great colonoscopy caper
Today (Friday, November 17) was the great colonoscopy caper; a medical procedure met with “this too shall pass.”
The last time anybody invaded my butt with a greased light-probe was about 5-7 years ago, a sigmoidoscopy, much like a colonoscopy, except it only goes half-way. The prep is not as extensive, only an enema to clean out your lower bowel (bowl, whatever; but my bowls are in the kitchen-cabinet).
Preparation for a colonoscopy was horrible; a full-day of eating only clear liquids, plus a super-laxative — phoso-soda — meant to clean you out.
Per suggestion, I mixed the phoso-soda with apple-juice, since otherwise it tastes awful; so salty it’s unbearable.
I was supposed to take this stuff at noon and 6 p.m. yesterday, and did.
It blows you out. I used an entire roll of toilet-paper; could have used one the size of the one atop the Scott facility across from the airport.
Most abhorrent was the fact that it blew out what you stayed warm with. My feet and hands turned to blocks of ice.
The metabolic disarray also shot up my blood-pressure: 150/90; not dreadful, but higher than normal.
And filling my bottom with fluid made sleeping near impossible. I had to be cognizant of not losing it in the bed. After three visits to the can, I finally fell asleep after 2 a.m.
Blood-pressure was more normal this morning (137/85), and I felt fairly normal. Hardly any of the phoso-soda was still inside, and I was existing despite lack of fuel.
The colonoscopy was to be performed at Thompson Hospital in Canandaigua, the Ambulatory Procedure Center — not the vaunted miracles of Boston healthcare, but fine enough.
I drove us both there; but Linda was to be along to drive us back, since I was to be sedated.
A nurse nervously interviewed me, and pasted 89 bazilyun stickers on 89 bazilyun forms. All I could think of is if they can make a printer do 89 bazilyun labels, why not the forms? Here the nurse was manually being the ‘pyooter.
Finally I was wheeled into a darkly-lit room where the procedure was to be performed. Sedation was administered via an IV. To my mind, it didn’t do much; since I was fully awake during the procedure. The procedure-nurse said I was zonked out for a minute after it was administered.
They managed to scan about 90% of everything; and pushed and shoved me every-which-way to try and get the final 10%. But they failed. Their probe was up against a pretzel: must be a liberial colon.
The probe was removed and I was apprised of the situation: “curvy colon,” they said. “Fairly normal; we need to X-ray to see the final 10%.
“Let’s boogie,” I said.
A “transporter” wheeled me to another darkly-lit room with a huge X-ray machine.
“It’s a barium enema,” the kid said. (Um; not what I expected.)
Another probe was inserted, and gallons of barium-fluid drained into my bottom. A Chinese doctor strode in, and said “we’ll have to mix more. Turn this way; now that way; you’re doing fine, Mr. Hughes.”
Finally I was wheeled back to reception, after dumping some barium-fluid into their toilet.
“The colonoscopy-doctor has left, so we don’t know about aspirin. No polyps were found, or removed; so I guess you can take aspirin again.” (Polyps are the whole idea of the scan, since they can be precancerous.)
Then the colonoscopy-doctor reappeared, and said “Aspirin? No problem. Call me next Monday after I go over the X-rays.”
Another nurse was saying “I have to discharge this young man.”
“Not that young,” I said. “I bet I’m older than you.” (62 as opposed to 53.)
She was on the other side of the office. “Did I just hear a snide comment from far away?”
“That’s my husband,” Linda said. “Now he sounds more like himself.”
I was put in a wheelchair for wheelout, and saw Linda Barry, our typist-lady at the mighty Mezz, signing in.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Having my butt checked,” I said.
“Yep; hasn’t changed a bit. Always had us rolling in the aisles at the paper. That place is no fun since he left.”
The last time anybody invaded my butt with a greased light-probe was about 5-7 years ago, a sigmoidoscopy, much like a colonoscopy, except it only goes half-way. The prep is not as extensive, only an enema to clean out your lower bowel (bowl, whatever; but my bowls are in the kitchen-cabinet).
Preparation for a colonoscopy was horrible; a full-day of eating only clear liquids, plus a super-laxative — phoso-soda — meant to clean you out.
Per suggestion, I mixed the phoso-soda with apple-juice, since otherwise it tastes awful; so salty it’s unbearable.
I was supposed to take this stuff at noon and 6 p.m. yesterday, and did.
It blows you out. I used an entire roll of toilet-paper; could have used one the size of the one atop the Scott facility across from the airport.
Most abhorrent was the fact that it blew out what you stayed warm with. My feet and hands turned to blocks of ice.
The metabolic disarray also shot up my blood-pressure: 150/90; not dreadful, but higher than normal.
And filling my bottom with fluid made sleeping near impossible. I had to be cognizant of not losing it in the bed. After three visits to the can, I finally fell asleep after 2 a.m.
Blood-pressure was more normal this morning (137/85), and I felt fairly normal. Hardly any of the phoso-soda was still inside, and I was existing despite lack of fuel.
The colonoscopy was to be performed at Thompson Hospital in Canandaigua, the Ambulatory Procedure Center — not the vaunted miracles of Boston healthcare, but fine enough.
I drove us both there; but Linda was to be along to drive us back, since I was to be sedated.
A nurse nervously interviewed me, and pasted 89 bazilyun stickers on 89 bazilyun forms. All I could think of is if they can make a printer do 89 bazilyun labels, why not the forms? Here the nurse was manually being the ‘pyooter.
Finally I was wheeled into a darkly-lit room where the procedure was to be performed. Sedation was administered via an IV. To my mind, it didn’t do much; since I was fully awake during the procedure. The procedure-nurse said I was zonked out for a minute after it was administered.
They managed to scan about 90% of everything; and pushed and shoved me every-which-way to try and get the final 10%. But they failed. Their probe was up against a pretzel: must be a liberial colon.
The probe was removed and I was apprised of the situation: “curvy colon,” they said. “Fairly normal; we need to X-ray to see the final 10%.
“Let’s boogie,” I said.
A “transporter” wheeled me to another darkly-lit room with a huge X-ray machine.
“It’s a barium enema,” the kid said. (Um; not what I expected.)
Another probe was inserted, and gallons of barium-fluid drained into my bottom. A Chinese doctor strode in, and said “we’ll have to mix more. Turn this way; now that way; you’re doing fine, Mr. Hughes.”
Finally I was wheeled back to reception, after dumping some barium-fluid into their toilet.
“The colonoscopy-doctor has left, so we don’t know about aspirin. No polyps were found, or removed; so I guess you can take aspirin again.” (Polyps are the whole idea of the scan, since they can be precancerous.)
Then the colonoscopy-doctor reappeared, and said “Aspirin? No problem. Call me next Monday after I go over the X-rays.”
Another nurse was saying “I have to discharge this young man.”
“Not that young,” I said. “I bet I’m older than you.” (62 as opposed to 53.)
She was on the other side of the office. “Did I just hear a snide comment from far away?”
“That’s my husband,” Linda said. “Now he sounds more like himself.”
I was put in a wheelchair for wheelout, and saw Linda Barry, our typist-lady at the mighty Mezz, signing in.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Having my butt checked,” I said.
“Yep; hasn’t changed a bit. Always had us rolling in the aisles at the paper. That place is no fun since he left.”
(My brother in Boston [the tub-thumping macho Harley conservative], loudly insists it's spelled “bowls.”)
posted by BobbaLew at 3:46 PM
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