the procedure, I fasted all day Sunday (as I wrote in my previous post)--liquids only. Then at 6 pm I began consuming the Hellfire Potion (HP) designed to boil through my alimentary canal and remove all residents and residue. I had to mix water with the granulated mixture of the HP that they gave me, and then I had a choice: Do I leave it unflavored? Or mix in some dust of lemon or some black cherry they provided? I was leaning lemon, but Joyce advised the black cherry. I (almost) always listen to her, so black cherry it was. I'l say that about the only resemblance between that black cherry flavoring and actual black cherries involved two words: black cherry. Everything else was different. It was awful, but not unpotable, and I usually drank to assigned portion fairly quickly.
My instructions told me to drink half the HP--15-min intervals, 8-oz glass--beginning at 6 pm; then, I had to arise at 4 am and begin finishing the second half. I had to be at the University Hospitals facility in Bainbridge, east of Chagrin by 8; the procedure would begin at 9.
Last night--the day complete--I remembered that old tale from Norse mythology about Thor drinking from a horn, and despite his ferocious efforts, he cannot seem to diminish the amount of liquid in it. (We learn later that the horn is attached to the oceans!) Well, I felt like Thor on Sunday night and Monday morning: It seemed as if however much I drank, the plastic jug still looked full.
But it wasn't, and I gradually consumed all the "black cherry" HP.
With the expected results.
At the UH facility in Bainbridge, I first went to a prep room where I surrendered my clothing, donned a backless gown (hmmmm ... wonder why?), got an I-V started (they would soon add the sedative), and I chatted some with Joyce, who was allowed to be with me for this portion. A true relief.
Then the physician came and told me what was going to happen (as if I didn't know!), and a few minutes later they began wheeling me toward the procedure room. I told the nurse accompanying me that I had no memory of the actual procedure eleven years ago (I was out); he said I'd probably experience the same thing this time. I saw the room; I passed through the door ...
I woke up back where I'd started. I remembered absolutely nothing--not falling asleep, not the procedure. Nada.
A few minutes later the physician came in. Told me all was well. No polyps. No signs of cancer. Some expected scarring from the radiation I'd had early in 2009.
I was relived. You see, I'd been a bit worried--no, terrified--about the results. One of the places prostate cancer likes to travel (besides the bones) is into the colon. I have a dear friend who died of that precise metastasis.
So when I heard the news, I fought tears (somewhat successfully), saw Joyce beside my gurney. And realized--once again--that I am among the most fortunate of human beings.
|University Hospitals, Bainbridge, OH|