And it appears that all my stress was for naught.  In my loopy stage yesterday afternoon, I think I heard that I checked out fine.  I still have gastritis, and who knows where that ‘roid went, because she didn’t find anything in the scope.  But I’m not dying of cancer, I don’t have some debilitating bowel problem, and I don’t have to do this again until I’m 50.  Thank goodness.

For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of getting a colonoscopy, let me warn you…the prep work sucks balls.  Starting Sunday morning, I could eat an egg and a piece of toast, and then it was nothing but “liquids” for the rest of the day.  Liquids. Meaning water, sports drinks, clear soda, chicken broth, popsicles and jello (just not red or purple).  And let me stop right there for a second.  If you know me, you know that I’m an Eater, in love with the act enough to capitalize it.  I am not one of those folks that “forgets” to eat breakfast or lunch.  I don’t skip meals, and I’m known to eat both Breakfast and Second Breakfast.  So just getting through 24+ hours without eating?  Shear torture.  By Monday morning, I was hangry (a term a friend told me once, that vicious combo of anger brought on by hunger). 

Then, to top it off, I had to take this industrial-strength laxative drink.  To describe this vile concoction wouldn’t do it justice.  But I would liken it to super salty and slimy grape juice, with a horrific aftertaste that really activates a gag reflex.  I had to drink 16 ounces of this stuff at noon.  It took me almost half an hour to get it down, and it was all I could do not to barf it up.  A few hours later found me in fetal position on my bed, cramping and cursing my GI specialist.  Then the fun began.  There’s this video on the internet by comedian Billy Connolly that gives a pretty accurate depiction of this process, and I won’t scar you with it if you’re against certain language.  But ?  Hilariously funny and is exactly what happened to me on Sunday.  Just when I thought I was done, I had to swallow another 16 ounces of the prep drink at 10pm.  While I gagged on the last ounce, I got through most of it and stayed up until almost 2am in my “office.”  At least I got to catch up on some reading that night! 

Yesterday morning was hard to get through.  All I could think about was how starving I was, how thirsty I felt, and how much I wanted to get this all over with.  Sure, my abs were nice and flat due to a pretty intense cleanse, but I felt dehydrated, fatigued, and wanted to sleep.  The procedure itself was pretty harmless.  They gave me a sedative before they began, and I was off to LaLaLand.  Next thing I knew, I was in recovery, fully dressed, with the doctor talking to Jon and me about how the procedure went.  Biopsies were taken, I’d hear back Friday, and that’s about all I recall.  I don’t remember making it to the car, or getting home, making it in to bed.  How the hell did I get dressed?  Jon didn’t dress me.  So, then, who?  I guess they had to give me a Big Girl dose of sedative because the first dose didn’t take effect.  And man, did I feel it.  I slept like a rock for about 3 hours, ate a bowl of buttered pasta, then sacked out again.

Today, I feel good.  Relieved, less neurotic.  A bit lighter in the loafers.  My stomach isn’t too happy with anything that isn’t bland right now, and I have a wicked case of heartburn, but I hope to be back to normal tomorrow.  Incidentally, I had to make it to class and a rehearsal today, since we have our big show of the season next week.  And I’d have sworn as I tried to make it through barre that I might have been still a teensy bit drugged.  Not having much in my tank, it wasn’t ideal.  But I got through it, just like I got through yesterday.  And this stuff, compared to the load others have to shoulder?  It’s a blip on the spectrum.  I really feel for those people who are going through really serious medical stuff, trying to deal with all of that as life continues on around them.   Believe me, I’m grateful for my clean bill of health.

WARNING:  Imma ’bout to discuss something kind of gross.  Related to bodily functions.  If you have no desire to read on, I won’t hold it against you….

As if I needed anything else to cram in to the next few weeks were here in town (besides my last dance performance, coordinating camp drop off and such for Mr. B while filling Miss P’s free time, setting up utilities in Ohio [and those utilities companies?  What complicated bureaucracies, don't get me started...] and getting in doctor and dentist and eye doctor visits in for all of us), I’ve gotten thrown another wrench.  If you remember way back in January, I posted about some of my digestive issues.   And in general, I’d been feeling a bit better, though at times relying a bit more on my prescription of Zofran more than I’d like.  I cut back to one (one!) cup of coffee in the morning, been avoiding spicy foods, yada yada yada.  But I still don’t feel…right. 

A few weeks ago, I kept thinking I maybe strained an abdominal muscle or did something quirky to my psoas, so I had a massage therapist friend dig around there after class one day.  And her reaction?  That’s not a muscle that’s tender and irritated, that’s my colon.  A word-for-word replay of what my doctor said at my last annual exam in March.  To top it off?  (Here’s were the gross part comes in, avert your eyes, ye who are squimish about potty talk)  I gots me a fire in the hole.  A ‘roid.  I can’t bear to actually type the clinical name here.  But #2 has been awkward going, I’ve got some bleeding going on, and I figured I might as well get this checked out before we move. 

I went in to a GI specialist yesterday who listened to my story, did an exam, then determined that, along with my family history, it might be a good idea to go in and get things checked out.  From Both Ends.  I go on in Monday for an Upper Endoscopy AND a Colonoscopy.  DOUBLE WHAMMY!  The good news is that at least I’ll have some more information about what’s going on after all of this.  And I’ve been thinking of going on a cleanse anyway!  Hahaha…I kid.  The worst part, I hear, is the prep.  So I will be spending most of Father’s Day in the can.  At least I’ll be able to catch up on some reading, eh?  I’m trying to laugh to keep from crying, because I’m a nervous wreck.  To say I’m scared sh*tless is an understatement.  I don’t know what I’m more terrified of, the prep stuff, the actual procedure, or finding out the results.  My mind wants to wander to some dark, scary places.  Places that start with a big C.  Trying to shut that down and live normally through the next few days is difficult.  Sure, people get these things all the time.  Right?  And there could be a host of pretty small things that could be going on that are no big deal.  But at the same time, I think of Farrah Fawcett and lose it a little bit.  Tell me to shut up, will ya?