The morning after my last colonoscopy, I stood in line at Starbucks to satisfy a sudden obsession for a flat white, not my usual coffee drink. A familiar tune came through the surround sound subwoofers. My toes began tapping involuntarily until the song’s words remembered my voice from long, long ago and softly fell freely from my lips.
Thunder only happens when it’s raining
Players only love you when they’re playing.
Dreams. Stevie Nicks. I imagined myself wiggling my hips and flailing my arms—an unwise move for a not-so-sure-footed roly-poly 77-year-old.
Feldenkrais teacher Deborah Darr says, “Imagine you’re doing the movements you can’t physically do.” She taught me that imagination can so deeply engage the mind that the body feels like it’s moving when it’s not. So, on my way home from Starbucks, I imagined myself line-dancing down the street humming Dreams.
By the time I got home, I was physically exhausted. I clicked into a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous on Zoom. I’ve been attending AA meetings for over 50 years and often ho-hum to myself, “I’ve heard this story already…nothing new,” even if I’ve never seen the speaker before in my life. On this day, I zeroed in on the story so wholly that I felt every cheap drink, every disgusting hangover, every regrettable hook-up, and every sickening word of his drunken story. When he talked about getting sober, my stomach balled up, remembering the agony of those early days of sobriety with uncontrollable sweaty shakes and tears. The love he felt from fellow sober alcoholics and for his family sticking with him filled me, too. Love and gratitude seeped into my every pore.
The growing ball in my stomach erupted at the emotional and physical powerlessness, and I ran to the bathroom and puked.
Seeking distraction, I turned on the TV. Hamas terrorists had tunneled under the Gaza-Israel border a few days before and riddled Jewish babies with bullets. News outlets had taken a few days to get the images to us. I wept watching the photos and videos, hearing children crying out for their mothers, watching helpless fathers, and reporters describing families on the move. Displaced. Terrified. Confused. Grieving.
I reached in my purse for the forgotten mound of papers handed to me as I left the “colonoscopy suite.” Was I supposed to read them sooner? I don’t know. But I saw why I was so giddy, twirly, and happy in the morning and so emotionally flattened later. Fentanyl. The doctor shot fentanyl in my arm before snipping a bit of chitterling from my innards. Fentanyl is so powerful that I forgot biopsy results were coming my way.
The doctor sent me a note within a few days. “All clear,” he wrote.
Just one veinful of fentanyl laid down a new neuro path in my brain, allowing the deepest of joys and sorrows. Since then, if I’m tuned in, boundless joy arises from the hope of alcoholic stories—and bottomless sorrow from images of bloodied children being carried to unsafe safety.
Click: Stevie Nicks sings Dreams
Regan Burke 
Joy, pain, sorrow and immense gratitude!
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Ya know..I’m glad you made it home! And happy for you about results..onward..♥
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Do they really use fentanyl for this? I never asked what they used. I’m due for a colonoscopy next year and I’ll ask. I always just tell them to use as little as possible because my blood pressure drops a lot with too much — it’s hard to wake me up. Doug has to get colonoscopies so frequently that he does it without any anesthesia. He claims it doesn’t hurt and why expose his body to the anesthetic. Of course, he had colon surgery and radiation which might have killed a few nerve endings. The surgery also removed one bend in the colon.
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You are poetic, Regan!
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“Dreams” brings me back to the 80’s, memories remembering what we had and what was lost. In the line “When rain washes you clean you’ll know, you’ll know” For me I substitute faith will let me know my journey and washes me clean. In silent reflection we are able to love life and feel blessed or not….our choice. Thanks for sharing.
Peace, hope, gratitude and grace, Donna
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I got fentanyl at my combination endoscopy and colonoscopy last September and needed help getting home. I also was very sick. It took several days to recover from the nausea and dizziness. Feel better. Great story.
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Oh Regan…….
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I’m speechless starting with Feldenkrais. I’m new to your writings so this felt like you opened a vein to those who read your words. Vulnerablity. Joy. You are a wonder!!! And I am grateful. C
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Susan and i talk psilocybin as a means of controlling depression. I contemplate the dispensary to score some pot to mellow my tourette. A bottle of post surgery vicodin sits unused on my kitchen window sill. I’m so wary of substances i’m afraid to touch them. Those months after quitting alcohol were the hardest in my life. I don’t ever want to go through that again. I won’t watch any of those war videos. The pictures in my head are bad enough.
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I organize a neighborhood Beatles sing along every summer at the end of July. At first I had to sing through every song to know what’s good for a sing along. I’m not a musician, can’t carry a tune, not a record producer or a music designer. I just love to sing the Beatles. Want me to email you the songbook?
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I actually have a guitar songbook that has every song the Beatles ever wrote, so I’m probably good. Your sing along sounds fun, where do you live?. My favorite Beatles song to sing along with is Don’t Pass Me By. It makes me so happy.
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Chicago. Come join us. I have a feeling you may not fly (on a plane). I don’t anymore. I had my first anxiety attack in an airport about 5 years ago. Our songbooks have words only.
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