Colonoscopy Prep Is Brutal—Here’s My Honest Story

Ever had to undergo a colonoscopy? It's been a few days since I had one, and I'm still feeling some sort of way about it.

[Fair warning. This post gets a little graphic as you scroll further down - but in the most important and meaningful way.]

Why I Had to Get a Colonoscopy

Full disclosure: there's a family history of colon cancer on my father's side, which heightens my concern about my own health. Makes me want to make sure everything's okay down there, right?

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So, at the recommendation of my physician, I underwent a colonoscopy. The procedure itself was quick and painless. I would say I passed with "flying colors", but that might paint too vivid a picture.

It's the 36 hours prior to the procedure that still have me shell-shocked.

The 36 Hours Before: A Hunger Game

The day before my colonoscopy, I was forced to endure a "broth only" diet. Basically fasting, but with chicken-flavored water for moral support. My stomach cried out for substance, but all it got was a steady parade of clear liquids like Canada Dry and Powerade - you know, the kind of beverages that say, "Hey, we know we're not food, but let's pretend for now."

Then came the Gas-X tablets, which actually tasted kind of good. Granted, I hadn't had much to compare them to. For a brief moment, I thought, "Maybe this won't be so bad." Ah, sweet summer child. How quickly that naivete would soon be flushed away.

Miralax Madness: The Real Cleanse Begins

Enter the Miralax/Powerade cocktail, a fluorescent witches' brew that promised to "gently encourage" my colon to empty. Lies. LIES, I tell you! What it actually did was stage a hostile takeover of my digestive system. After two rounds of that unholy libation, I was no longer a person. I was a veritable faucet. A human Slip 'N Slide. I spent so much time on the toilet, I started referring to it as "my office".

An Intimate Relationship with My Toilet

Oh, and let's talk about those bathroom visits for just a moment, shall we? Endless. Apocalyptic. I became intimately acquainted with sounds my body had no right to make. I'm pretty sure I even levitated at one point. My toilet and I bonded. Trauma does that.

The Final Betrayal: One-Ply TP

But nothing - NOTHING - could have prepped me for the final betrayal. I was fairly certain my system must have been completely empty by the time I arrived at the doctor's office for my procedure, but decided to make sure. I'd go one final time, just to be certain.

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What awaited me in the doctor's office restroom was unforgivable. One-ply toilet paper. One. Measly. Ply. After everything my poor backdoor had endured, that office had the audacity to expect me to dab at it delicately with some sort of dollar store sandpaper. Are you kidding me?! Where was the aloe? Where was the Charmin? For as much as a colonoscopy costs, insurance should be springing for a bathroom attendant with a tube of Desitin and a spatula.

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They know who their patients are. They know what's coming out of us. The least they could do is provide some toilet paper that doesn't qualify as a hate crime.

There. I feel better.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to eat something that isn't broth and doesn't come in a plastic jug.