Sep 20, 2008

I'll live. The Cute Doctor's chances are iffy.

Everyone I talked to who has had a colonoscopy promised I'd get great drugs, would be out like a light and wouldn't be able to remember the ride home, much less the procedure itself. And I believed them. I am, however, a drug-resistant freak, and while I was a teeny bit drowsy for a while, I felt and remember everything from the moment The Cute Doctor arrived at the office in bike shorts and helmet until, well, now. He looked damn good in those shorts, and gave me a disarming grin, a thumbs up and said, "I'm all ready!" All I could come up with was, "Don't change clothes on my account." But that was before I realized he was a Sadistic Prick.

It hurt like a motherfucker. Every time that damn camera slammed into the wall of my colon, I felt it. I tried to be stoic, but I squeaked a few times and they told me to breathe. As if the pain were my fault because I'm a bad breather. Finally I gasped, "You said I wouldn't feel anything." And The Sadistic Prick joked to the nurse, "I think she's calling me a liar." They had a little chuckle, then upped my pain meds, which did nothing. Apparently he was having trouble maneuvering the scope, so they had me roll this way, and that way, then on my stomach. I knew exactly how much progress he was making because I could feel that friggin' thing banging around until it was all the way up under my right rib. I figured we were just about done, but the retreat wasn't much easier. He wanted to be thorough, so he took a couple of biopsies, and even though they kept giving me more drugs, I felt it all. I made sure to breathe audibly while I plotted my revenge. Once he was done, he told me everything looked normal and the biopsy results would be back in a week or so. Then he half-heartedly apologized for my "discomfort" and explained that because I am so thin, my colon is particularly angular, which made it more difficult for him. Then the nurse brought me to the recovery room.

Ah, the recovery room. Never before have I been in a room full of people being encouraged to fart. I imagine Katie Couric had a private room for her recovery (I don't watch whatever morning show on which Her Perkiness shared her own experience), but mine was just a bunch of gurneys with curtains around them. Here's what I know: all the other patients were in a much better mood than I was, had loved ones come in to sit with them, and had no problem farting up a storm. When my nurse promised me juice as a reward for passing gas, I was all, "Juice? Make it coffee and I'll blow a hole in the wall. With half and half, please." At some point the Sadistic Prick came in and asked me if I remembered the conversation we had when he'd finished torturing me, and I was like, "Uh, yeah. Why wouldn't I?" He repeated it anyway, then suggested another procedure if my biopsy came back negative. He seemed concerned that my ride wasn't there yet, but it was probably best that Ella showed up after he was gone. Otherwise he might have overheard me ranting to her about The pain! My God, the pain! Ella was definitely the best person for this job, because she knows me and expected nothing other than me complaining nonstop all the way home. And she brought me a Snickers bar. Angel.

3 comments:

Pirate Alice said...

I am so sorry! That doctor is a hack! What a jerk. I'm sorry!

cougchick said...

Ummmm. Guess what I do for a living.

cougchick said...

Yup, you guessed it. I am an "Endo" nurse. I look at butts and guts all day long. I am encouraging people to fart right and left. I would've slipped you some "irish" to go with that coffee if I could've seen you blow a hole in the wall....