The Tower of London, Hospital Style

I knew it was going to be interesting when I noticed the doctor's scrubs on inside out.
Seriously.
No joke.
Dreading my gastroscopy, endoscope, or whatever you wish to call it when they push a tube the size of a garden hose down your throat, through your stomach, and into your duodenum, the tag on her scrubs waving in the wind was almost enough to make me forget that I was entering a torture chamber.
Almost.
Bubbly is too weak an adjective for this doctor's chipper voice. That is, until, she clued in this was not the first time I had been to the medical equivalent of the Tower of London and knew what was coming.
"Oooh. So you've had this test before."
Yes, yes I have. Twice.
I don't mean to be a whiner but in order to invoke your sympathy, I must paint you a picture.
As I lay there on my side, having had four ineffective injections of sedation which is meant to calm and cause amnesia, a plastic mouth guard is placed gently in my mouth for everyone's protection.
No. That's not true.
It's meant for the protection of the garden hose.
Anyhow.
At this point, the computer crashes and they need to reboot. Twice.
Drool starts to trickle down my face. (Gag. Remember, I hate spit.) I jumped at the chance to have it temporarily removed while they trouble-shooted the situation.
A few minutes later and mouth-guard back in, they were ready to go.
"Just swallow the tube," she said.
"I'm pumping air into you now," she said.
"You're doing great," she said.
My involuntary and violent gagging caused tears to roll down my face. This is when the claustrophobia kicked in. Nice and strong. Gagging on a hard plastic tube took my breath away and panic set in.
"You're doing great," she said, as some angel in the room grabbed my hand. I may or may not have squeezed it white as I clung on for life.
Oh, that's nice. I can feel the tube probing my duodenum. So that's where that is. I've been wondering.
"We'll just take a few more biopsies to be sure we have what we need," she said.
Sure. Take your time ladies. I'll just munch on this tasty tube until this picnic is over.
And then it was. Just like that.
So I'm a suck. A big baby.
Other than a scratchy throat for a couple of days, you'd never know it happened. They didn't leave a mark.
A bit of negative, no wait...positive...no, I mean...not good results were given to me and I was told the biopsies would show more.
As I waited for the inactive, useless, I-can-remember-everything sedation to "wear off" in recovery, the next guy could be heard loudly and obscenely dry-retching as they tried to do the test. No-go. He couldn't do it. They had to send him away and told him to see if his GP wanted him to come back.
Ha! So I'm not such a big wimp after all. Who's the baby now?!
That's terrible. I'm awful. It really was traumatic and I totally feel for the guy. Especially if he has to go back and do it again. Yikes.
What I really want you to take away from this woe-is-me saga is the part buried deep in the story-telling.
That angel that held my hand? That's what got me through.
If you are in the nursing or caregiving field, or if you simply ever have the opportunity to hold someone's hand in distress, don't underestimate how much it means.
I have no face to that hand, because as I began to thank whoever it belonged to, they turned to go as they said "you're welcome." But I will remember it's warm, solid and comforting grasp forever.
To all you angels out there...
Thank you.
Oh.
And.
Turn on the light when putting on your scrubs!

The Most "Special" kind of Proctogram - Audience Included

I’ve hit rock bottom. At least, that is, where it comes to medical tests.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned in the past my issues with my gastrointestinal system. My aim with this post is to enlighten you as to what goes on behind closed curtains, without being grossly graphic about it. There’s just one problem with this goal. The title of the test I wish to talk about is, in itself grossly graphic. If you wish not to know its name, close your eyes for two seconds and then continue reading.

Defecating Proctogram.

Yes. It’s true. There is such a test and I had to have it. This DP, as it will now be so referred, had been described to me before test day so I had the pleasure of anticipation, like before you go on a hot holiday and start to pack. Yeah. Just like that.

 

 And now I have the pleasure of sharing it with you.

After sipping barium for half an hour - that in itself good times - I was led into an X-ray room and greeted by not one, not two, but three people. I’ll be honest. They could’ve each had two heads and an extra arm and I wouldn’t have noticed at this point. Your name? Sorry. I really don’t give a rip right now, knowing what you are about to do to me.

So, in my gown, I was asked to hop up on a four-inch wide hospital bed and lay on my side. At this point, I am giddy with anticipation. They were about to give me the best present ever: more barium, only I wasn’t drinking it this time. No, this time, they needed two separate tubes to do the job. I’ll let you read between the lines. Why the second tube you ask? Extremely valid question, I answer. And that is my best answer - my only answer. It is a mystery of the gods as to why I would need barium...umm...there.

Then, after such a great present! it is my job to umm, control leakage, as I walk to a commode chair made of cardboard. “Comfortable?” Nurse Three Arm asks? Oh yes! So comfortable!! It’s like a dream!

A circular x-ray machine is lowered around me and my claustrophobia kicks in and the male doctor begins giving me instructions while looking me in the eye as I sit in my gown on the commode trying not to breathe as to not let out any barium. (Yes, I know that was a run-on sentence. That was for effect.)

He then would disappear all the while shouting encouragement for me to, umm, well, do some business. Then, stealthily like Katy Perry as a Dark Horse, he would show up in front of my face and chat. Aww. Thanks Doc. I LOVE sitting here talking in detail about my, umm, system, while almost naked as your nurses hover in the background, most likely taking pictures. Wait. That’s exactly what they were doing. Taking pictures. Excellent. Show the world! Post them on Face Book! Tweet away!

I’ve had many a medical test - so many involving pain, which this did not and for which I am thankful. But I thought every ounce of pride had already been squeezed out of me from previous tests and procedures. Apparently not. Apparently that last ounce gets forced out during a DP. It took every ounce of my being to not laugh out loud and to also not burst into tears as Dr. Two-Head was yelling, “Push, Push, you’re doing great! We’re getting some great pictures!” and then came to reinforce this face to face.

Such a nice doctor, he was even so kind as to give me the results whilst sitting there on my cardboard toilet seat. Of course in Susie fashion, I have not one, not two, but three problems that may or may not need attention. Why That’s Fantastic!

You are probably wondering, WHY oh WHY would I write about such a humiliating and disgusting experience.

So you feel sorry for me?

No. That’s not it at all.

Here’s my reasoning: Obviously since they have such a specialized machine for DPs and I am not the only human with gut issues, many have gone before me and many will follow. And if not this particular test, so many people will feel vulnerable and exposed in some fashion in their lifetime. I want you to know you are not alone. Yes, my vulnerability has often resulted from Type 1 Diabetes and other medical problems, but so many people suffer with other ailments which dictate the need for tests and treatment.

Or, some of you have felt exposed due to a spouse cheating or from sexual abuse. There are so many ways a person can be violated, the list is endless.

I am putting myself out there to say, once again, you are not alone. Everyone goes through hard times. Why not be honest about them and share in our difficulties?

 

Hang in there.

And if you ever do find yourself in a DP sort of situation, remember me - that I survived and now, a couple of weeks later, even with the scene burnt into my mind’s eye, I can actually laugh out loud about it

Don't let life suck you into the toilet. Laugh with me, yes?