My lower intestine has never been so pristine. I feel like I could fart daffodils, if I cared to risk a fart, which I very emphatically do not. Pooping out clear spring water is an interesting experience, although I am not sure the game is worth the candle.
I have gained new respect for the capacity of my bowels. I would have thought I reached the point where there was no more to give around three o’clock this morning, but the laxatives in question are not to be denied. I keep expecting to look in the toilet bowl and see parts of my esophagus and liver. Then I figure, “gosh, this has got to be it” but sure enough, half an hour later I get a call from the lower levels that another shipment is ready to send out.
Plus I’m starving, and sick to death of clear liquids.
This better be worthwhile. Middle age is not nearly as glamourous as I had hoped.
Yeah, the hunger’s no fun. I don’t know about you but that’s an extremely rare sensation for me.
During the fasting, if Sally Struthers were to appear on a TV commercial holding a thin child, I’d probably be pumping my fist sympathetically into the air and screaming “My brother! My brother!”
Good luck, Shodan. We kid but it’s really a fairly nondescript, routine process. When come back, bring healthy piehole.
My prep solution really wasn’t that bad, a full bottle of Miralax dissolved in a half gallon of Gatorade…I got to pick the flavor ( no red or orange, though). I chose lemonade which turned out to be a bit too acidic and caused some discomfort later but the stuff basically tasted like Gatorade, the Miralax was tasteless.
I had my upper GI looked at without sedation. I had driven myself there after work, so I had to drive myself home, too. They were a bit concerned, as the anxiety had driven my blood pressure way up (the automated machine could not measure it, the nurse had to do it manually). The doctor assumed my stress level indicated that sedation was needed, but I refused. My only real worry was that I knew I was the first upper GI after all the colonoscopies :eek:
The stuff they spray down your throat tastes like banana, and then you just swallow. At this point, I just zone out and detach. After a minute or two, you need to burp. And you keep burping as they keep you inflated. Then you’re done.
After it was over, I relaxed, my BP dropped and I went home.
One of my Comp. Sci. professors in college has put in a lot of work on computational methods for Virtual Colonoscopy techniques-- generating a 3D model of the colon from MRI images, etc., then doing a “flythrough” to detect polyps and such.
We kept trying to tell him that this would make the most awesome computer game EVER, but I don’t think he was convinced.
I drove my dad to his anal probe, and, being the wacky jokester that he was, I think he only told the nurse that he had expelled all the gas.
Actually, I think he saved it for the ride home.
Hell, he was naturally symphonic to begin with, but with the addition of however many psi for the procedure, he produced some legendary scores that included everything from dogs barking to humpback whale love songs. There may have even been an Irish tenor with the croup in there, too.
I hope everything went well at the Showdown at the Shodan Canal.
I don’t remember much of the procedure real well (I was in fact given both Fentanyl and Versed). I remember being wheeled into the room, chatting with the nurses, and then Nurse Sharon said “I will start the medication now” and I went off to a land of butterflies and cheerful thoughts. I can remember watching it on the monitor and thinking that it resembled an Indiana Jones movie, where the hero is being chased down some booby-trapped tunnel. Dr. Bumwatcher removed a polyp, which I remember, and he hit a bend in the road that I definitely remember. I think I made noise at that point, and I wonder if they increased the medication, because everything else is a blur until I came to myself in the recovery room.
But yes, there was a certain amount of symphonic harmonies for the next hour or two. My wife says it was only two or three times worse than an average evening for me.
Well, at least I now have it behind me (ha! some more). Thanks to you all for your good wishes.
They did that to me too, when I was 15. “It won’t really hurt.” Uh, actually, it was excruciating. I wasn’t even given Tylenol. I think they didn’t really care because I was a kid. My specialist was not the nicest guy you’ve ever met; when quizzing me about the rather inexplicable blood issue he asked if I’d been sticking things in my ass, and when I told him no, he essentially suggested I was a liar.
He had to do another one the following year and I told them either I was getting knocked out or he was. He chose Option 1.
“At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the hell the forms said.”
When you think about it, this also describes real estate transactions, buying a house, and almost any other commercial transaction more complicated than buying a candy bar.
