Two years ago I had tons of stomach/bowel issues. If you are squeamish about reading or discussing these types of things then move on to another blog because this post is going to contain the word poop. I'm not embarrassed about talking about my bodily functions. I spent my childhood waiting for a parent's bowels to move before we could leave the house for the day. My friends refer to my poop talk as the "Mason fecal update" because no one in my family is afraid to bring up the subject whether it is at dinner or a wedding. Besides this is March - Colon Cancer Awareness Month - and so there is no better time to discuss "down there".
Two years ago I started with a few days of diarrhea, an upset stomach, and a feeling of fatigue. I spent some time in bed and then got up and dragged myself to a doc-in-the-box where I explained this was nothing new for me having had giardia several years before. Back then giardia was relatively unknown and I went through weeks and then months of tests and hell before diagnosing myself with the help of a friend who once had it. My primary tested for it (she had to look it up in her medical book) and it came back positive. Everyone in my family was treated for it and I was back up on my feet in no time. Now giardia is a common test for ailments such as mine, but alas, it came back negative as did several of the other tests. I was sent home with a low antibiotic and ordered to take some Imodium, which I didn't take because my belief is better out than in. Weeks turned to months and I went to my primary care. She listened, made notes, and then referred me to my old gastro doctor who was still in business and so busy it took my over a month just to get in to see her. She made me go through the second colonoscopy, having no record of my previous one, and ran me through so many tests I was cleared of diseases that started with every letter of the alphabet. That colonoscopy came back with a polyp and some diverticulosis, but nothing of great concern. Still I kept pooping. And pooping. And pooping. Month after month after month.
I lost fifteen pounds during the nine months that I pooped diarrhea and took a combination of pills ordered by the gastro doc. The last three months of my illness I had a day or so during the week when I felt decent and didn't have to spend my time in the bathroom. I kept on chugging because I was a mom with responsibilities, but it was a slow summer that year for the girls. Then one day it was over and soon my visits to the gastro doc went from monthly to every three months, six months, and then finally to a year. This year she sprung the colonoscopy on me, something she had mentioned at the last visit, but one that I hoped she had forgotten. It had been over two years since my last one and because of the polyp find she thought it a good idea to go back inside for a check. Where I would have hesitated, hemmed and hawed, and argued several months prior (five years being the time frame between polyps) I didn't when the time came because my friend's brother, barely over the age of 50, had recently been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and given two years to live.
I signed up for my colonoscopy, picking the date in March, unaware of its importance. It wasn't until I got into the elevator at a hospital that I discovered March as the awareness month for colon cancer. It was posted in every elevator I rode up and down in to visit my mother and suddenly I found myself spreading the word, especially to those people over 50 (HUSBAND...cough, cough), although why 50 is the magical age is beyond me seeing that I've discovered exciting things in my colon in my three probes.
Having gone through two other procedures, I knew what to
The drink I had was called MoviPrep, a cute little play on words that didn't improve my mood. The box it came in was huge and the pharmacy had to store it in a bag inside a large drawer. Everyone who has ever had to have the procedure knows what is happening when the large drawer is opened and the bag is passed on to the customer. I got quite a few pats on the back and some condolences as I paid and left the store. Inside the box were two more boxes and one 32 oz. bottle with a lid and four 8 oz. markings on the outside. I had to take the first dose the night before at 6 pm. after not eating a thing all day since breakfast. I did well with the no eating until I picked up Darcy after basketball practice and she asked me to take her to Home Depot for some science supplies she needed. I will admit I bit her head off and drove home.
At six o'clock I took the contents of one box, a bag of white powder, and poured it into the bottle. My instructions from my doctor told me I could use any liquid I chose as long as it wasn't red. I could mix it with a soft drink, water, Gatorade, tea, etc. Each time in the past I've mixed it with water and I thought about mixing it this time with something different, but I got concerned that it might even be worse so I just used water. I had to shake it and shake it and then I took a deep breath and poured the first 8 oz. of the drink into a cup. My friend, the one whose brother is battling colon cancer, had had her colonoscopy the week before mine and offered up the info on using a straw. I stuck in some ice and a straw, took another deep breath, and tried to down the 8 oz. I got as far as two gulps. The liquid smells like Sprite and tastes like a glass of salty watery Sprite without the carbonation. I hate Sprite to begin with so I'm doomed. I held my nose so that the taste was hidden, but as soon as the taste buds felt that salt they shriveled up and caused a gag reflex. I worked at getting three gulps and then swished my mouth with a gulp of Ginger Ale. By the time I got down the first 8 oz. I had very little time left before I had to take the next dose. You have to drink in 15 minute intervals and believe me when I tell you by the last two doses your 15 minutes have come and gone and there is no break. That I remembered from procedure #2.
The drinking of my first 32 oz. was done in a timely manner with a lot of pacing and staring out of the window. At one point during a rest period I whined to my mother who had called to tell me she was safely at her rehab facility. Having had the procedure herself, she let me whine, told me she was sorry, wished me luck, and thankfully hung up. When it was all over I felt like I had just climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and I preened around the living room like a peacock. An hour later I spent two hours running to and from the bathroom.
