t's sold under a more clinical-sounding name, "Colyte." But to those of us choking down the foul-tasting liquid to prepare for a colonoscopy exam, "GoLightly" is the code word. Believe me, it's anything but.

When I turned 50 and again at 55, I underwent a less intrusive search for cancer-causing polyps by getting a flexible sygmoidoscopy. Why they need to refer to it as "flexible" is beyond me. Do you really want a "nonflexible" exam?

Anyway, the sygmoidoscopy, with its happily flexible scope, only goes about a third of the way up the lower intestine. What lurks in the other two-thirds of that dark and dreary chamber is anyone's guess. That's why for my upcoming 60th birthday, I treated myself to the full-meal deal.

Of course, getting a colonoscopy requires what is called "the prep." And that, my friends, leads us to GoLightly. A full gallon of the stuff. When you pick it up at the pharmacy, it looks innocent enough -- a pile of powder at the bottom of a plastic jug. But when mixed with water, the substance turns nasty. Its goal is to clear out all living and dead matter from your bowels. Once GoLightly starts priming the primordial pump, there's no stopping it.

I decided to keep a writer's log of how I fared. I guess that's why I'm a journalist -- jotting down details that would otherwise go unnoticed. Or in this case, go down the tubes.

Of course, the prep starts with three little pills to get you into the swing of things. Here's my first entry at 2:17 p.m.:

"Though I know the stuff couldn't possibly be working so quickly, I do feel a sudden urge to trot over to the toilet. Am I that weak? Where is my resolve?"

As you can see, self-doubt had already crept in.

Thankfully, someone at work told me to mask the terrible taste of the GoLightly with Crystal Light flavoring powder. I chose lemonade. I took my first glass of GoLightly at 3:05 p.m. Thanks to the Crystal Light, "the GoLightly went down easily," I noted. "I doubt, though, I will be saying that an hour from now when the stuff supposedly kicks in."

An hour later, at 4:14 p.m., the inevitable happened: "I made my first pitstop. Nothing too awful to report, but I can certainly feel a jiggling in the stomach and a certain -- how shall I call it? -- loosening effect. Not a pleasant sensation. I'm sure it will get worse, and then worse and then suddenly, there will be nothing left. What fun. ...

"Uh-oh. I felt an urge. Yikes. I still have two more quarts to go."

The trips to the bathroom finally subsided about an hour before my noon appointment the next day. I knew the worst was over. Everyone who has a colonoscopy tells you that, and they are absolutely right. It may be one of the few things on this planet that everyone agrees on.

After arriving at the gastroenterology clinic and being treated to a small sedative, I was lying on the exam table when the doctor showed up. He was all smiles. Now that's the way to approach a colonoscopy.

On the small television screen in front of me, I could clearly make out what was going on behind me. Tethered to the flexible scope, the doctor was spelunking through the twisting caverns of my large intestine. Quite a sight. There I was, or rather, my colon was, in living color.

Suddenly the flexible scope stopped. The doctor had reached the opening of my small intestine.

That's when he started to back out of the colon. I guess this is how you do colonoscopies -- going in reverse.

"Oh, look at that," the doctor exclaimed, again with a cheerfulness that unnerved me. He came across a small indentation in the lining of my colon. It's what the medical world calls diverticulosis, a common disorder that, on rare occasions, may lead to infections. Nothing to panic about. The doctor found several more of what I now refer to as "my divots," an endearing term golfers use when they scuff up the turf with a pitching wedge.

Then came the polyps. Two of them. That was the whole reason for the colon-oscopy -- to lop off these polyps before they turn cancerous. The doctor snipped them off and continued on his merry way.

Just as he was about to call it quits, the doctor made one final observation: "Looks like you have a small hemorrhoid here."

Great, I finished the exam with what amounted to a colonoscopy trifecta -- divots, polyps and a 'rrhoid.

Of course, colonoscopies are serious business, especially if you are at high risk of getting colon cancer or are 50 or older and have never been tested. The stats aren't good. Nearly 150,000 Americans will likely be diagnosed with colorectal cancer this year, and almost 50,000 are likely to die from it.

So if you have a family history of colon cancer, suffer from such maladies as colitis or Crohn's disease, or have hit the 50-year mark and beyond and have never had a flexible scope visit your inner sanctum, then stop reading this and call your doctor.

Don't wait another minute. Colon cancer is preventable, but only if you act.

And don't worry about the GoLightly. It could end up being your very best friend.

* Coordinating editor Spencer Hatton can be reached at 577-7670 or shatton@yakimaherald.com.