Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Let's do something to get our minds of things, shall we?
I had the day off today because I had a sigmoidoscopy scheduled. For the fortunate uninitiated, a sigmoidoscopy is the newer, less invasive version of a colonoscopy. I guess I needed to figure out why my life is so full of shit lately.
I have decided that this procedure, in combination with the prep involved must have been developed by the Nazis during WWII as a torture-prep aid. I can only weep for the people who've undergone a full colonoscopy, I cannot imagine how much more unpleasant that has to be. Last night, I could not eat anything after dinner. Luckily, my favorite snack comes in liquid form, aged and bottled in California, corked and shipped right to me. I'm fairly sure I wouldn't have gotten much sleep without my 2nd helping of wine last night.
I was allowed a "light" breakfast since my test wasn't until 1:15. I wasn't sure what that means, so I went to the gym first. I'd skipped all week last week and I'd hoped that I might work off a little burning anger at the same time. I'm pretty sure it was that 2nd helping of wine that prevented me from really enjoying a good workout though. In any case, I had to cut it short because I had to begin the enema regimen 2-3 hours before the appointment. I have also been very fortunate in that until today, I have never had an enema. I hope to go another 43 years before I need another. There was some awkward conversation with Rusty as I tried to determine his schedule and gently inform him to leave me the fuck alone while I accomplished this highly unpleasant task, and he was eager to oblige. The written instructions said it would take at least 2 or 3 bottles to accomplish the proper cleanse. I read the instructions and winced, even the diagrams made me apprehensive. I had to lay down to do it, so I chose to lay on the bed, and turned on the TV to help distract me. The Price Is Right was on... the familiar music and games triggered some sensory recall--I can't hear that music without thinking about staying home from school sick. As a kid, that was my favorite thing on TV when I had to stay home, and I can recall many times laying on the couch with a blanket feeling feverish or nauseous with a glass of Sprite at my side trying to guess the price of a can of tuna or a new electric range. So here I was, once more, listening to the Alpine yodeling that accompanies the "Cliff Hangers" game, feeling my intestines cramp up mercilessly and stumbling to the toilet as deftly as possible, reflecting wistfully on some stomach virus I must've had 30-something years ago.
Holy hell, the instructions should have warned me to warm the bottles first. I can take some cramping, but Naked Baby Jesus in a Wooden Manger, that is NOT something you want to do to yourself on purpose. By the time I got to the 4th one (yes, I needed 4, unfortunately), my poor bowels were howling in defiance. I broke out in a cold sweat, felt dizzy, and pretty much just wanted to die.
Which made the actual procedure seem like a breeze... not really much more unpleasant than a pelvic exam, except now there's a camera up your butt. I twitched and held my breath a couple times, but compared to the enemas, it was nothing.
And it turned out to be nothing, too. No polyps, no cancer, nothing unusual. I must just be bleeding profusely from hemorrhoids. And you really wanted to know that, right? But hey, my career is a big festering pile of constipated shit, so I'm just going with the theme.
I have decided that this procedure, in combination with the prep involved must have been developed by the Nazis during WWII as a torture-prep aid. I can only weep for the people who've undergone a full colonoscopy, I cannot imagine how much more unpleasant that has to be. Last night, I could not eat anything after dinner. Luckily, my favorite snack comes in liquid form, aged and bottled in California, corked and shipped right to me. I'm fairly sure I wouldn't have gotten much sleep without my 2nd helping of wine last night.
I was allowed a "light" breakfast since my test wasn't until 1:15. I wasn't sure what that means, so I went to the gym first. I'd skipped all week last week and I'd hoped that I might work off a little burning anger at the same time. I'm pretty sure it was that 2nd helping of wine that prevented me from really enjoying a good workout though. In any case, I had to cut it short because I had to begin the enema regimen 2-3 hours before the appointment. I have also been very fortunate in that until today, I have never had an enema. I hope to go another 43 years before I need another. There was some awkward conversation with Rusty as I tried to determine his schedule and gently inform him to leave me the fuck alone while I accomplished this highly unpleasant task, and he was eager to oblige. The written instructions said it would take at least 2 or 3 bottles to accomplish the proper cleanse. I read the instructions and winced, even the diagrams made me apprehensive. I had to lay down to do it, so I chose to lay on the bed, and turned on the TV to help distract me. The Price Is Right was on... the familiar music and games triggered some sensory recall--I can't hear that music without thinking about staying home from school sick. As a kid, that was my favorite thing on TV when I had to stay home, and I can recall many times laying on the couch with a blanket feeling feverish or nauseous with a glass of Sprite at my side trying to guess the price of a can of tuna or a new electric range. So here I was, once more, listening to the Alpine yodeling that accompanies the "Cliff Hangers" game, feeling my intestines cramp up mercilessly and stumbling to the toilet as deftly as possible, reflecting wistfully on some stomach virus I must've had 30-something years ago.
Holy hell, the instructions should have warned me to warm the bottles first. I can take some cramping, but Naked Baby Jesus in a Wooden Manger, that is NOT something you want to do to yourself on purpose. By the time I got to the 4th one (yes, I needed 4, unfortunately), my poor bowels were howling in defiance. I broke out in a cold sweat, felt dizzy, and pretty much just wanted to die.
Which made the actual procedure seem like a breeze... not really much more unpleasant than a pelvic exam, except now there's a camera up your butt. I twitched and held my breath a couple times, but compared to the enemas, it was nothing.
And it turned out to be nothing, too. No polyps, no cancer, nothing unusual. I must just be bleeding profusely from hemorrhoids. And you really wanted to know that, right? But hey, my career is a big festering pile of constipated shit, so I'm just going with the theme.
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