preparations

“Would you stop talking?” Micah asks, glaring at the tall thirty-something man in white coat and glasses standing beside his hospital bed. I don’t have to ask why Micah is irritated. The sticky tape keeping Micah’s IV in place was the first thing I noticed when I’d entered this small enclosure through the white curtain. With Micah, even Marvel superhero bandages have zero privileges.

“Would he like something to help him relax?” The anesthesiologist asks, seemingly unoffended.

“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you Micah? That way you won’t notice the sticky tape so much.” I smile at him, “This is the easy part, right? It will all be over soon!”

“Yeah. I think it’s a good idea,” Micah sighs, settles back into the pillow, then watches the nurse give the medication through the IV. Within seconds, his agitation is gone, and his eyes become slightly droopy. I tell him I’ll see him in short while and make my exit through the curtain.

Back in the waiting room, I take a deep breath. I can finally relax and take a break from being on pins and needles since yesterday morning.

Anyone who’s had a colonoscopy knows what the day before the procedure is like: no solid food, liquids only (think broth, jello, popsicles), then drinking a gallon or more of a mixture that ensures your colon is nice and clean. It’s a necessary evil–as the saying goes.

“This will be the worst part of the whole process, Micah,” I’d told him, “But don’t worry, I’ll make it taste like lemonade so it’s easier to drink.”

Amazingly, he’d had no complaints. In early evening, when I started bringing him cup after cup of the mixture, he’d just grin and chug it like a champ. “Whatever you say, Momma!”

I chuckled at his grit and cheerful attitude and hoped I could be like him when I had my next colonoscopy. Reason enough would be that, unlike Micah, my blood sugar wouldn’t drop low within an hour of each liquid meal, or worse, plummet during the last few hours before the procedure when nothing was allowed orally.

“Maybe I should stay,” Todd suggested a few days before he left for a golf trip he’d planned several months ago, “I’m not sure I feel right leaving you and Micah during all of this.”

“Are you kidding?” I’d replied. “You are going and that’s that! This isn’t major surgery. It’s just a colonoscopy!”

But now, less than halfway into the twenty-four-hour prep period, having given juice after juice to keep Micah above board, I wished Todd were here. Where was my confidence, my ‘I can handle this’ mindset?

In midafternoon, I went to the pantry and grabbed the Glucagon, an emergency medication for extremely low glucose. We’d always kept at least one dose in Micah’s diabetes bag (which he carried everywhere). However, there was never a situation in which we’d needed to use it—we’d always kept a keen eye on Micah’s numbers.

Would this be the time when I’d finally have to administer it? Maybe I was stressing myself out for nothing. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to practice. I needed to be prepared!

I stared at the Glucagon’s long red case on the kitchen counter and the large orange I’d laid next to it. I opened the case, took out the syringe, then drew clear liquid from one of the vials. I injected this fluid into a second vial containing a small of amount of white powder, then shook the vial until the powder dissolved. I held the orange steady and plunged the needle deep inside. Easy peasy!

But an orange was different than human flesh—and this needle was much longer than the quarter-inch needle I’d used countless times for insulin injections. I prayed I wouldn’t ever have to do this, but, at least, now I felt less anxious.

Thankfully, it never did come to that. In the wee hours of the morning, I brought Micah the last eight cups of mixture along with more juice to treat lows. At 3:15am, seeing his blood sugar dipping low again, I gave him one last juice box.

“Lord, please let this be enough. Please protect him and help me to do whatever it is I need to do.”

I laid awake, checking his number every 20 or 30 minutes. At 5:30am, with a blood sugar number around 160 mg/dl, I breathed a sigh of relief. He was well above range, but that was okay—I felt he would make it through. I woke Micah up and told him to get ready. Now, all that was left was the colonoscopy!

Now, in the waiting room, I look up from my book when I hear a nurse call my name. I follow her through the waiting room door and down a hallway leading to the recovery room. Micah is sitting up. “Mom,” He mumbles, “Did you know Daniel Tiger had to go to the hospital too to get his ears checked?”

“Really?” I say, wondering how it is that he’s suddenly reminded of a TV character from his younger years. But whatever gets one through, I suppose. “How about we get you a double cheeseburger and fries on our way home, Micah?”

“Oh, yeah!” he answers.

I echo his sentiment. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the thought of solid food more.