At 71, I’m a six-time veteran of day surgery and general anesthesia (propofol naps). But I remember the anxiety I felt before my first colonoscopy.
So now, after one broken leg, two colonoscopies, one inguinal hernia repair, two kidney stone laser procedures, and a DIY ureteral stent extraction, I thought sharing my experiences might enlighten first-timers so they would feel less anxiety and be more apt to get an elective procedure like a colonoscopy that could save their life.
I was sixteen when I broke my leg skiing. It was a twisting break that ran 2/3 the length of my tibia. I don’t remember any pain at the time until my numbskull ski patrol friend twisted my foot to see if I broke something. I swung at him, but he was just out of reach. My Mom and Dad were waiting at the bottom of the hill for me to complete my last run(due to fog). They found out about it when someone told them “They’re bringing Ridge down now”. I was told later that Mom freaked out. The ski patrol loaded me into our car and Dad drove 1/4 mile down to the hospital at the base of the mountain. After a while on happy juice, when, by all accounts, I told everyone I saw how much I loved them, I was wheeled off to the operating room where the anesthesiologist put a mask over my face and told me to count back from 100. I woke up with a plaster cast from hip to toe that I wore for months. It was my right leg though so I could still drive. ;-) Ah yes, 1969.
Pre-op and post-op are pretty much the same for most day surgery procedures. However, colonoscopies have a pre-pre-op component you do at home, a kit for a comprehensive colon cleanse on the day before the procedure. It’s worth going through the colonoscopy just for that.
- Pre-Op:
Once the nurse fetches you from the waiting room, the first order of business is to go potty, get naked, bag your jewelry and clothes, and don “the gown” (open in the back) and “The Socks”, those huge blue foot mittens with black traction dots. My favorite part of patient attire.
Now we settle back on our pre-op gurney (ask for the warm blanket). Our nurses have a lot of pokin’ and prodin’ to do, and a litany of questions to ask and re-ask and re-ask.
First, they attach all of the electrodes that record our vitals. Then the blood pressure cuff contracts until you wonder if it’s ever going to stop. All the while my nurse is trying to keep me calm by making small talk.
But now they have to concentrate on finding a vein for my IV so they pass your attention off to another nurse who asks about my meds and the last time I ate or drank anything to see if I can be trusted. But all I can think about in that moment is that damn IV needle. {Will they hit a vein? Will they hit it on the first try? Am I their first? Not in my hand!}
But in a fraction of a second and just one medium-sized prick, we’re movin’ on. The worst is over. They know IVs are traumatic so they put their best nurses on it. That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.
Who’s this now? Oh, my surgical resident is here to introduce themself and instill confidence by marking me so they don’t forget what to do after we get to the operating room. {Seems like a very young resident. Hope they aren’t in their first year. Hope they’re only assisting.}
And now here comes my attending surgeon who asks me what I think I’m here for and to review the procedure. {So mature, professional, and reassuring.}
Bringing up the rear is my anesthesiologist and nurse anesthetist who will repeat all previous inquisitions and assure me they know what they’re doing and that I won’t wake up in the middle of surgery.
Ok, the gurney sidebars are going up. Here we go. Just like Grey’s Anatomy, with nurses front and back we roll out of pre-op, through 2 sets of automatic double doors, and into a very bright and very cold operating theatre. Laying there on my back, the overhead lights make it seem like I’m in a space capsule on the launchpad. {Shit, this is really happening, again. It never gets old.}
While everyone introduces themselves and states their roles, my focus on the ceiling gets a bit wonky so I close my eyes and it’s lights out. Don’t even think about intubation. You’ll be unconscious. Probably shouldn’t have said that.
2. Post-Op:
I don’t think I remember the moment of waking in recovery. It takes a while for awareness to kick in. A nurse was usually in my face and my wife was always nearby. Once pleasantries are over they want you to drink and pee or fart or whatever so they know your parts are still working. If you had kidney stone surgery be prepared for your first twenty pees to burrrrn like hell. Usually, you’ll get a visit from your doctors and anesthetists before you leave recovery. Once everyone is happy, it’s into the wheelchair for a ride to the front door or maybe even your car. Again, if you had kidney stone surgery, I don’t recommend a long ride home without a diaper. Peeing will be often and urgent. Thinking you need to pee and peeing is practically the same thing. Practice pee into your diaper so you don’t freak out when it happens for real. It’s liberating. I also experienced severe abdominal pain for hours. It felt like my bowels might rupture. I nearly went to the emergency room. Turns out, my intestines had to wake up from the anesthesia. The good news is that, in about 9 hours, most of the burning and abdominal pain is gone. I wore the man diapers for a few days though. Just because I could.
3. DIY ureteral stent extraction:
Sometimes there’s homework. After kidney stone laser surgery, the doctor inserts a roughly 13" ureteral stent tube so your ureter (the duct by which urine passes from the kidney to the bladder) won’t collapse after surgery. The stent is a soft hollow tube that runs from inside the kidney down through the ureter to the inside of the bladder with curls at each end of the stent to keep it in place. Here’s the good part. My doctor gave me two options. I could make the ninety-minute journey back to the hospital in four days so they could give me a local and go back up through my penis, past my prostate, and into my bladder to pull it out. OR, he could tie a freaking string to it and tape the string to my penis so I could peel off the tape and pull out the stent myself after four days. And like the macho dumb ass I am, I chose the latter.
Here’s how that went. I had 4 days to ponder this feat of insanity I’d committed to. On the third day, I decided to look online to get a better idea of what was ahead. I probably shouldn’t have done that. {What if the string breaks? What about all of the turns along the path out? How rigid is this tube? Will the curly ends get hung up leaving the kidney or entering the bladder or the urethra? What if it rips my ureter or bladder? Will I get sepsis? Will it damage my prostrate? Will it hurt? Of course, it’ll hurt! How bad will it hurt? Should I stop pulling if it hurts? What if I pull out a bloody mess?}
So, none of that happened. The worst part was removing the tape that held the string to my penis. A second pair of hands and rubbing alcohol helps. As soon as the tape was off I began pulling on the the string. There was just a tiny bit of resistance but no pain. Watching this long blue tube come out of me was a bit surreal, but I felt almost nothing.
I was warned there might be some blood in my urine and minor burning afterward for a couple of days but none of that manifested. Whew!
4. Aftermath:
Five days later, after back-to-back kidney stone surgeries, I’m a bit weak from the limitations placed on me by having two stents in for so long. Other than that, I only feel a little pull from time to time in my lower right side near my bladder, probably a phantom stent sensation.
The takeaway I wish for you is that there’s nothing to fear. The doctors do all the uncomfortable stuff while you sleep. This is their passion. Medicine is unarguably the most complex and comprehensively in-exhaustible profession that exists, and these people dedicated their lives to it. Give them control. It’s really a nothing burger.
5. VA Hospitals & Staff:
My inguinal surgery, both my kidney stone surgeries, my father’s hip replacement, and his rehabilitation were done at VA hospitals. And I’ll be scheduling my 3rd colonoscopy very soon.
Not for a moment in the thirty-plus years I’ve been in VA care did I ever feel frightened, apprehensive, or less than the star of the show.
The nurses, doctors, and staff of the VA are consummate, caring professionals who deserve our deep respect and gratitude, and I am extremely grateful for their service.
© 2024 RidgeMagee
