I Didn't Sign Up for This. Well I did.

Fair warning: There will be references to and descriptions of how a female/human body works that may gross some people out. Hence published in VIVA community.

Sunday, June 15

Today is the last day I can eat eggs and the fish soup I made the day before yesterday. Any soup is great on the second day, and even greater on the third. So today I'll have my best fish soup for dinner. Tomorrow I start the clear liquid diet before the procedure on Tuesday.

Tomorrow is not the day I'm looking forward to at all. Why the f...ck did I sign up for this?

Usually, I eat proper meals two times a day, the first time at 11 am (brunch) and then dinner at 6 pm. Lots of snacks and fruits, nuts and veggies in between. That helped me to manage my post-menopausal weight gain.

Had to give up nuts and raw veggies yesterday. Nothing with seeds. My body is craving for them. I'm trying to stay focused on why this is needed.

"You're 55 and you've never had this done?" my nurse practitioner couldn't hide her shock during the physical last week. "Time for your colonoscopy exam!"

Shit. Don't say it. To the NP, "Do I really have to?" The NP, "Yes you do."

Shit. Don't say it. To the nurse, "But I don't wanna!" The nurse, typing up the referral, "I know. No one does. But you have to."

I scheduled it the same day, for ten days from the day. Better be done with it sooner than later.

OK, time to eat my scrambled eggs, with nothing but a piece of white bread and a cup of herbal tea. We don't want to confuse the colonoscopy camera with anything colorful like red or blue that turns red in the stomach like blueberries. Blueberries have teeny tiny seeds. Can they look like polyps?...

I talked with my friend today about colonoscopy. It's the kind of a male friend I can discuss colonoscopy with, no filters. He lived through it a couple of times, so I ask about the prep and other things.

"You know, it boggles my mind that they do it under general anesthesia," I say. "What are they afraid of, that people will wiggle too much when the camera is up their butts?"

"Hmm, I never thought about it that way," he says. "But honestly, I wouldn't ever want to go through it without being completely out. Why, would you?"

"General anesthesia is bad for you. Apparently, it kills some of brain neurons and affects memory," I say. "And I don't think it would be really painful. Maybe unpleasant, but it's not like it's a surgery."

"Oh, I wouldn't wanna know what they are doing down there anyway. And my tolerance for probing is pretty low."

"This is where you and I are different. I guess after you have a hyperactive baby coming out of you with no epidural it changes your perspective on what's painful and tolerable."

"Again, never thought about it that way but you are right..."

I was busy running fool's errands all day today. My son had been gifted a very old map of Russia and I wanted to have it laminated and framed because it started to fall apart. I went to Michael's, their framer was running late so I had to wait for about an hour, doing other shopping. The framer then said they didn't have the laminating capacity for that large of a map (31 inches wide) and advised FedEx/Kinco's. I went there (a 20-min trip), and a very nice helpful man laminated it for me right away, for $34. Ran back to Michael's and the happy framer told me it would cost $300, after a 70% discount! No thank you, I said.

Now I will have to look for large paintings in thrift stores to recycle a frame. New project for my restless hands, yay!

Took my friends to see The Materialists, a new Celine Song (Past Lives) movie. It was really good, I should write a review. Before the movie, we stopped at Barnes & Noble's and I picked up a mystery package for "a blind date with a book." More on that later.

Had my fish soup for dinner, did some reading on Vocal and cracked out the PACO Calling TACO - 1 story before going to bed.

Monday, June 16

Today I'm on the clear liquid diet. No solid foods and nothing that is colored red or bright orange. It's 1 pm now and my tummy hasn't stopped talking to me since 11 am, my regular meal time. I'm drinking a lot of water, made myself a chicken bullion, but the tummy is still unhappy. It's going to be a long day. And at 6 pm I have to the take the first dose of the medicine to clear out the colon.

Fvck, why did I agree to this?

I'm still clearing out the house after my tenants. Today, I finally found the painter for my double-height entryway that I can't paint myself due to lack of ladders and patience for this type of a big job. He is also going to fix the garage ceiling. The guy seems to be competent and friendly, and this whole job will cost me $900. Three Michael's frames, basically.

