Lets start with the good news. I know that’s not usually the way people do it, but generally I like to start with the positive stuff. Set the mood and all…especially when telling Mr. Mango about my medical mishaps…its better than him giving himself worry lines sitting there waiting to see if there’s at least one sliver of hope in it all. This time there is a little bit of good news.
The first good news is unlike last time’s meager 8 in intake, all 72 in of tube made it this time ( got a rockin’ long colon everyone….just more surface area to cause me turmoil…). This was done while I was zonked out on a cocktail of sedatives, anti-anxiety meds and non-opiate pain relievers that strategically are given to people like me (can’t take anti-inflammatory and opiates don’t do much for pain relief just fuzzy mental state). The biggest change to last time (really the only change…) was the fact that an anesthesiologist was there to administer sedation instead of the nurses on staff just injecting the ‘status quo’ amount of the standard stuff.
I was able to talk the the guy for a whole 20 minutes while the nurse put 5 different holes in my arm (I now look like a frost giant touched me). We went through great lengths discussing my previous medications and history with surgery an anesthesia. While I don’t trust ‘said hospitals’ staff one any lick more today than I did before, that guy…he knows what he’s doing and after that conversation I was comfortable (well not comfortable cause hey I was about to have a fucking tube shoved up my ass) not just running out of there before it was too late.
Once the pointless pregnancy test we were waiting on finally cleared, they rolled me in, I made some inappropriate jokes (my raunchy, sarcastic and lovely sense of humor only gets more intense when I’m nervous), got my oxygen mask and the drugs dude started pumping me with a few things and from that point on I’m pretty sure everything I remember was in fact part of dream land. The Christmas music they had playing in the background became louder and all of a sudden all the staff in the room became elves in Santa’s workshop…except it was my ass…what the fuck. This proceeded for the next 30 minutes or so like it was the most normal thing for Santa elves to be doing until I was woken up by a new, not elf-like nurse…and the need to fart so fucking bad…
I guess you could say another good piece of news is there are no signs of colon cancer. At the same time, since it wasn’t what they were looking for…it wasn’t something I was worried about yet to be honest. I’m inflamed, my gut was squeaky clean (I don’t exactly know how many people they compliment on this…) but it was very clear that I am polyp and other growth free. The ass doctor took a bunch of biopsies along the way that are being sent off to the lab for a host of tests. In reality, no matter what is wrong, we won’t know for 6-8 weeks.
Now without getting into too much detail or working myself up into a flutter I’m just gonna be blunt and say getting the actual colonoscopy and the associated needles and pain…were the best part of the experience. Everything else was way fucking worse, even worse after knowing what to expect after last times debacle. I just don’t have energy to get into part 2 right now…so I’m just gonna leave you with the good news as it is. The rant will come when I’m in less over all pain….
…and less likely to toss my computer across the room in rage just thinking about those fuckers….FUCK.