I almost called this blog “Poop Bloggy-Blog”.  Just returned home from colonoscopy numero tres.  Same results as the last two.  I’m perfectly fine and all I need to do is to drink more water.  I call bullshit but I’m no doctor.  The reason for the latest snaking is that I was in the hospital for 4 days a month ago due to some pretty awful pain when I make deuces, and I also lost 3 pints of blood, that is all I will say, no need to be too graphic.  The reason for this blog is to hopefully update everyone all at the same time so that I don’t have to repeat this story forty-eleven times.

So I always write blogs in my head while I am waiting for my turn at the snake, and today was no different.  Well, I guess there is one difference, I am still a wee bit high from the anesthetic, so this one should be a scorcher, and I am not going to edit this.

Prep time:

This prep was different than the last two, no devil vomit.  Instead I was to begin yesterday at 3pm by taking 2 Dulcolax.  Have you ever taken Dulcolax?  I have.  One does the trick, but I had to take two. Then at 5pm, I had to begin drinking 64oz of Miralax mixed with any beverage that wasn’t dairy or red in color, 8oz at a time until I completed 64 oz of it.  Seems simple enough.  WRONG-O.  Turns out, even though Miralax is technically flavorless, it makes you feel like hammered crap.  At 7pm (or 8, I don’t remember really) take 2 more Dulcolax to round out the evening of fun.

I followed most of these instructions.  I weighed 100 pounds when I started this procedure.  I don’t think the 64oz applies to me, but I gave it my best shot.  I ended up gutting down just under 32 oz of it before my stomach refused to take in any more of it.  But I did take all 4 Dulcolax.  You would think that I would have been ‘making doubles’ like a boss, right?  Wrong again chief.  The only thing that happened was what I like to call a starvation headache.  I finally took 1.5 Vicodin at around midnight and it knocked me out.  I woke up at 3am, still nothing.  I took the day off work today to do this procedure, so no matter what, I have to get down to business.  I started pushing around on my guts, and voila!  I feel as though I may have given you too much detail already, so let’s just say I spent the rest of my morning until about 6am taking care of business.

Travel time:

We live kinda far away from the hospital where I was having the procedure done.  The ride in the car was amazing.  I had to stop twice to do a couple more transactions, then on to traffic where we sat completely still for what felt like hours.  We ended up getting there 20 minutes late.  The first person I encountered asked me if I was pregnant.  Um, nope.  But I still had to make my dehydrated 95 pound body (yes, I lost 5 pounds) manufacture urine so that they could do a pregnancy test.  FUN!

Pokey time:

Look, I am not one to make fun of people with speech impediments (much) but the nurse who administered my IV had one.  She sounded like Barbara Walters and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.  No worries, I don’t care.  She’s an RN, so she’s obviously educated, her parents opted not to help her lock that down by the age of 10, it’s not her fault…moving on…

So she asks me where I prefer to have my IV.  I guess most folks who don’t get IV’s very often probably don’t care, but I prefer the top of my left hand.  It’s least invasive and I have really good veins, which is a good thing because I loathe needles, especially when they place a catheter in my hand that’s gonna be there for a while.  The moment she stuck me I knew she jacked it up.  When it’s good, it doesn’t hurt, and this one hurt like a mother.  After she asked me all the standard health survey questions, she noticed the IV wasn’t dripping like it should, and what do you know?  It wasn’t working at all, instead there was a giant pocket of IV fluid on the back of my hand.  MULLIGAN!  So she apologized and in good spirit I said, “Well if that’s your worst one all day, at least you got it out of the way in the morning” and she acted offended by that.  Like it was really MY fault somehow.  Ok(?) So she takes that one out and is going up on the bend of my arm, there…that’s better.  It didn’t hurt.  However, the tourniquet made the hole in my hand make a mess on the floor.  Good thing I didn’t see that.  Actually thinking about it makes me get kinda schweatty.  I won’t give you a play-by-play of that, but she gave one to me.  Bad idea.  I had nothing to vomit, but if I did, I would have.

I received an entire bag of IV fluid in just under 20 minutes, did the preggers test (passed) and then got to meet the anesthesiologist.  She was a pretty lady who was telling me all about the druggy-treats I was about to receive.  Then they wheeled me in.  She put the oxygen on my face and said it would probably annoy me, but I told her I have always thought it smelled like pancakes and syrup, or Kahlua.  She responded by saying “Oh I’ll give you your Kahlua in just  a minute.”  I love her.

The last thing I remember was watching her push the white happy juice into my arm then the next thing I knew I woke up in recovery.  I waited 4 weeks since my hospital stay to do this, so whatever was ailing me when I was there is no longer ailing me.  Ship shape she said.  It’s frustrating but also a relief that I don’t have Crohn’s or Ulcerative Colitis.  Now I am sitting here enjoying all 6 of these blueberry muffins I just baked.  All is well that ENDS well, get it??


Peace, Padinkydink<-(get it?)