Yes, the parade of doctors have yet to find a reasonable answer, so they assured me that the next step in the chain was a colonoscopy.
PLEASE NOTE: IF YOU READ ON, YOU'RE ASKING FOR IT.
Now, thanks to these health professionals, I have had my nether regions poked and prodded by all sorts of people. I used to think a pap-smear was weird and gross. Now all I can say is "at least things are SUPPOSED to go up there". #1 on the List of Places I Don't Ever Want People's Fingers To Be? Answered last month, and a week after that, and a week after that...
So back to the colonoscopy. I of course realized, when they informed me that my lower intestines were going to make their film debut, that we had only two options for costuming here: either Alien Abduction Victim ('cause I was getting probed) or Prom Night (since my butt was losing its virginity). I was leaning towards Prom Night since it was more fun, but it was settled when I realized how down I've been on myself lately. I am disgusting quite a lot of the time because I just feel too tired or gross to make an effort. And really, I don't know of anything LESS sexy than a colonoscopy. So this was my stand. I may be doing something totally gross, but that does not make me any less of a sexy, sexy, brick-house senorita.
Now, even I am not crazy enough to post a picture of myself in lingerie on my blog, but let's just say that it was medium blue with white polka dots and red ribbons. And that my roommates got to get into it by going with me to get manis/pedis so I could have matching nails. And that I finally got to trot out the 3 inch, net, red heels I've been saving for a special occasion. Ditto the perfume and lotion. I felt like a million bucks.
That was of course before the night before. I feel like it needs to be its own title: "Stay tuned for The Night Before!" After some pretty fabulous advice from my only colonoscopy friend, I booked a night at a hotel, so I could have my own bathroom while the preparatory purges took effect (and brought toilet wipes. Would have died without the toilet wipes). Of course, I was so little looking forward to this stage that I decided to just eat less. Which means I spent from Sunday to Tuesday nights not eating. It's a miracle that everyone survived. But back to the hotel: at first it wasn't so bad. Cable tv, squishy bed, private (and connected) toilet. But the funny thing about laxatives are, they don't stop when there's no more food in your stomach. I began to curse the fact that liquid had ever been invented. I poured out the bottles of soda/water that I had bought "to ensure that you do not suffer from dehydration". I have never been so up close and personal with my stomach acid, and I puke a LOT. There's a sweet little note on the prep sheet: "if irritation is a problem, simply spread some Vaseline on affected areas". If you ever read this and think, like me, that this must not be a problem for most people, have someone hit you in the face, and bring the freaking Vaseline. Believe me.
Fast forwarding past the "Holy *?!#$%, what am I going to do?!" moment, I made it safely to the waiting room the next morning, though, due to check out times, I arrived 3 hours early. Please note, if you ever have to pick somebody up from a colonoscopy and you bring food into the waiting room, you are THE BIGGEST JERK EVER. Never before have I appreciated what a nicotine addict feels when someone lights up near them. I felt like all those descriptions of vampires hunting by smell and had multiple visions of myself leaping at them, teeth bared and claws extended. Then I went to the restroom to get away from the smell and salivated at all the lovely tap water that I couldn't drink anymore.
When they pulled me into the room, I like that the nurse totally got my rationale of doing un-sexy things in sexy clothes, though she made me change into the paper shorts anyway (after I saw how they had torn them, I was kinda glad she had). They tried to find my veins for forever (ha! good luck with that when I've been off water for 12 hours!) while the doctor tried to find the suitable words to describe the sedative they'd be using. Finally I just looked at him and said "Happy Juice". My happy juice worked wonders at first (spinning rooms are fun) but then they kept asking me to turn over while pumping air into my colon and I all I could think was "PLEASE HEAVEN NO! MY INTESTINES ARE BURSTING!". In fact, the sedative didn't work at all after the first few minutes, particularly not when they were ripping the SIX (count 'em) biopsy samples from my bowel.
After a recovery time that I was completely awake for, they set me down in a room with a cookie basket and told me that I had no tumors. Would have been better news if I hadn't proceeded to throw up the two packets of chocolate cookies I just ate.
Oddly enough, today the sedative was in full force. I had a mild case of couch-lock as I tried to get up this morning (ie. mind on, everything else off). I also understand why they tell you not to use any machinery (including kettles) or sign any legal documents or checks for the next 24 hours (so does my Amazon account. Do I really need that blender?).
Wasn't that bad of an experience, really. I mean, cameras are less invasive than fingers. Still, not wanting to ever do that again.
