strange but not a stranger
If this blog and I were long-term sexual partners, right now we would be having timing issues. I get all revved up to Do It when It is impossible to Do (middle of the workday, barely conscious after anesthesia) (more on this later), and don’t feel at all like taking action during the times when we (the blog and I) (oh dear this analogy becomes increasingly ill-advised) have time and opportunity. I suppose I do not need to explain myself as I do not blog professionally, but that is what’s been happening.
I also was gone for a bit, on a short jaunt to beachside Michigan: there was a family reunion that turned out pretty well, plus several days when Nora spent more time in pools and lakes than actually on land (MORE FISH THAN GIRL!), ripping the goggles off her head just long enough for a sandwich and swig of lemonade, and the whole thing was so classic little-kid-summer I could hardly stand it. Right down to the visible tan lines and the insistence that she is not tired! And will never ever ever be able to sleep in this weird hotel room! Cue snoring as soon as chlorine-soaked head lands on pillow.
We left on a Friday afternoon, came back on Sunday, and figured the cats should be fine with some extra food. All the extra food was gone when we got home, and the cats must have disagreed about being fine. The bag of treats, formerly on a fairly high shelf in the basement, was found upstairs in the living room with several puncture holes and claw marks. Such drama! So little faith in us!
Speaking of food, on vacation I ate a palm-size piece of plain grilled chicken, and a week later I ate another small piece of chicken, and this is in addition to the “exception to the mostly-vegetarian rule” chicken that I eat every Chinese New Year at our favorite restaurant. Do I just…eat chicken now? Do I revise my “nothing with lungs” stance to a “no mammals” stance? Or is chicken a gateway meat, and I soon will be ripping the flesh of every cooked animal in sight?
A few days after vacation, I was no longer eating chicken, as it can not feasibly be made into a “clear liquid.” Hey does that sound familiar? OH YES! THAT MANNER OF FUCKERY SOUNDS ALL TOO FAMILIAR! I had to do another “prep” for the double-balloon enteroscopy, with the usual “no real food for a hell of a long time” protocol, and the attendant bad mood, which was not helped by LT thinking he is some kind of comedy genius:
LT [making lewd hip motions]: I’ll give you a clear liquid, baby.
Me: Sorry, not on the list of things I can swallow today.
LT: Call the doctor and ask!
Me: It’s not really “clear,” anyway.
LT: I’ll work on it! I’ll stay really hydrated today!
Me: Go away.
One bright spot: since I have been down this particular leads-right-to-the-bathroom road before, I have opinions on prep protocols. This one was entirely homegrown and over-the-counter: drugstore laxative pills, and then two bottles of Gatorade mixed with an entire bottle of powder laxative. It worked efficiently (hoo boy, yes), it tasted like nothing but Gatorade (as opposed to that flavored Saltwater From Hell that you get from the pharmacist), and my only worry during the whole ordeal was that the electrician working on my kitchen renovation might get hot and thirsty and decide to help himself to the doctored Gatorade in the refrigerator. Fellow bowel martyrs, this prep is the best of a bunch of bad options. Ask for it by name! (Except I don’t really think it has a name.)
(I love the phrase “ask for it by name” and I want to shake the hand of the copywriter who came up with it. When advertising gets taxonomical. Somebody’s read their Kripke!)
The procedure itself was fine, a trek down to U of C, needles and questions and pokes, and then a long disorienting nap. I had a very annoying anesthesiologist, awkward and jokey and condescending. I kept expecting to see a puppet on his hand and I could barely look at him or answer his questions with more than one word at a time because his utter dorkiness was so cringe-inducing. Maybe he originally was interested in a different medical specialty but his personality was such that some advisor said, “No, you had better mostly deal with asleep people.” I had an oddly stuffy nose when I woke up (did they pack my nostrils full of ragweed while I was out?), and of course was gurgly and farty and awful for the rest of the day, although I was mostly napping and reading Paleofantasy (recommended for evolution nerds!) so who cares.
Good news: probably not Crohn’s! Seems that the damage (which is extensive, and troubling) is too localized for that. Good and bad news: while they could not completely use the scope due to the extent of my stenosis (a nice, unbastardized Greek word), the results were very much an obvious “well, there’s your problem” as to why I get these obstructions. Why I have the narrowing in the first place is a bit of a mystery, but one theory is damage from ibuprofen and other NSAID use. I would never have called myself a particularly heavy user! The occasional lady-cramp, the occasional hangover headache! But perhaps my guts are very sensitive. (It is sort of darkly fun to say that I have damaged my body with drugs and have it be 100% true. ROCK AND ROLL.)
The medical-industrial complex is recommending that the Bad Motherfucker Section of my intestine be snipped out, so I am working on following up with that right now. This news has made my adorable gastroenterologist somewhat less interested in me (*throws up his adorable hands* “Surgery? I’m out!”) but he did give me the names of some surgeons, so I will deal with all the insurance crud and see where we get with that. DO NOT FEAR, INTERNET, FOR THIS IS ME:
This is over my limit word-wise, but I have a whole page of notes for you! I shall start on another blah blah blah forthwith. I missed this.
—mimi smartypants, ulcerated but still plenty nice.