The next 32 oz. came at 4:00 in the morning. I rolled out of bed (just in time to discover my eldest just finishing up her homework and going to bed for the night, but that's another story) and started over again. By the time the first 8 oz. was down I had five minutes to relax. I sat on the couch and turned on the television to sit out my five minutes. There is not much available even on cable at that time of the day, and by the time I found a CSI episode it was time to suck down the second 8 oz. This time I left out the ice and the straw and tried to chug it all in a few gulps. I failed. I gagged. I thought it was all going to come up my esophagus at one point, but I worked hard mentally and physically to avoid that little gem. It worked and I got the second one down, leaving myself three minutes for relaxation. I took five. Fuck the MoviPrep makers and my doctor. The third one was the hardest and by the time it was gone, some of it in the kitchen sink drain, it was time to start the fourth dose and so I emptied the container and sat down on the couch thinking I would take a sipping approach. It worked, but it took over twenty minutes. I wanted to jump up and down when it was over, but instead I visited the bathroom and peed from my butt. Because by that time there is nothing but MoviPrep coming out of you.
My friend Kelly took off work for the day to be my caregiver and driver. My husband seemed a little offended by this, but Kelly happened to text me the day I made the appointment and I jokily asked her if she wanted to nurse me. She is all about
Everyone kept asking me how I was doing as they gave me a pregnancy test (uh, yeah), stuck in my IV, and entered my little curtained off area to chat. I finally got tired of saying "fine" and said instead, "How do you think I'm feeling after not eating for twenty four hours, drinking that god awful stuff, and pooping my brains out?" I found I'm more like my mother than I had thought. Once the IV was in and I was receiving a bag of nutrition, they asked me some questions, and wheeled me into the surgery room. I had to turn over on my left side and one of the nurses folded up my pillow as if that was comfortable. I had a blood pressure cuff put on my left arm which I would normally have under the pillow but instead sort of had sticking up in the air because placing it on the gurney felt awkward. I kept wondering if I was suppose to be asleep yet as my last two procedures I was out two minutes after being wheeled into the room. This time, however, the doctor was off talking to the nurse who had put in my IV so the two nurses and the anesthesiologist tech stood around chatting. Being me, and more like my mother then I thought, I asked why they weren't including me in the conversation and so they did and we all chatted about pets and my doctor.
I tried very hard to relax, but I was not comfortable. I wanted to sit up and try to readjust things, but my butt was exposed to the computer side of the room, the IV was in my right arm tugging, and the BP cuff was on the left. My legs were drawn up and together, a position I do not sleep in, and so I lay there trying to ignore all of this. Every once in awhile the cuff would tighten and I'd watch my pressure on the monitor. It kept going up and so I made a game of trying to lower it by the next time it would register. Finally, my doctor walked in. First things she said? "Hi, Cara, how are you?" I rolled my head over, looked at her, rolled my eyes at the others in the room, and said, "Great. Let's get his party started." Okay, I didn't say that about the party, but I would have had I thought it then. I saw that as soon as the doctor had entered the room the anesthesiologist tech was on his feet shooting a needle into my IV. Within five seconds I had that beautiful, floating, sleepy feeling and I thought, "Here we go."
I come out of the drugs just fine and fairly quickly according to past nurses. I woke up in my little curtained area with a male nurse to attend me. He wanted me to expel gas so I obliged, but I waited each time until he rushed off to get something or see to someone else. It is very difficult for me to expel gas in front of others since I rarely do so anyway (tee hee). I wanted some cranberry juice, but he would only give me water. He told me that she had found one polyp, several hemorrhoids, and inflamed diverticulitis. She also took four biopsies. He gave me a prescription for an antibiotic for the inflammation and some suppositories for the hemorrhoids. He told me I couldn't eat until tomorrow, which I had never been told before in my past two procedures. He had me get dressed, sign some papers, and released me to my caregiver. The whole thing from beginning to end took two hours.
A week later I went back to see her for the results and they turned out to be better then what the nurse had said. The polyp turned out to be fat. Fat. That she sucked right out of me. She thought I would like that. Since it was fat that meant that I was polyp free which means no colonoscopy for FIVE YEARS. The diverticulitis was diverticulosis and we studied the pictures together as if they would show us something profound. She gave me a high fiber diet, some powder fiber product that supposedly also helped lower cholesterol, and a pro-biotic. The hemorrhoids were smaller than my previous ones and since I had no pain, burning or itching she told me to use the suppositories as needed. She said my blood work was great. We talked about the cholesterol and taking some red yeast rice tablets. She patted me and told the receptionist that they wouldn't need to see me for FIVE YEARS. I whooped loudly and did a little dance. The receptionist told me I was a hoot, gave me my free samples, and I danced out of the office smiling and spreading sparkling charm throughout the waiting room.
March is colon cancer awareness month. Colon cancer is one of the easiest cancers to cure if caught early. Please, if you have a family history discuss with your doctor about having a colonoscopy before the age of fifty. If you are over fifty, please schedule one now even if you aren't having issues. It is good to have that first base line. It is a simple, painless procedure that only requires some taste bud discomfort and tons of pooping. Think of it as a cleanse. Don't we all need one of those every once in a while?
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