There’s no graceful way to say it — so let’s just get it out there.
I’m 75 years old, and six months ago, I had my first colonoscopy.
Yes, you read that right.
After helping Mama Peggy through four and my husband through six, I still hadn’t had mine. Not because I was too busy. Not because I forgot. I just plain didn’t want to.
You know what I mean — the prep alone has been the butt of too many jokes to count. But what surprised me wasn’t just how manageable it turned out to be... it was how much I learned about myself in the process.
If this were poker, I’d have folded every time the universe bet with colonoscopy chips — if there were such a thing.
I convinced myself I was just “too busy” or that since I had no symptoms, I didn’t really need it.
But if I’m being honest, it wasn’t the test I was avoiding. It was the prep. The mess. The unknowns. The whole flush-you-out ordeal.
The Truth I Didn’t Want to Admit
Was it the procedure itself that had me dragging my feet? Nope.
It was the dreaded prep day that I’d witnessed up close and personal — ten times between Mama Peggy and my husband.
But deep down, I knew the colonoscopy wasn’t something to skip forever. It's not just about checking a box — it’s about making sure there’s nothing quietly brewing that you can’t feel.
Colon issues often stay hidden until they’re not... and catching something early is the real win.
What I Didn’t Expect to Hear
And here’s the kicker — when I finally did it, my doctor smiled and said,
“Donna, you have a boring colon.”
Well, hallelujah!
I never thought I’d celebrate being called boring, but I nearly threw a parade in the recovery room. If I could give my colon a tiara and a sash that said Miss Unremarkable, I would.
Now, let’s get to what really stopped me all those years.
It wasn’t the test. It wasn’t the IV. It wasn’t even the idea of someone poking around in places where the sun don’t shine. It was that messy, humiliating prep.
I had visions of that giant plastic jug — the one that looks like it could double as motor oil. Then, the memory of those four little pills and gallons of water. And of course, the mad dash to the toilet.
But when I mentioned that dread to my doctor, he smiled and handed me a better option.
Two little bottles — under 6 ounces each — with a cherry-flavored liquid that went down surprisingly easy. No sipping. Just drink, rinse, and repeat with lots of clear liquid.
Insurance didn’t cover it, but at $39, it was worth every penny to skip the gallon jug of doom.
Still, no one gives you the real prep checklist. The practical stuff. The stuff seasoned caregivers should know, but don’t think to apply to themselves.
Here’s what I wish someone had handed me a week before go-time:
Practical Prep Essentials
Adult disposable washcloths – extra-large. I got 12” x 8” ones on Amazon.
Soft toilet paper – six rolls of the good stuff.
Toilet plunger – trust me, just in case.
Handheld shower spray with a 6-ft hose – install near your favorite toilet.
Adult pull-up briefs – yep. Ego check at the door.
Cheap bath towels – six minimum. You’ll toss at least a couple.
Cotton washcloths – pick up a bundle from Walmart.
Old pajama bottoms or scrubs – comfy and disposable.
Old undies – go with something you won’t mind saying goodbye to.
13-gallon kitchen garbage can with at least half a dozen scented bags folded and stored under the one in use — essential for staying sane.
Local tip: Check out a local thrift store or Goodwill. You can usually find scrub bottoms or pajama pants for a couple of bucks — perfect for when you want comfort without commitment.
That rounds out your list with several of those “you’ll thank me later” details that only someone who’s been there would think to include.
Clear Liquids That Felt Like a Hug
Organic chicken stock
Coconut water
Lemon-lime Jello cups
A case of Fiji water
Banana popsicles – zero food value, 100% comfort
Bottled ginger ale
Gatorade Zero Glacier Freeze
Keep them cold and nearby. You’re not going anywhere.
Poker’s Life Lesson
When life deals you a crappy hand that you’d rather discard, buck up and play it anyway — like I eventually did.
Colonoscopies are important at any age. If you think you'll just wait until you reach 50, think again — and go read Weapon of Ass Destruction by Julia Henderson, who was recently diagnosed with what she calls “ass cancer.”
Launched just a month ago in February 2025, Weapon of Ass Destruction is the real-time journal of a 34-year-old mom of two toddlers!
I’m subscribed to her Substack and following her journey — and let me tell you, she’s playing the toughest hand of her life, face up, full tilt, and with fire.
Just to clarify — she’s got more courage than any woman I’ve ever followed. My Mama Peggy would’ve said, “Learn from Julia!”
Even though I’m twice Julia’s age, she’s got more nerve than I have in my pinkie. To prove my point, in her first post, she claimed her power:
“I’m not a pussy. I endured two unmedicated births to babies with heads in the 95th percentile. The second time, I delivered and caught my own baby.”
Get outta here! And then she adds:
“I’m a fucking monster.”
True, that is!
Julia is playing these crappy cards with guts, determination, and resilience.
Keep Julia’s rectum — and her fight — in your prayers. That woman’s a warrior.
MindShift Bonus: Use the Time
Here’s what no one tells you: prep day forces you to slow down. Your calendar clears. The world stops spinning. It’s just you, your thoughts, and the bathroom.
So why not use it?
Grab a fresh journal and your favorite pen. Sit with yourself. Ask:
What am I holding on to that no longer serves me?
What mental junk am I ready to flush?
What’s been quietly building pressure in my life?
Turns out, I discovered more about myself in those 24 hours than I expected.
There’s something powerful about physically releasing what no longer serves you — and realizing you can do the same mentally and emotionally.
Be brave and flush your mental crap. You’re not a septic tank.
Final Takeaway
As someone who’s been the caregiver more times than I can count, I thought I knew what colonoscopy prep was all about.
But going through it myself? Whole different game.
It was humbling. It was eye-opening. It was... surprisingly peaceful.
And the procedure itself? Fast. Kind. Painless.
The only thing that was a real pain in the... well, you know... was finding a driver to pick me up.
Ready to take better care of yourself — from the inside out?
You check on your colon — but when was the last time you checked in on your self-talk?
Become a paid subscriber and join me for my monthly Self-Talk Tune-Ups on Zoom. We’ll flush out the mental junk, reroute the internal dialogue, and maybe even laugh while we do it. (No prep drink required.)
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