This morning is the start of my preparation for a colonoscopy – some sort of medical procedure where the doctor ‘introduces’ a camera into my lower bowel through, ahem, the ‘back entrance’. I’m not exactly relishing the thought, but am told it’s a routine procedure, not painful, and that I’m sedated throughout.
Earlier this week I also had a gastroscopy – tube down the throat – which was much less uncomfortable than I was expecting/experienced previously ten years ago in preparation for mitral valve surgery. It was over in the blink of an eye, and the only real side effect has been a bit of a sore throat afterwards.
So, for the last 10 days, in preparation I’ve stopped taking warfarin, and had to learn how to self-inject with clexane injections. It’s not great fun – I’m admiring injecting drug users who can find a new site for their injection every time. perhaps I just don’t have enough skin around my ‘love handles’, or am too conscious of not going too near my remaining scars from the heart surgery, or just a little nancy about sticking myself with a needle. But I’ve managed for over a week, and only pricked my finger once. This Beauty isn’t sleeping yet…
And, a little too late, I found out I needed to stop my iron tablets. Which caused a bit of a furore and a kerfuffle, as they needed to be stopped a full week before they go in. So, procedures were hastily rearranged and I no longer needed to take a day off work because of the dreaded ‘Evacuation’.
We’re two days and counting now, which means starting a ‘low fibre’ diet. Not full of choice for vegetarians, as it means nto eating any fruit or vegetables for 2 days. I’m having to be a little broadminded with my menus.
So – breakfast is fine. Toast (white bread) and even marmalade is OK. With a cup of tea, it’s practically my usual routine.
And lunch after the gym allowed for poached eggs on toast. Not too much of an ordeal so far. I could even have some chocolate with my tea and – if I wanted, and had some – madeira cake. Mmmm … cake ….
The day before the bumming procedure is a ‘fluid only’ day, although I was allowed a breakfast of (slightly burnt) croissants and tea, preceded by my clanex injection.
At ten o’clock, we start the ‘Evacuation’ process with 5 senna tablets, which I thought was just the butt (ahem) of many a Round The Horne innuendo and double entendre (‘Second meaning? I don;t think it had a first, duckie’ as the inimitable Kenneth Williams might say).
From now on, fluids and loo stops only ….
At 2:00 pm I have the intriguingly entitled ‘picolax’ drink mixed with water (is it an animation studio, or a musical instrument?) – with the warning that ‘it might get hot’. I also want it to bubble and form smoke, like a proper Jekyll & Hyde potion ….
The climax of the day – as it were – came at 6:00pm with a combination of two sachets of ‘moviprep’ (which sounds as if it should be a bag of popcorn for you to take to the cinema, but is a rather bitter tasting litre preparation of essential flid, minerals and electrolytes which can otherwise be lost through the evacuation process.
This is the point at which the bottom fell out of my world, and my Netflix programming went on permanent pause to allow me to dash in and out of the smallest room, and to test the power of my Blue Loo cistern insert.
As the say in one of my favourite films, Bridesmaids, ‘it’s coming out of me like lava’. Unlike the infamous scene from that film, I didn’t shit myself in the middle of the traffic wearing a white bridal gown. There’s always someone else worse off than you. And I didn’t shit the bed, which was nice.
It was, however, pretty exhausting, and I wish I’d read the instructions about using a topical barrier cream to protect the Ring Of Fire before starting the Evacuation process. Mother, bless her, had left a whole tub of KY petroleum jelly on the bathtub, which I was a little forward of her, but which now seems to have been her been thoughtful about my bumming the next day. It domes to something when your mother knows more about anal penetration that you do.
So the day arrives, and I’m really hungry, thirsty but don;t want to drink too much fluid in case I accidentally fart and ‘follow through’ with more lava – if there’s any of it left!
All goes well, and I deliberately wear my Dad’s Army ‘They Don’t Like It Up Em’ t-shirt just to inject a little light entertainment into the proceedings. My nurse offers me sedation, which I almost immediately accept until I quip ‘It depends what the Doctor looks like’, in the hope that in the middle of the procedure some handsome medic will look at my backside and think ‘Nice butt, must remember to ask his number afterwards.’ Although I’m sure the doctors probably score our butts in that psycho gallows humour way that all medics do. For the record, mine is a 10/10.
‘Good luck with that’, the nure quips back, looking at the doctor’s name on my records.
It’s an age in the waiting room, and the poor guy called in next is hiding in the toilet when his names is called out. I spend the time listening to my ipod on shuffle, which ranges from ‘Round The Horne’ to The Sex Pistols in the random way that I like.
Eveentuallt, I’m called in, swishing in my hospital gowns (one being used as a cape – I kid you not!) and back flap shorts and Dad’s Army T-shirt, carrying a drab grey hospital propety bag with street drag and my ipod in.
The nurse is right. My Doctor’s nice, but I’m glad it’s a medical cockadong he’s inserting into my rectum and not the throbbing gristle that I’d welcome from some Hollywood hunk. I do, however, like the fact that he likens the giving of the anaesthetic to a shot of gin and tonic, and also decline his offer to watch the whole procedure on the television screen. ‘Is it being broadcast on the internet?’ I ask, a little nervous after all the publicity about revenge porn lately.
I don’t notice him enter, and it’s all over before I know what’s happened. Not unlike previous intimate encounters of a less medical bent. And at last this time, I get a tea and biscuit and a recovery room afterwards (jemmy ddgers, bourbons AND digestives – so a few packs make their way into my dreary grey hospital property bag.
It’s over. I walk out like a cowboy from my erotic novel Hot On The Trail – a little weary and saddle-sore – but the results are good, and my butt isn’t full of nasty surprises. Mind you, there are a few tricks I could have taught him ….
It’s been an adventure, and in future I hope the only thing going near my perky butt in future is a young man’s big cock, without a camera attached …. call me old fashioned, but I love the smell of latex in the morning.