Thought for the day: you don’t really feel like a monkey until you shit in the shower.
I have no idea at what time events unfolded, so I’ll dispense with that crap.
- Could not sleep at all last night. A nurse had warned that the massive jettisoning of icy liquid through your bowels drops your core temp a little and to keep plenty of warm clothes on. She wasn’t kidding. I’d have these terrible fits of shivering followed by angry hot flashes. This kept me up most of the night. Near morning a headache and nausea kept me up.
- Got to the endoscopy clinic and found out that my plans of having my mother take photos of me all tubed up wouldn’t see fruition: no non-patients allowed due to the high volume of other patients lying around. Boo. Instead I was in a room with three other people (an older woman and a middle-aged man) while we were asked about allergies. I said I was allergic to having giant cables inserted into my ass. I’m lying, I just shivered and whimpered. Also: the male patient made eye-contact with me several times, which I found rude. Not just because we were going to have colonoscopies in a few minutes, but because at 7am I expect you to keep your eyes off my face, fuckwad.
- My nurse had a lisp.
- I warned my nurse I was nauseated and later when she was inserting my IV and I sort of belched and sighed ominously she asked teasingly, “Did the needle bother you? And with all those tattoos?” to which I had to refrain from giving a snotty answer. Don’t be snotty to your endoscopy nurse. That’s good advice. I reminded her that I said I was nauseated before.
- After being wheeled into the endoscopy room and hooked up to oxygen, she asked me what music I’d like to listen to during the procedure. I said “Classical, piano, something like that.” She put Enya in.
- After my doctor was 10 minutes late the nurse’s fangs came out and she did a hospital-wide page. I was surprised. One time at the dentist they rigged me into bite-blocks and a dental dam to prepare for filling cavities and then the dentist left the room for 20 minutes. TWENTY MINUTES. That shithead better have been resuscitating kittens or something, because that was some serious torture. Anyway, after the nurse paged the doctor showed up.
- I love my GI. He’s a good guy. Better a rad doctor who is running 15 minutes late than a shitty doctor on time, am I right or am I right?
- I learn that I won’t be getting the sedation I got for my last colonoscopy, I’ll be getting a lighter, conscious sedation. My anxiety level goes up. I say, “I’m anxious.” They assure me the drugs are still fantastic. They are right.
- I remember gripping the side of the gurney at some point and grunting in pain and then the nurse running over with another syringe and then things getting really fucking awesome and fuzzy. The great thing about the drugs is, I don’t even recall the pain. Even during it I vaguely recall thinking, am I faking this?
- I start to come around again a little during the biopsies. Since I can see the TV they are watching the proceedure through, I see this little alien claw head snapping at what looks like bubblegum and pulling away in little red bursts. It was pretty and mesmerising. Of course, as soon as I realized it was the biopsy tool chomping pieces of my colon, a little of the magic is gone.
- I don’t remember anything until a different nurse is coming into a recovery area and telling me that I need to try and fart. I ask her, “Like, just let it out, or bear down?” “Oh, bear down,” she says emphatically. “Now’s your chance to really let ‘em rip.” I don’t have the sobriety to tell her that’s what I normally do.
- I hear patients on either side of me ripping gigantic, cartoonish Bog of Eternal Stench farts and must smother myself with my own pillow to keep from laughing. What’s really getting me is that one of them, the woman, is making sad little noises each time like she’s horribly disappointed with herself for farting so loud (SO LOUD!) and then the man on the other side gives these hearty sighs, like he’s working out. I, in another impossibly rare turn of events, can’t get one out to save my life. I let out a few totally silent, tiny wispy ones, but that’s it. The nurse actually comes back in and encourages me again, and I tell her I don’t think I need to. She presses on my abdomen and looks surprised. “Huh. No gas.” Yeah. I’m a damn miracle.
- My GI comes back in and says, “Okay, I don’t believe this, but you have a perfectly healthy colon.” I gain new respect for him making such a cruel joke. It dawns on me that he’s serious when he hands me the printout of my guts and says, “If I didn’t know for sure you had Crohn’s disease, I’d say this was a healthy woman’s gut. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” I am in total shock. Joking aside, I thought I’d be lucky with some thickening of the wall, maybe a few active lesions. Was crossing my fingers that I just didn’t have any polyps or clear fistulas. But a healthy colon? Wow.
- I get home and eat two semi-soft boiled eggs with salt and pepper and it is the most delicious thing I have eaten in my entire life.
I of course haven’t gotten the biopsy results back yet, but with no visible signs of, well, anything, it is safe to assume they are all clear. Oh, and there’s always bad news: in the past, the GI has recommended that I get a colonoscopy every 5 years, but recent research has changed this to every two years. Yerg.