March is colon cancer awareness month, and I turned fifty last fall so this month seemed like the right time to sign up for my first colonoscopy. I’m trying to embrace this “season” of my life. I’ve even stopped coloring my hair and let it go back to it’s natural color, which now includes a lot more gray than it used to. Scheduling the colonoscopy was a much smaller blow to my ego.

It’s true that most colon cancers are diagnosed in individuals over 50 (90%!), but the sneaky bastard can be in there hanging out, not creating any symptoms, much earlier than that. The good news is that colon cancer can be prevented. Unfortunately, younger people are still dying from the disease.

Younger people, and their doctors, often mistakenly believe they are too young to be a victim of colon cancer, so they misdiagnose or ignore symptoms until it is too late to effectively treat it. Learn more about your own risks, symptoms and prevention by visiting the Colon Cancer Alliance website.

I was scheduled for my procedure last Tuesday. That meant that all day Monday, I was required to be on a clear liquid diet, and had to ingest a liquid enema that night. Of course, the day did not go as planned.

I don’t eat big breakfasts, so I just had some coffee (no cream) in the morning. I had planned to run to my favorite pho place to pick up some of their amazing broth for lunch, but worked through lunch trying to knock things out that day so I didn’t have to worry Tuesday about deadlines.

Eventually, it was time to pick up my son from school, but I still hadn’t gotten my broth. I then remembered he had an appointment at 3:30, so we had to run to that.

By the time I made it by the pho place at 4:45, I was starting to get pretty cranky. As we pulled into the parking lot I discovered a fatal flaw in my plan – they’re closed on Mondays. Gnashing of teeth and harsh mumbling ensued as we headed home.

As you may know, when the brain has not been adequately nourished, decision-making can be affected. Mine was. When I finally decided to drive to a place in a neighboring town, it was six o’ clock – and I remembered it was time to start the cleanse.

I was not a happy camper.

Friends told me that the cleanse was, by far, the worst part. These friends did not lie. The drink is deceptively benign-looking. I mean, how bad could a clear 1/2 cup or so of liquid be?

So, so bad. BAD.

The liquid had to be mixed with water to make it 16 oz. total, then I also had to drink 32 oz. more water in the span of an hour. It had a kind of grape flavor that just added insult to injury since it wasn’t good enough to mask the bitter taste of the active ingredients. But I got it down!!

I’ll spare you the details of the rest of the evening, but suffice to say the next four or five hours were primarily spent in solitude.

The next morning, I was supposed to get up and do the whole thing over again at 4:30 a.m., but I slept until 5 because I’m a rebel. Unlike the night before, when I could hide away and suffer alone, that morning I had to get my son up, fed, and driven to school. Let me tell you, I have mad respect for folks who have to wear adult diapers; control of ones bowels should never be taken for granted.

My daughter dropped me off at the clinic at 9:00 a.m. After just a few minutes, the nurse stepped into the waiting room and called my name.

“Laurie? You ready?”

I gave her a look. She understood.

An I.V. was set up for the anesthesia and I spent 30 or so minutes sharing pics on Instagram before the doctor came in to go over the procedure. He left, and the anesthetist came in. As she started injecting the happy drug into the port, I commented that I could feel the tingle of it in my vein… And I woke up to find my daughter sitting next to me. All done!

I’m happy to report that there were no after-effects of the procedure at all. I got my pho for lunch, and aside from some drowsiness, I was completely fine the  rest of the day.

Best news: My scope was clear, so I don’t have to have another one done for ten years. Maybe by then I’ll embrace my gray hair.