Hot metal pokers in both eyes would have been more welcome than my recent double dipping experience, forever to be known as the Endoscopic/Colonoscopic Examination From the Depths of Hell.
I'm still recovering, so this post will heretoforth be in point form.
* 7 p.m. Sunday. I scarf down 6 oz. of Pico Salax. Not the best tasting stuff, but not god-awful either. Taste: something between lime juice, tart orange, mixed with a bit of fizz.
* 9 p.m. Sunday. Who knew a butt could pee? Pico Salax = constant and extreme diarrhea. I'm still feeling pretty good. This Pico Salax stuff ain't half bad, I say to Mr. Handsome.
* 9:30 p.m. Sunday. Utter and extreme nausea. They didn't warn me about this.
* 10 p.m. Sunday. The migraine begins. I take five extra strength Tylenols, a couple of Gravols, and I pray for sleep.
* 2 a.m. Monday. Hello toilet.
* 4:06 a.m. Monday. Yo. Here I am again, bathroom.
* 6:12 a.m. Monday. You know the drill.
* 8 a.m. Monday. I'm due for my second Pico Salax dose, but cannot make myself mix the goop. I then throw up at the sight of garlic roast beef on the kitchen counter.
* 8:20 a.m. I moan softly as I lie on the couch, unable to move. My head throbs. My stomach hurts. I want to die.
* 8:30 a.m. I call the doctor's office, explaining to the answering machine that I cannot down the second dose of medication, and ask whether this actually make a difference in the ultimate outcome. I'm hoping the answer is either "No", or "Oh, we'll have to cancel the test."
* 10:20 a.m. The doctor's secretary calls and tells me to drink it now, then keep drinking liquids until noon, even though the instructions state very clearly to stop all liquids by 11 a.m. I take more Tylenol and hope I don't throw up again.
* Noon. I get dressed, try and finish my first bottle of Gatorade.
* 12:20 p.m. Mr. Handsome drives me to the hospital, where I have to once again run to the bathroom.
* 1 p.m. The nurse directs me to a tiny locker room, where I get changed into fancy hospital pajamas. I think to myself that I might be able to steal these to wear around the house. They're that nice. So that's where my hard-earned pennies go...
* 1:07 p.m. Nurse #1 takes me in to ask me some questions and start an IV. She asks many questions, but not once does she look at me as she asks. I finally decide not to answer her until she actually looks at me and acknowledges my existence. Bitch.
* 1:10 p.m. Nurse #1 does not like that I kept drinking until noon. Makes sour face as she writes the time down on my wristband, and shoos me back out to the waiting room.
* 1:45 p.m. My "time" is here, but they are calling other people in front of me. I don't care, because it means not having to go in under the scope...yet.
* 2:20 p.m. I decide Nurse #1 must have told someone about me drinking until noon, because now I'm still waiting, and there can be no other reason. Big bitch.
* 2:45 p.m. My name is called. Mr. Handsome bids me farewell. My life flashes before my eyes.
* 2:50 p.m. I am instructed to lie on the table facing the doctor. Nurse #2 pulls out a large needle and tells me the medication will sedate me so that I don't feel anything. I make sure she understands fully that I do not want to know what is going on, and she assures me that will be the case. I again make sure, stating clearly and matter of factly that I am scared shitless. Nurse #2 says I will be awake, but I won't care. I feel okay with that. She pushes the medication into my vein, and I feel a little buzz, but I am still really very aware of everything.
* 2:51 p.m. The doctor shows me the endoscope, and tells me to swallow, but only once. Also, I am instructed to keep breathing, and keep it under control.
* 2:52 p.m. I am gagging, choking, vomiting, and sobbing, all at once. Didn't think that was possible. I am here to tell you, it most definitely is.
* 2:54 p.m. Doctor tries to inflate my stomach with the scope, and finds that scope is not working properly. He promptly removes scope.
* 2:55 p.m. Doctor tells me I have to go through entire procedure again with a different scope. I feel like a beaten down dog.
* 2:56 p.m. More gagging, coughing, spewing and major unhappiness. Doctor tells me not to let the air out, but how does one hold in belches the power of Vesuvius? Answer: you don't. I proceed to sound like Homer Simpson after a few beers.
* 3 p.m. Scope is out. Doctor announces that test is over. Now it's time for the other end.
* 3:03 p.m. My butt is now in full view of the world, and it's cold and lonely.
* 3:04 p.m. The scope goes in, and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it does.
* 3:06 p.m. The doctor tells me to control myself, take deep breaths. I try to, but the huge rod digging inside my large bowel kind of prevents me from doing so. I try to control my screaming, but to no avail. I make a mental note to ask the doctor later on if anyone has ever been as noisy as I am during this godforsaken test from beyond hell.
* 3:07 p.m. Doc tells me not to hold the air in. Don't be shy, let it out. I fart continuously in his face, and hope he hates every minute of it as much as I do.
* 3:12 p.m. The test is over. They swing me into the recovery room, cover me up, and leave me in my misery. Oh, wait. It's not over. The nurse comes back in and shoves a tube up my anal cavity to let out the air they pumped into me. How dainty, I think as I fall into a coma.
* 4:37 p.m. I awake to the faint sound of a whistle. I try to figure out what the sound might be, and after a couple of seconds, realize it's my ass. I spend the next few minutes trying to play "Mary Had A Little Lamb" with the wind that continuously seems to come out of my crevice. And then I fall asleep again. God only knows what tune I play while unconscious.
* 5:12 p.m. I awake again to a nurse asking if I'd like a muffin and some hot tea. My blood pressure is low and they also want to get rid of me.
* 5:14 p.m. I eat my muffin and drink my tea, all the while trying to control my ass wind. It's very difficult when you're semi-conscious and in pain. I am now fully aware that there are quite a few people around me, all within hearing distance of my whistle. I hope I wasn't out of tune.
* 5:18 p.m. Nurse #3 tells me I can get dressed and go home. Just as she pulls the curtain around my stretcher so that I have a little privacy, she realizes I still have a tube shoved up the wahoo, and she giggles and she loudly proclaims to everyone in the room, "Oh, I guess I have to remove that tube, don't I? You don't want to be going home with that in your bum, now, do you?"
And with that, I got dressed, Nurse #3 led me out to Mr. Handsome, who took me home. I then slept until Tuesday morning, and although I'm feeling much better, I am still quite sore and sad.
Let the record state that I will never again subject myself to such misery. Unless I am put out, fully unconscious, no doctor will ever touch me in that way again.
I am a 46-year-old mom of two amazing children and wife to a wonderful and very patient man, and a lucky friend to many. I am a Realtor and a writer, but have also been a journalist, editor, and daycare provider. Not every day is a good day, but I sure try to keep smiling.