WARNING: this post contains the words poop and pee. Also, light juvenile humor.
Digestive issues, to put it delicately, have been a torment since childhood. These issues were so problematic as a youngster, my mother had to stop me eating cheese. I guess stuffing suppositories up her bawling five year old’s ass wasn’t her idea of optimal health maintenance. But cheese! My life was over. I eat cheese now (responsibly) because my mother’s not the boss of me. Anymore. Sometimes. Fuck, she’s bossy.
Fast forward to my mid-thirties. After several years of good intestinal maintenance–happy intestines! I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia in 2014. At that point in time, I was ignorant to the correlation between Fibromyalgia and Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Irritable bowels…sounds fucking gross, right? And kind of funny if you have an imagination like mine. I’m sick. In more ways than twelve.
Fast forward to August 11, 2016. I explain the increasingly hellacious symptoms of my furious bowels to my physician. “Before I begin treatment for IBS, we should rule out colitis, Crohn’s…” I stopped listening because I knew. I fucking knew!
“I’m ordering you a colonoscopy.”
For the love of all that is holy, nooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Deep breath, nooooooooo! Fuck you, cheese! Fuck you, Fibromyalgia! I’m so depressed, someone bring me a brick of goddamned Gruyere! I like expensive cheese.
On the 29th, I began my colon prep. Beginning at 9 a.m. I was limited to a clear liquid diet, so at 8:35, I ate a slice of pizza and two pieces of cheesy bread. In bed. The rest of the day, I drank iced tea, Gatorade, and ate lime Jell-O, which is considered part of clear liquid diet for reasons I cannot explain. So curious was I about the Jell-O, I asked Google if Jell-O turns to poop, or pee. I found no definitive answer. At 6:15 p.m. I drank my first cup of poop juice. I had mixed it that morning with a lemon flavor packet, so it was nice and cold. And just thick enough to make me gag. I had to chug a half gallon of this stuff in 8 oz. servings every 10-15 minutes. The pain of bloating and stomach cramping made me cry. What’s worse is that it took nearly two hours to watch the one hour premier of The Strain (which had been recorded Sunday) because I had to go blow my ass out every five minutes.
I had to sleep on the couch that night to be close to the toilet. Coincidentally, my husband had an excellent night’s sleep in our bed, all by himself, as he was able to take up the whole middle. Fuck you, Jim. But seriously, I love you so much, it makes me stupid. I love you even though you ate a cheeseburger and tater tots in front of me while I was starving to near death.
August 30, the day of the colonoscopy. I was supposed to finish the poop juice, but I only drank 16 oz. of it because all was clear in the toilet, and that was fucking good enough for me. Because I would be under anesthesia for the procedure, I had to have a driver. Enter my beautiful, awesome, kind daughter. When she and I got off the elevator at the hospital, my mother was standing there! She had come because sometimes, my mother is fucking awesome, too–she had worked the night before, and was running on three hours of sleep.
Fast forward. I had my IV hooked up, and I was ready to roll. A beautiful friendly girl with blonde hair wheeled me into the room “where the magic happens.” The HAWT doctor performing the procedure told me he was going to insert a four foot tube with a camera into my body. Wait. Four feet!? That’s the average height of a fucking eight year old! Then the anesthesiologist was injecting the white sleepy time stuff into my IV, and I was temporarily ghost town.
I came to in my personal recovery room, where my mother and daughter were watching Roseanne–the later episodes when they won the lottery. So, the lame as fuck episodes. The nurse told my mother and daughter that I was a chatty one, and proceeded to say that at one point, I (sort of) woke up, and told her all about my blog, my novel, and the publisher interested in me. I followed up with, “My daughter is a great writer, and she’s a pharmacy tech–she’s more grown up than I am.” At least I didn’t snore.
Dr. Hawt found ulcers in my intestines, which he suspects are due to the Mobic. I take Mobic for arthritis pain. He performed a biopsy to be certain. I waiting for the results.
My mother treated me and my daughter to a buffet after my procedure. I ate little, but it felt like too much. We went to my mother’s favorite buffet restaurant, and even though I didn’t want that fucking cafeteria food, she was paying, and she had driven a long way to be with me, so I was appreciative. I am appreciative. Plus, she brought treats for me to give to Melvin. Melvin loves his grandma.
Last night, my husband cooked teriyaki pork for me. He’s the best.
I am continuing to recover from the adulting, and happy to say I feel pretty damn good today.