Crappy Process, Well Worth It…

My first colonoscopy mistake came on Monday when I munched half a bag of popcorn while watching the eclipse.

I’d forgotten: No popcorn allowed within seven days before the procedure. Popcorn munching was Monday. The procedure was three says later — on Thursday. (Oops!) 

I called the doctor to confess, and his nurse said, “No problem. You’ll just have to begin the prep a few hours early.”

When it comes to a colonoscopy, “prep” is one of those words that sounds WAY too gentle.

They ought to call it “Colon Blow,” but SNL already used that term to name a high-fiber cereal in one of it’s advertising spoofs:

Anyhow, my popcorn mishap meant I had to begin the “CB” prep on Tuesday night, instead of Wednesday.

I’ll skip past the Tuesday part and fast forward to Wednesday night — when the heavy-duty prep began.

It began with a serving of polyethylene glycol 3350, sodium ascorbate, sodium sulfate, ascorbic acid, sodium chloride, and potassium chloride.

Big Pharma calls this “Plenvu” (who names this stuff?)

It’s a white powder (looks like the sand on Marco Island’s beach) that comes in two packets, each containing about one cup of the stuff.

At 7 p.m. Wednesday, I mixed the first packet with 16 oz of water and forced it down.

It tasted like seawater — with an extra truckload of salt , a dash of Industrial Chemical Extract , and a dollop of Lemon Pledge .

(Yum! )

Then I waited for the stuff to… well… you know.

After lots of trips to the potty and little sleep, it was 2 a.m. Time for Plenvu, Round 2.

A few hours later, Melissa drove me and my empty bowels to the colonoscopy place at 7:30 a.m.

By 8 a.m., I was wearing one of those open-in-the-back hospital gowns, and the nurse was saying, “The hard part is over.”

She wasn’t kidding!

I laid on my back on the rolling bed.

The nurse positioned a pillow under my neck.

She covered me with a heated blanket.

An orderly rolled me into the operating room.

The doctor greeted me.

The nurse asked me to roll on my side.

The anesthesiologist told me she was about to shoot some propofol into my IV.

(They call propofol “the milk” because it’s a creamy, white liquid. Michael Jackson was reportedly addicted to the stuff. His rogue doctor regularly hooked Michael to a propofol IV to help The King of Pop nap.)

Anyhow, the nurse waved her syringe full of the milk in front of me.

The doctor said, “Enjoy your nap.”

And the fun began.

The last thing I remember: The nurse lifted the gown from my b-hind, and I thought, “I know why they call it Plenvu. They now have a “plen vu” of my bottom.

I passed out laughing.

I woke a few minutes later, groggy and calm. I’d missed the entire bit where they shove a… well… you know.

The nurse told me I’d “done great.”

No polyps. No cancer…

…and that’s the point.

My dad died of colon cancer when he was 51 in 1990 — long before routine colonoscopies were a thing.

That makes me “high-risk” for colon cancer. The disease hangs over me like the sword of Damocles.

So I’ve had seven colonoscopies since I turned 30.

Colon cancer is among the deadliest of all cancers. But it’s also the most preventable.

You can see it coming and do something about it (remove pre-cancerous polyps)…

…if you get routine colonoscopies.

The “prep” is never fun. And the idea of a doctor putting a scope up your colon isn’t on most people’s bucket lists.

But that cost is well worth it…

…for the PEACE OF MIND.

We humans crave peace of mind. We’ll pay plenty to get it.

And therein lies the marketing lesson.

You may think this email is only about colons and such…

…but really it’s a challenge to you…

…to find the peace of mind in what you sell.

Most of us — in some way, shape, or form — sell peace of mind.

Attorneys, financial planners, tax resolution specialists, marketing advisors, coaches, consultants…

…we all enable our clients to journey from the chaos of concern to the peace that come with calm and confidence.

Evoke that journey in your marketing and prospects will pay the price to buy what you sell.