The Perils of Pauline

I always tell myself that getting sick is not an option. Apparently, I don't listen to myself when I talk. Now, mind you, that is not to say I'm sick. Exactly. That's still in the discovery phase. But when two doctors and three nurses are concerned that I might be sick, I pretty much tell myself that I must be, and of course, then I listen.

Yesterday, I was supposed to prepare myself for my annual colonoscopy. When one day a doctor says you have cancer in there, and takes the tumor and part of said colon out of you, they make you let them look around in there every year to make sure the invader hasn't returned.

All in all, it isn't really that unpleasant. Before the first time you have a colonoscopy, the anticipation is really rough, because you don't know exactly what's going to happen. Well, wait. You do know, but you don't know how you're going to feel about it. You just figure it isn't going to be good. Let me hasten to assure you, (and convince you that you really should see about getting one the minute your doctor says you should), it really isn't as bad as you assume it will be. Trust me.
A nice nurse will help you into a gown, start an IV, a nice anesthesiologist will give you some drift away medicine in the said IV, and off you go. When next you open your eyes, it's all over. Lacking any discomfort in the rear echelon, you'll actually find yourself wondering if they somehow decided not to do the test. Because nothing hurts, or is uncomfortable. When they're sure you're awake and functioning, they'll let you get dressed and go home, where you'll just hang out, eat and watch TV for the rest of the day.

Now as to the prep, that's somewhat more unpleasant. You have to spend an entire day subsisting on a clear liquid diet. Their interpretation of clear liquid does NOT include milk, ice cream, yogurt or anything red. You may have Jell-o as long as it isn't red. You may have bullion, chicken or beef. You may have freeze pops (not red). Coffee or tea but no milk therein. You may have as much of this stuff as you like. Just about the time you are lulled into a sense of security, believing this is a snap, you'll get down to business. You'll take a couple of laxative tablets. (Snap!) Haha. A couple of hours later, we get down to the real business. GatorAde (except red) mixed with 238 gms. of Miralax. Snap, you say? That's 64 oz. of GatorAde, sport. Two quarts. A half gallon. And you are expected to finish it in under two hours.

Plan on spending most of the rest of your evening in the bathroom. Take a book. Take a puzzle. Take the phone. Take a drink. You'll be there a while. Until you're completely empty. By the time you're empty, you'll be going to bed.

The next morning, you'll go to the appointed place, coffee-less and breakfast-less, have your scope, and come home. God willing, the results will be negative. And you'll only have to go every five years if you have no history.

But I have a history. So, yesterday, I prepared to have my annual look-see. And all was going well in the Jell-o, bullion, coffee department. Until about 2PM when a headache set in. (From hunger, I assume) 3PM I take the two laxative tabs. 6PM it's time for the Big Gulp. The phone rings. I have a brief conversation during which I simply cannot find the words I need to say. I AM saying words, but they aren't the ones I want. After about a minute and a half, I say goodbye in a confused babble and go back to my guzzling. Two glasses in and I'm nauseated. And here it comes back up. Figuring I'll feel better now, I try for another glass. And here it comes back up. Again. Call the Doctor. Tell my story. Am advised to call in the morning and cancel the procedure and the next time, they'll try a different prep.

In the morning, the nurse is concerned that there is something more going on than a little puke-fest and insists I see my PCP. Today. She even has the scoping doc call my PCP to tell him he needs to see me today.

Needless to say, everyone is treating this whole episode, (the-not-being-able-to-
form-words episode, which is called expressive aphasia), as something very serious.

So the PCP tells me that it may be something as innocuous as hunger, low blood sugar, stress, or discontinuing my daily aspirin for five days in preparation for the scope. Or, it could be a stroke evolving, a clot, an abdominal aneurysm, or some other catastrophe waiting to pounce. That means we have to have a few tests to try to determine the cause of my faltering speech. I am instructed that should this event occur again, I am to take an aspirin, call 911, and jump in the ambulance that will take me to the ER. This is apparently not a trifling matter.

Today, I went for an echocardiogram, a carotid duplex, a Holter monitor, (which I will wear for 24 hours and dutifully record any untoward "events" that take place before I return it tomorrow). Then on Monday, I will have an MRI and on Tuesday, I will have an MRA, both of which could be done at the same time but my insurance company will not pay for both of them if they are both done at the same time, so they have to separate them even thought the insurance company KNOWS that the doctor will order both at once. What a dodge!!

They could just tie me to the railroad tracks and wait for a long freight train.