From a child through to today, if I have any kind of fever, sedation or anesthetic I hallucinate like it's going out of style. I never remember these episodes but I understand that it's greatly entertaining to those around me. Many years ago when I had to have two of my wisdom teeth surgically removed I kept repeating "Oh thank heaven for 7-11." Not being an enormous fan of the Slurpee, I cannot explain why this was my advertising slogan of choice.

Apparently yesterday was no different. After waiting bloody ages I was asked to bare my butt to the world and get into the hospital bed (the same bed in which Angus found the X-rays of the previous patient who'd used this bed tucked under the bed frame. Nice.) I got a quick kiss from Angus, who ignored my halitosis (they don't tell you in the bowel prep brochure that a completely empty stomach = dragon breath. Nice again.) and they wheeled me into the room.

Once there, I was greeted by an Irishwoman, a Scottish woman, and an English woman (somehow I feel I should follow this up with the words:all walked into a bar.) They were all well over the age of 40 and all were extraordinarily kind. I smiled gratefully as the Irish nurse took my hand.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm awfully glad that none of you are are 25 year old male models." I say sincerely.

This elicits a round of laughter. "Ah, no, but I'd surely like to get myself one of those, so just tell me if you know where I can find one!" comes the Belfast accent reply.

She laughingly talks of all her experiences of Americans, and they all chirp in at the right times marked for the need of distraction-when the IV goes into the back of my hand, when they get the scope out, when they move me into the curled up fetal position. They administer the drug, and the last thing I remember is my arm getting extremely warm and tingly.

I awoke towards the end-the procedure took longer than expected. Without my glasses, I couldn't make anything out but I do remember seeing the screen reflecting back the probe inside of me, and I though it looked like a pumpkin carving. The black area next to the pumpkin carving, which I imagined just showed coordinates of where in cyber-colon space they were, was a laughing dancing skeleton.

And it hurt. When I was coming to the cramping was incredible. I begged for more drugs but they kept telling me it was almost over. Almost over. Almost over.

In recovery I woke up again, massive cramps throughout my body. The nurse patted my arm and told me I did fine. She told me they'd get that chicken sandwich for me.

I removed my oxygen mask. "Chicken sandwich?" I asked.

She smiled. "Yes, you've been requesting one."

"I'm a vegetarian." I replied, and then fell asleep.

I remember very little, but apparently I slept most of the afternoon in my 1980's chintz hospital room. According to Angus, I threw out many instructions in my sedation-based delirium-I told him to check the lights, what are we going to do about Dorset?, instructed him a few times that his Mum had rung, and yes, the "I want a chicken sandwich" delirium showed up with him, too. I remember none of this. Angus worked quietly on his laptop by the bed, not commenting once on the enormous amount of gas that was being depleted from my oxygen-filled bum. We got home and I dozed in and out on the couch. Angus made me homemade macaroni and cheese which I devoured the whole pan of (hey-I hadn't eaten in 36 hours!) but which simply made its way right back out again, the medicine still stuck in my system.

What I do know is that I am now in a holding pattern. They found a few things. The first is, by my gastro-enterologist's words, a very large internal hemorrhoid. They were going to remove it while in the enterology scope room only suddenly my heart rate apparently got way too fast and they decided not to risk it. I've been given medication to see if we can control the hemorrhoid (suppositories! Waxy bullets! Fun for the whole family!) and if that doesn't work, surgery will be possible.

The other issue is that they found polyps. Many of them. So many that they weren't able to remove them all-the smaller ones were cauterized. The larger ones have been removed and sent off to biopsy. Apparently, it's strange that someone my age should have polyps at all, let alone so many of the fucking nasty things. Larger polyps, over time, can turn cancerous, so if my large polyps are benign it still means I am going to be on a maintenance routine for good now, one in which I get to go get my ass scoped every couple of years. If my large polyps are pre-cancerous or cancerous, then I will have a bone to pick with God because I got the seriously short end of the stick.

In the meantime, I wait to hear from the labs, and I will lay on the couch and watch TV. Because I can. Because tomorrow I should hear whether or not I have my promotion (which my bones are telling me that the promotion? She will not be mine.) I feel bruised all over inside and very, very tired. Angus has arranged for a weekend away for us, and I am utterly delighted to do so. And so my insides-which feel like they've been used as a punching bag-and I will continue to chill out and rest.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:52 AM | Comments (24) | Add Comment
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