Do You Really Wanna Know?
My morning of double penetration went off without a hitch. I slept through the entire procedure, though I do have a vague memory of them putting something in my mouth right as I was going under, which I assumed was to keep my mouth open before they lowered the scope down into my stomach. They told me that I might be awake for the ordeal, depending on how I handled the sedation -- but quite frankly I was hoping I'd pass out, and happily I did.
At one point while still asleep (or maybe partially so) I felt some sharp cramping pain in my abdomen. My mother told me that when she had her colonoscopy she was awake and sometimes felt a slight cramping here and there, so I think a part of me was thinking that Iwas still experiencing the procedure and I started to let out long, loud moans and howls. Or at least loud to my unconscious ears. I may have just been dreaming those moans, and I forgot to ask the nurses if I actually did that, but I remember thinking in my mental fog that I needed to let the doctor know that he was hurting me, even though I was too doped up to articulate. But then I woke quite suddenly to a nurse shaking me gently, asking if I wanted to see my father, who was in the waiting room. At that moment I realized that the pain was real, and I was cramping like fire in my lower belly. I was probably caterwauling all throughout the recovery room in my sleep, feeling all that air that was pumped through me.
Now that... was a bitch. My father had a colonoscopy somewhat recently and suffered intense gas cramps that kept him in recovery for five whole hours before they let him get up and move around to loosen him up and expel all that air in his colon. So he was all sympathy for me as he tried to convince the nurses to let me get up and walk, touch my toes, anything to relieve my suffering. The nurses, however, didn't want me to get up right away for fear that I would fall over trying to walk (one patient a bed over from me tried to do the same thing without nurses around and he collapsed on the floor and the whole nursing staff freaked out). Finally they put some hospital booties on my feet (the kind with the rubber tread that I love) and walked me around, but nothing happened. The laid me on my belly and pressed on my back, and my dad rubbed my back every now and then (he said it was like burping his little baby daughter again) but not much came out of all of it.
Tears of frustration and strain were coursing down my cheeks by this time, and I was reminded of how this felt the first time I had my first hard stomach attack, at work after having one of my strawberry/spinach/cacao smoothies, doubled over and howling. I hadn't felt gas pains this bad since, well, probably then. Have my pains been mostly intestinal, then? The doctor told me that he saw nothing serious, other than an inflamed esophagus, and took a few biopsies and will let me know what he finds. When it didn't kill me to move on my own, my father drove me back home -- wincing with every bump in the road -- and once I was back and in my own bed.... WELLLLL let's just say that all that pressure was finally, uh, released into the atmosphere (sorry, atmosphere) and my pain evaporated instantly. Sighing with unspeakable relief, I drifted off to sleep. And then later that evening I nearly ate an entire small pepperoni pizza, because I hadn't had a thing in my stomach since Monday. Except for course, for 64 ounces of Gatorade. Mother of God... never again with the Gatorade. Never. Again.
Well... maybe if I get some more free booties out of the ordeal. *Wriggling toes in my hospital socks*
So really, folks. The prep is the worst of it. Oh, and the gas after, IF you get the gas, as my mother didn't. Ah, but alas, I am my father's daughter, and anything he suffers I am doomed to inherit, including his sensitivity to pain (as well as his overall wussiness with needles). But the procedure? A walk in the park. Well, a walk in the park while half asleep, and with something up your butt. Don't tell me I'm the only one who knows what that feels like.
At one point while still asleep (or maybe partially so) I felt some sharp cramping pain in my abdomen. My mother told me that when she had her colonoscopy she was awake and sometimes felt a slight cramping here and there, so I think a part of me was thinking that Iwas still experiencing the procedure and I started to let out long, loud moans and howls. Or at least loud to my unconscious ears. I may have just been dreaming those moans, and I forgot to ask the nurses if I actually did that, but I remember thinking in my mental fog that I needed to let the doctor know that he was hurting me, even though I was too doped up to articulate. But then I woke quite suddenly to a nurse shaking me gently, asking if I wanted to see my father, who was in the waiting room. At that moment I realized that the pain was real, and I was cramping like fire in my lower belly. I was probably caterwauling all throughout the recovery room in my sleep, feeling all that air that was pumped through me.
Now that... was a bitch. My father had a colonoscopy somewhat recently and suffered intense gas cramps that kept him in recovery for five whole hours before they let him get up and move around to loosen him up and expel all that air in his colon. So he was all sympathy for me as he tried to convince the nurses to let me get up and walk, touch my toes, anything to relieve my suffering. The nurses, however, didn't want me to get up right away for fear that I would fall over trying to walk (one patient a bed over from me tried to do the same thing without nurses around and he collapsed on the floor and the whole nursing staff freaked out). Finally they put some hospital booties on my feet (the kind with the rubber tread that I love) and walked me around, but nothing happened. The laid me on my belly and pressed on my back, and my dad rubbed my back every now and then (he said it was like burping his little baby daughter again) but not much came out of all of it.
Tears of frustration and strain were coursing down my cheeks by this time, and I was reminded of how this felt the first time I had my first hard stomach attack, at work after having one of my strawberry/spinach/cacao smoothies, doubled over and howling. I hadn't felt gas pains this bad since, well, probably then. Have my pains been mostly intestinal, then? The doctor told me that he saw nothing serious, other than an inflamed esophagus, and took a few biopsies and will let me know what he finds. When it didn't kill me to move on my own, my father drove me back home -- wincing with every bump in the road -- and once I was back and in my own bed.... WELLLLL let's just say that all that pressure was finally, uh, released into the atmosphere (sorry, atmosphere) and my pain evaporated instantly. Sighing with unspeakable relief, I drifted off to sleep. And then later that evening I nearly ate an entire small pepperoni pizza, because I hadn't had a thing in my stomach since Monday. Except for course, for 64 ounces of Gatorade. Mother of God... never again with the Gatorade. Never. Again.
Well... maybe if I get some more free booties out of the ordeal. *Wriggling toes in my hospital socks*
So really, folks. The prep is the worst of it. Oh, and the gas after, IF you get the gas, as my mother didn't. Ah, but alas, I am my father's daughter, and anything he suffers I am doomed to inherit, including his sensitivity to pain (as well as his overall wussiness with needles). But the procedure? A walk in the park. Well, a walk in the park while half asleep, and with something up your butt. Don't tell me I'm the only one who knows what that feels like.
posted by Melissa at 1:47 AM
2 Comments:
All I could think of after reading of your "release" was the scene in the Last King of Scotland after he had aspirin after drinking beer...Dizzy Gillespie never played a finer, longer or louder note! Glad that ordeal is over!
Dude! Imagine that scene, then imagine it happening... THREE times in a row! That was me, bruh. That was so me.
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