What is it with this bowel prep for a colonoscopy? They give you this drink, and it’s not even a drink. It’s a procedure. It’s like they took everything you don’t want in a drink—salt, chemicals, regret—and then said, "Here, just finish this." They promise you it won’t be that bad. Oh, it’s bad. You ever drink something and feel your body immediately say, “I don’t think so”? That’s what this is. My stomach’s sitting there going, “What do you think this is, a vacation? No, no. We’re not doing this.”
And they tell you, “Oh, it’s just a gallon of liquid. You’ll get used to it.” Really? You want me to get used to this? No one’s getting used to this. It’s not like I’m sipping on a refreshing lemonade here. Every sip feels like your body’s slowly being tricked into thinking it’s some kind of prison sentence. You know you’re in trouble when you look at the clock and think, “Has it been an hour or three minutes? I have no idea where I am anymore.”
"What’s in it for me?" you want to ask. “I do this, and what do I get? A colonoscopy? Is that the reward here?” Meanwhile, your body’s just slowly surrendering to the whole thing. You can practically hear your digestive system signing a resignation letter. “I’m out. Good luck.”
You spend the entire time thinking, “This is it, isn’t it? This is where my body and I finally part ways.” And then, once you're done, you think, “Well, that wasn’t so bad, right? I mean, it wasn’t pleasant, but I can handle it.” But then they tell you: “Just wait until the procedure itself.” Oh, right. The thing that takes 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes! I spent more time preparing for this than I did for my last vacation. At least on vacation, I got to eat!
But, in the end, you do it. You do it for health, for peace of mind. Because they’re not just looking at your colon—they’re looking at your life choices. And if you’re lucky, you get a clean bill of health. If not, well... at least you can say you really know your insides now. At least that’s something.
