c. 2026 Rod Ice
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Five years, gone...
My second colonoscopy happened at Geauga Hospital, a familiar venue in a convenient location. A health depot situated in Geauga County, which is not far from the Cleveland metropolitan area. Yet removed by a sufficient distance that its characteristics were different in many ways deemed to be attractive for residents moving out in search of an escape from urban congestion. My sister and brother-in-law both provided support. Meanwhile, I reckoned that those in our brood who had already passed on were watching prayerfully, from their vantage point in eternity. Doctors and nurses worked their magic with great skill. The actual experience, as expected, was mostly in preparation for this scope of the hindquarters. All prep, and very little needful work done on the laboratory bed.
At that spot in my personal timeline, I was able to receive a positive diagnosis, despite a family history of intestinal cancer. And, won the right to go 60 months until my next gut check. A reward for which I was very grateful. The respite was for so long a period that I figured it would span the ages, chronologically. But as with my life routine in retirement, everything seemed to progress at a rapid pace not yoked to the march of literal time.
My sister passed away in October of the previous year. My brother-in-law battled with senile dementia, and finally landed in a local nursing home. As these events transpired, I slid deeper into disability, while still maintaining a fighting spirit and upbeat attitude. Eventually, only my niece was available to handle family needs, face-to-face. I did my best to avoid adding to her burden as the new hub of our group.
When my general physician spoke about the anniversary of this important procedure arriving, it did not come as a surprise. I had felt the date creeping up from behind, ominously. Chilling me with a sense of dread and anxious anticipation. Meekly, I listened to her appeal that the exam be scheduled immediately. And I agreed to have the procedure occur at a different facility, believing that an Uber or Lyft vehicle would be needed to get me there and back home again. My doctor had relocated her office to the city of Geneva, a place where my own career as a retail business manager concluded in 2016. So, I was not unfamiliar with their care center.
I got a confirmation notice via the MyChart app on my cell phone.
One roadblock to this test developed however, when I read their guidelines for visiting the team. A demand that some person who was related, or friendly enough to be dependable, was present on the day things happened. This scuttled my plan of action, and caused some concern. Briefly, I thought about driving myself to the hospital, and surrendering the keys to my car. With a caveat that I would wait patiently until given a sign of ‘all clear’ by one of the representatives that were on duty.
That impulse proved to be unworkable, of course.
In the interim, my niece volunteered to play the role of chauffeur. A task that made me feel guilty, and yet comforted in the balance. It was the proper arrangement for what needed to be done. Therefore, I did not argue too much. Because the colon-check had already been scheduled, I let the details stand as they were with no alterations. Still, an additional measure of shame arrived when I realized that it was her 40th birthday.
I had reached the zero hour. There was no time to linger in regrets.
When the countdown period arrived, and dietary options became restricted, I found myself unconsciously perusing food reviews online. Each one caused me to sigh and salivate. A cheerful, curious woman who custom-ordered a bucket of Chicken McNuggets with 100 pieces. Another female critic who compared burgers available from competing chains. Recipe queens, amateur cookers, and shaggy, backwoods chefs in denim overalls. All of these creative views kept me on the edge of my bench, at the front porch.
When the final 24 hours arrived, only clear liquids were proscribed. I chafed at ingesting water and sports drinks before the SuTab prep pills. And finally surrendered to temptation. Against the advice included with my messages on the University Hospitals app, I hammered several rounds of Miller Lite in a blissful moment of sin and disobedience.
Once I began the final steps to prepare my innards, things settled down a bit. Somehow, I was able to sleep approximately four hours, in between doses.
Limited mobility has kept me close to home in recent years. So, the trip to Geneva was accomplished with a bit of difficulty getting in and out of my niece’s Subaru crossover. Then, similar woes manifested themselves as I struggled inside, rode an elevator to the second floor, and got to a bed that was waiting. Every move, every transition, every roll and turn, and twist had me slightly off balance. I noted with irony and amusement that a wristband bearing the imprint of ‘falls risk’ had been put on my left arm.
Those who took care of my needs were predictably kind and professional. The setting at Geneva UH was friendly and conducive to healing. I liked the intimacy of their setup. Having a more limited footprint seemed to evoke a sense of familial charm.
While in the room where my procedure was about to take place, I asked if the doctor or her staff had ever seen a ‘King of the Hill’ episode which referenced father Hank having a gut check of his own. My query must have confused them at first, because a moment of silence elapsed, before laughter resounded over the beeping and buzzing of analytical machinery.
A mindful member of the care team responded eventually, by saying that a ‘Full House’ installment had once featured actor Bob Saget undergoing such an exam, on camera.
That was the last thing I remembered. The anesthetic took hold as I wandered into oblivion.
Upon returning home, I felt groggy but grateful. Navigating my access ramp proved to be a chore. I had exhausted the muscular ability of my legs to remain useful. A plop in my desk chair followed, with a lazy interlude of snoring soon in effect.
Internet service had been interrupted by a bluster of Mother Nature’s wrath, while I prepped for the colon scope. Now, my computer monitor remained blank. Yet it did not matter too much, as I continued to teeter on the precipice of slumber.
Hank Hill beckoned from the other side of a cartoon veil.
“Y’all shut them eyes, son! It’s time ta get some sleep!”
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