Woody Allen once said: “It’s not the idea of death that bothers me. It’s the hours.”
I feel that way about colonoscopies. It’s not the idea of the procedure that bothers me. It’s all those hours of preparation. As my husband imbibed one of his signature gourmet dinners the night before, I was stuck sucking on a Popsicle and drinking some putrid stuff that resulted in my running to the bathroom every four minutes. I felt incredibly sorry for myself. The splitting headache, sore butt, and zero energy didn’t help matters.
But the moment the procedure was over, I felt… well, filled with light and gratitude for the life I could now reclaim. When I woke up and saw my husband standing there, I was sure he’d never looked more loveable. I whispered sweet nothings to him over and over. On the ride home, I gloried in the beauty of the dense trees and azure sky above. And when I inhaled the first solid food I’d had in two days, those saltines tasted positively divine.
The next day, walking into my home office to write felt like coming home to a dear friend. I said a silent prayer of thanks for the gift of doing work I felt passionate about.
That night, I ran into the parent of one of my son’s high school friends. He hadn’t seen me in years. He told me at least three times, “You’re looking good.” Believe me, at my age, the only person who tells me I’m “looking good” is my husband (There’s a reason for that old cliché that “Love is blind”).
I have an explanation, however. This is all due to my “post-colonoscopy glow.” There is nothing like having your life even briefly suspended to appreciate its many blessings and gifts. I am so thankful to not be facing a colonoscopy that there’s no question about it—I am glowing.