Sometimes I think I will never be free. Even though I am relieved of the main cancer concern, the follicular lymphoma, I still need to wrap up the rectal cancer followup. My rectal oncologist promised that once I have this next colonoscopy and its clear, she will release me and pronounce me cured of rectal cancer. Yeah!
Having had ten or so of these delightful procedures, I am not looking forward to today's prep. The worst part is having to drink gallons of yucky stuff. OK, not gallons. Just 64 ounces of slimy diarrhea inducing gunk. It takes so much time to down it, and then of course, the inevitable time spent getting rid of it. Sometimes explosively, if you get my drift.
I don't think I have it in me to go through this one more time, even on the promise of release. I finally ask the good Lord to help me. I have procrastinated long enough. I mix the dry white powder crystals in half the necessary amount of water. Refrigerate. Bad enough cold, but horrid warm. Every half hour, I mix equal amounts of slime water and white peach cranberry juice. The tartness of the cranberry cuts the taste.
Bottoms up - count the number of swallows to down 8 ounces. Usually takes me two breaths to get it all down. Then the shudder part and a quick mouthful of Jello - nothing red or purple if you please - to kill the taste. Yuck. But I am surprised at how quickly time passes. I went to the downtown library and rented an armful of old movies and TV shows to keep my focus on something other, and the ploy works.
I tuck a towel over my bedsheets - these preps can be rather unpredictable - and settle in for the night, sleeping intermittently. I sense God's presence and assurance. All will be well. Not to worry. The worst is over now that the prep is complete. Tomorrow will go smoothly.
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