Will it help to stretch the time if I take a nap? Can't wait to 6 pm and what would come after, just to be done with it.

Was not able to fall asleep for a nap, just listened to my tummy rumbling, fooled around on the Internet, read a lot and wrote a little.

At 6 pm, I took the first dose of the Suprep, the medicine to clear out the digestive tract for the colonoscopy. Followed by two 16-ounce glasses of water, as instructed. It started working in about an hour, and the advice to stay near the toilet was no joke. It also probably had some appetite suppressant because I didn't feel hungry anymore. But my tummy talked to me more and louder for a totally different reason.

I spent on and off the toilet almost two hours and it was nothing like I ever experienced before in my life. To spare you the gross details, it was quite unusual to have water coming out of both holes in your lower body at the same time. Childhood memories of peeing cows were activated on cue.

Fvck, why did I agree to this? Well, because Farrah Fawsett. That documentary about the last weeks of her life was haunting.

To stay hydrated, I kept drinking water with electrolytes and pineapple juice my caring son bought for me. I went to bed early because I needed to take the second prep dose at 5 am. To distract myself, I watched Now You See Me 2 on Netflix but fell asleep in the middle of it, so will have to finish it later.

Tuesday, June 17 - the procedure day

Alarm woke me up at 5 am for the second dose of Suprep. Because I already knew how badly it tastes (it has quite a strong lingering aftertaste), it was more difficult for me to take it slowly and steadily. I nearly gagged. Followed by two more 16-oz glasses of water, full affect in an hour again, more time on the toilet until it all became clear yellow and there was nothing else to purge.

Last glass of water at 7 am (four hours before the procedure, and then nothing in your mouth). A little more sleep until 9:00 am when my friend who'd agreed to be my designated driver woke me up. Last toilet trip, a quick shower and at 9:30 am we rolled out of the house. Arrived at 9:58 am, signed in. I'd told my friend to bring a book, so we both started reading, me - my mystery book.

Murphy's law: they called me in when I reached the most interesting part of the chapter. I attempted to take the book with me, but was told to leave my things with my friend.

WTF? I can't even take my book with me? I know they are not going to put me under right away, some waiting time will be involved.

"I'm parched, my lips are dry," I complain to the in-taking nurse who is measuring my weight, height, blood pressure, asking lots of questions about the prep and my allergies.

"I know, honey, we'll try to get you out of here as soon as possible," she says. She is probably in her late 20s and calling me 'honey' is a pure southern thing I can never get used to. But now it seems endearing.

She puts me into another transit area. I linger there for about 20 minutes, just watching the room's operational movement. They do have a pretty well-worked out system I've figured out in a matter of minutes (one of the aspects of my PhD training was looking for patterns and bigger picture), but I still would rather have used my book.

Finally, another nurse takes me into a make-shift room with moving curtains, tells me to undress and lie down on a gurney. She brings in a warmed blanket. It feels nice as the facility is quite cool. She asks the same questions about my medical history and colonoscopy prep and tells me she'd start me on the IV fluid before an anesthesiologist comes in with another set of questions.

Kim (that's her name) struggles to find a vein on my right arm. I tell her that even when I was a regular blood donor years ago they couldn't find a vein there and always used the left arm.

"You will be lying on your left side for the procedure, so we'd like to do it in your right arm," she says and goes down, slapping and searching on my hand. She finally finds a vein.

"Just a slight pinch," she warns me as I watch, and I don't even flinch. She asks me if I'm OK. "I have a very high pain threshold, and no fear of needles," I tell her matter-of-factly. She smiles, "I wish more patients were like you," leaving.

I stare at the ceiling, waiting. They clearly had some rain damage on the roof, with those big yellow spots in several places. Unless a cow somehow got up there and peed.

WTF didn't they let me take my book? I knew it would be a lot of time waiting.

The lead anesthesiologist of about my age comes in at 11:o5 am. Takes my name, asks some of the same and some new questions.

"Any drug allergies?"

"Nope."

"Any anesthetic drug allergies?"

