Oops. I have inadvertently caused concern to my friends. So with an apology, I've edited on this little disclaimer. Not to worry - I don't have cancer. Well actually, I do sort of; I get these growths on my otherwise clean head. But that's totally under control, and another story; the rest of me is fine. Not to worry.
(On the head subject. Use sunblock, folks. Really!)
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4am Saturday morning, and I'm blogging again - after swearing that "I don't blog." I'm usually up at this hour anyway, but tonight is not the usual circumstances. I'm in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with my laptop. Blogging.
Let me explain.
One word: "COLONOSCOPY"
Some of you know what that is; some won't. I dare say that most of you are younger than I am and have never personally encountered this medical tongue-twister. I like to keep my audience well informed, so I'll explain.
Friday afternoon I went to the doctor's office, bearing a large packet of filled-in forms and a bad attitude. (More on that in a minute.) After sulking in the waiting room for 45 minutes, I was led into the inner sanctum by the lovely Lorraine. Lorraine asked me every question on my form ... so she could fill out her copy of the form. Then she gave me her copy and 9 or 10 disclaimers to sign. She also needed to confirm that I had a DNR form on file someplace. (That's medical slang for "Do Not Resuscitate". My confidence is deteriorating rapidly.) Then she handed me a large, disposable plastic towel, told me to take off everything but my shoes and left the room. I couldn't make the bogus towel thing stay on, so I just held it in place. When Lorraine returned, she had me lie down on a cement table and proceeded to jam needles into my right hand. Yes, it hurt! (That would be the hand I use on the upper organ manual to TAKE SOLOS DAMMIT!!) Then she hooked me up to an IV, turned out the lights and left. Clearly I was not going to get lucky with Lorraine.
15 minutes later a different nurse - nameless (Nurse Diesel to me) - stood me up (dropping the bogus towel thing) and walked me down a public hall to another room that they keep at 60 degrees max. It featured another cement table, a loud machine whining away and a loud radio tuned to our local Woodstock rock station. Two doctors were in a far corner getting sterile. Nurse Diesel manhandled me onto the table, attached a jungle of wires, tubes and gadgets and shoved me onto my left side. That brought me face-to-face with my anesthesiologist - he said his name, but I couldn't make it out over the radio - who cheerfully announced that I was "batting cleanup" today; in other words, I was the last patient of the week before they all head out for a TGIF happy hour someplace. (I'm really filled with confidence now. Good thing I did that DNR form!) It also brought me ass-to-face with the gastrointestinalist, who had lots of frightening medical hardware and was poised to insert several feet of it where the sun don't shine. Mercifully, Doctor TGIF turned a couple of valves and I went off to dreamland, missing the fun party in my caboose.
I woke up 1/2 hour later (I'm told) with my brains scrambled. The lovely Lorraine was back. With a smile and a gentle manner, she led me to a comfortable chair to recuperate. The gastrointestinalist came in for 30 seconds to give me a thumbs up, a recommendation that we do it again in 5 years, an instruction of "no liquor for 24 hours", then grabbed the Lovely Lorraine and headed out to make Happy Hour. Excuse me, but I'm the one who needs a drink here! 5 years? 10 would work better for me.
All in all, it ruined a perfectly good Friday!
Ah, but there's more. I have to backtrack. Again, for those of you who don't know about Colonoscopies, let me give you the picture:
Friday was a springtime romp through the Austrian fields with Julie Andrews and a Robert Russell Bennett underscore compared to Thursday!
Thursday was ..... "Prep Day."
The food you eat spends days moving through your colon until the unused parts of it finally exit you-know-where. So unless you're training to be Ghandi, we are "full of shit" all the time. Since they need to send that little colonoscopy camera all the way home, your colon has to be empty. So Prep Day means flushing it out with a total liquid diet. Clear liquids only; you can't even put cream in your coffee.
You start by taking an overdose of laxative pills, and you know what that means! But I'm here to tell you that the pills are nothing compared with part 2 - choking down a 1 liter bottle of Miralax, another laxative, within 1 hour. I figured out that's roughly 120 times the normal adult dosage, enough laxative to keep a family of 4 regular for years. Interestingly, mixed in water the stuff has no taste at all; however, it has an oily consistency that makes you want to puke. But of course, puking is not what happens. The Miralax and yesterday's Tuna Surprise go directly to Jail without passing Go. The process continues for many, many, many hours ... long after your colon is squeaky-clean. Of course, all that action dehydrates you. You drink water, but with nothing in there to impede the flow, within minutes you're returning it to nature - and I'm not talking about making number 1. By 3pm I had become a metaphorical siphon tube between my house's well and it's septic tank.
So basically, I spent Thursday in the bathroom with a Michael Connelly novel, the phone and my laptop. To move around the house, I learned to use ... you guessed it ... Maxipads. I had violent stomach cramps, my butt was raw, and I smelled like shit! Literally! I couldn't take medication for the stomach ache; medicine's also not allowed on Prep Day. (What sadistic bastard came up with this?!?)
Somewhere around 5pm the process had slowed and I became aware of my gnawing hunger. I get cranky when I miss dinner; today I was at the red line! I checked the Prep Day instructions to see if there was any relief in that area. There was ... Jell-O. As long as it wasn't red or orange. (I don't know why.) Sorry kids, but I detest Jell-O. Jell-O is not food. But I was hungry and cranky and desperate. I rummaged through the depths of the pantry and found 2 boxes of the gloppy stuff. (Years old, but chemicals don't go bad, do they?) And lucky me ... Lime flavor. (Not red.) Since it was going to be my dinner, I made both boxes and ate it all 3 hours later.
Big mistake!
That brought on another violent stomach ache and another long stay in the bathroom - although with an interesting variation; this time everything came out an attractive lime-green.
{insert your own Saint Patrick's Day joke here}
Around 3am I sprung for another Maxipad and went to bed. Friday morning I was still shitting green. The Prep Instructions held the final insult: "No intake of any kind on Procedure Day." Pete without his morning coffee ... you don't want to be in a room with me!
And that brings me back to Friday and the doctor's office, which you already know about. Right now, it's still technically Friday night, and I'm still hitting the bathroom every 2 hours or so. But it's a happy ending. (Intentional pun.) If colon cancer is what's ultimately going to buy me the farm, it won't be in 2008; I'm clean! So this was actually a good thing. To show you that I'm a good sport, I'm even counciling that it's highly recommended for folks over 60. (I don't recommend the lime Jell-O though.)
Finally, here's a fun side note. My primary care physician, Maryanne, used to be married to Steve, my gastrointestinalist. When I have my annual physical, it's Maryanne who checks my prostate thingy. So there you have a husband and wife (divorced now) who have both had their fingers up my ass. (Maryanne thinks that hilarious; Steve doesn't. Guess which one is my favorite.)
You've gotta laugh at things like this, folks. It's what keeps us going.
Speaking of going ... I'm going to grab a Maxipad and go to bed. Thanks for listening. Use your sunblock!
Pete