I was shocked and a little disappointed that no one attended my colonoscopy party this morning. Studly Doright reminded me that I didn’t actually put a date, time, or location on my invitation, though, so I suppose I only have myself to blame.
With no one but Studly by my side I checked into a local surgical center at the crack of dawn for the procedure that was scheduled to begin at 5:45 a.m. Apparently half of the 55 and older population of Tallahassee and surrounding counties were having procedures at the same time and place, for the waiting area filled quickly.
Studly made me refrain from asking if they were there to celebrate with me. Sometimes he can be such a fuddy duddy.
My name was called right on time and along with Studly I was escorted to a tiny curtained cubicle. Apparently privacy isn’t a concern in this center for we could hear every word of conversation from both sides, including the woman who kept asking loudly if she could use, and I quote, “the shitter.”
That’s why, when the nurse asked me if Studly was my husband, I answered in an exaggerated whisper, “Oh, he’s not my husband. He’s my lover.”
Instantly there was silence all around us. The nurse took down the rest of my information warily. I behaved, though, knowing that soon she’d be inserting a needle for my I.V.
My veins are incredibly small. Normally I remember to caution nurses that baby-sized needles work best on me. Unfortunately after two nights of little sleep and paltry nourishment I forgot to mention that little tidbit that might’ve saved me ten minutes of agony as she poked and prodded my right arm in search of a vein.
Finally a savior in the form of Nurse “K” floated in, declared I needed a smaller needle and quickly had me ready to roll. They wheeled me into a surgical suite where I listened to the nurses gossip as they awaited the doctor’s arrival.
Part of me wanted to tell them I found their babble terribly unprofessional while another part of me knew they’d soon be controlling and monitoring my vital functions. I kept my mouth shut.
Once the doctor came in drugs were administered and I was out. I vaguely remember some pressure and movement, but other than that I knew nothing until around noon, even though Studly took me to eat around 8:30 a.m. because I’d told him I was ravenous. Apparently I had French toast and bacon. I sure hope it was good.
I’ve slept on and off throughout the day. My stomach is tender, and I don’t know how to phrase this delicately, but I’ve farted like a constipated rhinoceros all afternoon.
Apparently the doctor removed a small polyp to be sent away for analysis. He even sent me home with a photo of it. Should I frame it? Display it with the photos of the grandkids? I’d have bid polyp adieu if I’d been conscious. It had better behave itself out in the lab.
I’m tired now, having been awake for more than ten consecutive minutes. Please don’t feel guilty about missing the shindig. Chances are I wouldn’t have known you were here.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 