Another colonoscopy test was ordered. I became more familiar with the process than I ever hoped. My husband and I joked each Doctor probably tattooed graffiti initials to claim their territory of my colon.
Colonoscopy prep is a whole day. First, a grocery store run for all the Cherry Glacier Gatorade Food Lion had in stock. The process can be dehydrating and the last thing I wanted was to be dehydrated. Being dehydrated for me meant my already tiny veins were going to be near impossible to place should I need to go to the ER. It meant hoping the overnight nurse was kind while I had a full-on panic attack. It meant multiple body parts would be stuck, and hoping they found a “good” vein before they got to my feet/ankles. *shutter*
I imagine most people who have colonoscopies don’t worry about the ER just because they drank some “Colon Clearer”. I imagine most people complain about the frequency of using the bathroom and maybe pop a Tylenol for cramping. For me, already struggling through side effects and symptoms daily, adding an additional super laxative was too much. It caused stabbing pain so severe that I would vomit. When there was nothing left, I’d vomit bile that stung coming up like moonshine does going down. When there was no more bile it turned into dry heaves. It would not stop. I could not keep down any nausea meds, liquids, even my frozen Pedialyte trick didn’t work. On that cold bathroom floor, I’d cry tearlessly, knowing when I called my Doctor, I’d be sent to my ER nightmare.
But not this time. This time I had a transdermal nausea patch and even dissolvable Zofran that, while caused terribly painful side effects, kept me from being able to throw up even if I wanted to. This time I over hydrated before I touch the pipe cleaner cocktail, and I had it all prepared: heating pads, ice packs, anti-nausea wrist bands, and even a go bag with a current list of medicines should things go wrong. Things went wrong.
Before, it was the pain causing the non-stop vomit fest. This time, I couldn’t get the prep drink down. EVEN WITH THE PATCH. I took a tiny sip; it hit my stomach and it was back up. It wasn’t the taste, although chasers were on hand. My stomach just refused.
I called my Doctor, furious because I DID IT ALL RIGHT, I had a plan and I prepared. My Doctor advised since I hadn’t kept down more than a few bites of applesauce and an odd Strawberry Boost for a while, I should stop the prep. They still wanted me at the scheduled arrival time. Maybe they could still do the procedure, and if not, they’d at least give me fluids.
We arrived early. I tried to sip as much water as possible before we checked in and faced that stupid IV. I rationally understood it had no reason to cause such terror and yet my anxiety medication did nothing about my racing heart.
They got it in only two tries, right hand was the winner that day.
My Doctor gave the green light on having the procedure. I was wheeled into a large open room with a nursing station in the center and curtained off beds lining three sides. A slew of nurses, doctors, volunteers, and anesthesiologists visited my bed. They introduced themselves, asked my date of birth like I was underage and trying to get a Long Island Iced Tea, scanned my bracelet and had me sign things. I used my left hand to sign which resulted in a scribble.
“You know, you can move the right arm, the needle isn’t in there anymore”. She meant well, but it wasn’t the needle, exactly. There was a foreign object in my vein. It pumped cold saline a little too fast. I usually needed a slower drip than normal. It wasn’t just my fear of needles. It was every needle reminded me of all the other needles. The pictures of medical instruments would start flashing, even with my eyes closed, and it was like a rollercoaster of everything bad that’s ever happened to me, however far removed from this needle.
But I responded with
“I know, I’m just a baby”, offered a sheepish smile and watery eyes, and moved the warmed sheet back over my arm so I couldn’t see it.
Finally, it was time for the procedure. My hair net was on, the transport person had my bed unlocked and I kissed my husband goodbye. He had my glasses with their -7.0 in each eye prescription and my wedding ring even though one of the nurses said it was okay to wear if she covered it with a band-aid. Apparently, the other nurses disagreed.
I took my deep breaths and tried to remember how lucky I was to have access to this care, when a tall blob showed up. He said he was the anesthesiologist I met earlier and that after reviewing my history, he was going to add a dose of ketamine to the normal anesthesia as it had been shown to be beneficial at lowering pain for a period of time afterwards. The blob asked if I had any questions and I squeaked out
“The DRUG ketamine?” I am sure he responded in some professional answer, but I was busy thinking KETAMINE!? A drug I hadn’t researched and was being sprung onto me literally blind while I was already in a weakened mental state given the tape on the IV had crinkled when I flinched and now I could feel the IV even more, if that’s a thing?
The blob moved closer and slowed his talking down.
“Don’t worry. Sometimes there are adverse effects or hallucinations but if that happens, we will close the curtain and turn down the light.”
My brain fielded so many objections I short circuited.
1. Hallucinating in a MEDICAL environment hooked up to an IV , while I battled already horrifying images just laying there sober?
2. Close the Curtain?!?! How would that stop a HALLUCINATION!
3. Is there an antidote?
4. Isn’t ketamine a street drug?
5. I DON’T KNOW WHAT A K HOLE IS BUT ISNT IT BAD?
6. But, the curtain. I mean.
7. OMG I’m going to get in a K hole or have the worst trip known to man and flip out in front of all these people. They’ll know it’s me. I don’t think dimming the lights or closing the curtain will throw them off at all.
On the plus side, it was great for helping me stop thinking about the IV.
A final goodbye kiss and now the blobs were swimming because I was crying as quietly as I could while being wheeled away.
I woke up feeling like I always did after anesthesia; like I was just cuddled up inside of the very center of a unopened rose, safe and peaceful and never wanting to return to the real world where a nurse was entering data, waiting to hear me fart (colonoscopy protocol). Same as always, the results of this test were unremarkable.
Luckily, the only side effect I experienced was feeling markedly lighter, and jovial for about two weeks. There are studies indicating controlled amounts of ketamine could be beneficial regarding mental and physical health. It is currently administered only during anesthesia or in trials requiring the patient to experience hours long sessions of being hooked up in a chair and tripping ketamine in an open room at the doctor’s office.
As lovely as that feeling was, I decided to wait until the medical field advances to administer ketamine without a needle. I mean, those doctor office trials don’t even have a curtain to close if things get too intense.
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