"Not that I know of. I've never been under general anesthesia." Surprise in her eyes.

Don't say it. Why does it have to be general? Can I opt for a local one? Or no anesthesia at all? Will save you some money and time. I have a very high threshold for pain.

Didn't say it.

"Have you had any surgeries under local anesthesia?"

"Dental only, a couple of times for a root canal."

More surprise in her eyes. At 55, no surgeries? she makes sure. - Nope, I confirm. Had pleurisy liquid pumped out of my right lung when I was pregnant, no anesthesia at all. Her eyes go wild, she takes a note, and says to her young anesthesiologist who is to take me to the procedure room, "This one should be easy." Winks at me, good luck.

The young anesthesiologist rolls my gurney into the procedure room and explains everything as he hooks me up to a bunch of machines. My referral gastroenterologist comes in, asks some questions and says, "We've never met before, right?"

"No," I confirm. He is clearly Pakistani, with a strong Urdu accent. "Where are you from?" he asks. I only forgive and answer that question when it comes from a fellow immigrant.

"Kyrgyzstan," I say without elaboration. He'd know.

"A-ha," he smiles knowingly. "Neighbors up north. So, you must speak Russian as you don't look Kyrgyz." Very perceptive. I nod.

He shows off his knowledge of Russian using the basic phrases like hi, thank you, bye. Then quite out of the blue he asks the Russian for "pain." I tell him and he immediately puts it into his smart phone, asking AI for the Russian phrase "It won't be painful, I promise, we'll take good care of you."

The AI voice struggles to pronounce it in Russian at first, but then switches to a complete Russian mode and gives me a line out of a famous Russian movie, "It won't be painful at all."

Don't say it! Dude, I defended my PhD in English and write professionally in English. It's totally fine to communicate in English with me.

Didn't say it. Let him have his fun.

"What's 'good night' in Russian?" he asks.

"Spokoinoy nochi," I respond.

He repeats it after me. Good parroting skills. The young anesthesiologist switches IV to the anesthetic and asks, "Say that again."

"Spokoinoy nochi."

"Spakoina noch," the anesthesiologist says, smiling. And that's the last thing I remember before I'm out.

I woke up from Kim's light touch, while unhooking me from the machines and the IV drip. "You are done," she says cheerfully, "And they found nothing to be concerned about. I guess we'll see you in 10 years again. You can dress and the doctor will come in shortly."

I'm relieved. I'm loopy but not as some of the patients I saw coming out from it, where they couldn't even get out of the wheel chair without help. I dress and sit on the chair rather than the gurney I just got off.

The Pakistani doctor comes in, surprised to see me on the chair. "I'd like to see you for a follow-up," he says.

"Why? Is there something you are concerned about?"

"No-no-no," he reassures me, "you have one of the healthiest 55-yo colons I've seen in my practice."

"Ok, what is it then?"

"We've found some hemorrhoids," he says, almost embarrassed. Who's the doctor here?

"Ah, that," I say, relieved. "Childbirth. It comes out occasionally, but its manageable." He nods understandably.

"When did it come out this time?"

"This morning."

Don't say it. When you have so much stuff coming out under so much pressure from your industrial-strength Pepto Bismol, it would be a miracle if it didn't come out.

He nods, understandingly. "I could prescribe something for it. Call me."

I have endless supply of materials and advice on hemorrhoids management from my OBGYN friend, but I nod.

I plant myself into a wheel chair and they roll me out to the street where my friend is already waiting for me. He was prepared for the worst as he was watching many people leaving and not able to get out of the wheel chair without help. I spring up and get into the passenger seat. I'm still loopy a little bit but I mumble, "I could have driven home on my own."

"No," the nurse says firmly, and adds to my friend, "Make sure she doesn't drive anywhere today, and no signing of legal documents."

My friend nods, almost laughing, and we drive off. The first thing I did when I got home was eat the last of my fish soup. It was damnest the best fish soup of my life...

P.S. I'm not a poet. I wish I could put the "Don't Say It" lines into a poem for the "I didn't say it out loud challenge." It would be quite funny, don't you think?