Tweet I need a colonoscopy. I know you know this because I already told you about it. Because that's how I roll. Anyway. The first odd thing that happened occurred over lunch. At work. When I was asked in a hushed voice if I needed it because of constipation. And I was like, uh.... no. I would take an enema or a stool softener for that. Again, uh.... no. But you're close.
The first step of the process was to meet with a specialist. And I had all the information printed out for me on a piece of paper. The information included the name of the doctor, the date and time of the appointment and the building the appointment (and the doctor) was located in. It would help immensely if that information was correct. Because pulling up to the valet in a violent downpour one does not want to hear well, that building is located clear across the city. And, knowing there's no way I can get clear across the city in fifteen minutes, I call, ready to cry and complain and reschedule, only to find out the paper is wrong and they're actually located in the building I passed on my way out of the parking lot. Which possibly may have made me conduct an illegal u-turn that may or may not have cut someone off. But then I waved to say sorry but I was still trying to steer and hold the phone so it might have been perceived as a not-so-nice gesture which is probably why the other driver flipped me off. Because I'm sure he misinterpreted my friendly oops, so sorry, didn't see you there, we're all good here, right? wave and wouldn't normally have laid on the horn like that.
The initial appointment was easy. Mostly because he felt there was no need to "repeat the rectal exam" that the first doctor conducted. Let me tell you, that exam'll bring up some hazy college flashbacks. Mostly we just chit-chatted. And then he made me lay down and poked at my belly. Which always tempts me to do the Pillsbury Boy giggle but I always chicken out. Someday, doctor. Someday.
The doctor explained that since there is evidence of celiac disease in our family he'd like to run a blood test real quick. Sure, whatever. Then he sent the nurse in to schedule the actual procedure.
This nurse gave me an option: drink a gallon of disgusting liquid or take a few pills to clean me out. Duh. I'll take door number two! (ew. no pun intended.) Have you seen the size of a gallon jug these days? That's a lot of liquid! She typed the order into the handy-dandy computer and told me the pills would be ready to pick up at my local pharmacy. Isn't technology something? And then she gave me the print out of the Pill Schedule. Because you need a schedule when you're ordered to swallow 32 pills in a 10-hour period.
Thirty freaking two?! She assured me she was serious. She also told me in a very serious tone that I would be setting up camp in the bathroom all day so make sure I don't have any plans.
Well, doesn't that sound lovely.
Then I left. Because I had to get my blood drawn, remember?
Except the friendly, chatty Janeanne couldn't pull blood. That was obvious twenty minutes and several puncture wounds later. She finally decided to call up to the other lab in the other building to see if they could try. And the phone call sounded like this, "Hi, Donna. It's Janeanne again...." Light-headed and slightly dizzy I made my way across the skywalk and through to the next building where I was told Janeanne is new. Very new. My arm alone would make me a candidate for Intervention.
Personally, I can't wait to see what fun and excitement come next because so far this has been a barrel of laughs!