At St. Elizabeth's I had to fill out some paperwork and sit in the waiting room for a bit. I felt embarrassed about my outfit, as though people thought that is what I had chosen to wear for my colonoscopy. The socks, particularly in combination with my strange, loafer-like slippers, were particularly unfortunate. I tried to strike up a conversation with the people around me, but it didn't go far. People who are about to get colonoscopies are not, as a general rule, interested in talking about them or in making new friends. A teenager was starting at me while I was reading, in a sort of challenging or interested way. I looked back and he had on an iPod and had a white tube coming out of his nose that seemed attached to the iPod somehow. I was so confused by this that I looked away hurriedly. Then I felt bad that I had somehow dehumanized him by looking away, so I was super-friendly to his mother, like that somehow proved something. I tried to bring the conversation around to medical issues, in the hopes that one of them would bring up the Nose iPod and explain what it was. They did not take the bait.
The nurses finally called me well after my 8:30 appointment time, and I had to go into the bathroom and change into two hospital johnnies, one open in front, and the other put over it, and open in back. While I was changing, I noticed that I still had all of the EKG nipple stickers all over my chest and peeled them off, leaving little circled outlines spotted about my torso. I got to keep on my Faulkner Hospital socks, but they cut of my Faulkner Hospital bracelet and replaced it with a St. Elizabeth's bracelet, which I found slightly disappointing. All of my stuff was placed on a chair and I hung up my coat in the waiting room. Then I had to lie down on a gurney and the nurses got me all settled in with blankets and things and put up the little fences on either side of the gurney so I wouldn't roll around and fall out of bed while they were pushing me. In case they had to make a quick, sharp turn or whatever.
The room was full of people in gurneys, in various stages of prep or recovery, like a factory of colonoscopies. I liked pretending that we were sort of like a Chinese orphanage, only filled with aging Americans with bowel problems. While I was waiting for the nurses, I had fun imagining what kind of family would pick me to come and live with them, clasping their hands to their chests as they leaned over me, sighing with pleasure at my adorable IV bruises and sunken belly.
Soon another nurse came over and took my blood pressure. She was surprised it was still so low, and was very sympathetic about my sad ER tale. She put the IV in my right arm, since my Faulkner IV arm was so badly bruised. She fussed around and did some other things and tucked the blanket around my feet. Then she left and I was lying there a bit, enjoying the delicious, life-giving fluids of the IV. Then a different nurse came and wheeled me away. She brought me to the room where the procedure was going to take place, and she asked me my name and birthdate, and why I was there, to make sure that I was the right person in the right place.
The little room I was in had some large machines and a different nurse. She asked me the same questions. She took my blood pressure, too and expressed further surprise at how low it was even after more than two full IV bags. She was friendly and warm, like all of the other nurses. Then my doctor came in. She was concerned about my ER visit, expressed sorrow over it, and assured me that it was not meant to happen. I clearly knew this, but I still felt reassured. She asked me the same questions the nurses had asked me, and as she was talking, she put on this yellow plastic smock and other kinds of protective gear, including a clear plastic catcher's mask-looking thing that made her voice sound muffled and hollow. At made me imagine a lot of violent spraying and squirting, but then I decided that it was just a precaution, as there didn't seem to be any stains anywhere, and it wasn't like the whole room was covered in porcelain tile or anything.
My doctor injected meds into my IV and told me I would start to feel woozy. She then asked me some questions, and I remember trying very hard to concentrate on the answers, and feeling a bit resentful that she was insisting on carrying on a conversation with me when she knew I was clearly losing consciousness. I felt dizzy and my eyes couldn't focus properly and I watched her fiddling with something on a large machine as I tried to answer. I wonder now how incoherent my responses were, and if they made any sense at all.
I remember almost waking up at one point, and not wanting the delicious sleepiness to be over. I thought, "Surely they've only done one of the two procedures. I don't want to wake up yet." I was all curled up and relaxed when I woke up in the recovery area. I didn't want to get up, but I had to pee. I remember the nurses were standing right there, but I couldn't seem to get their attention. I felt like I was calling loudly, "Hello? Excuse me? Help? I need to pee," but apparently I wasn't. Finally I did manage to call loudly enough to get their attention and I barely remember stumbling into the bathroom with my IV and peeing. On my way out I peeked into the trash can to see if my nipple stickers were still there. Outside the bathroom I saw Dien, who had come to pick me up. I greeted him warmly, but the nurses said I wasn't ready to go yet and they put me back to bed.
At one point I remember lying there and wanting to fart, but being afraid I would poop the bed. Then I remember not caring and just doing it anyway. I felt very pleased and relaxed to be farting at last and no longer pooping. Later I had to pee again and the nurses were all annoyed with me, saying, "But you just went!" like I could help it. I think I might have given them a little attitude, and said, "Well, sorry, but I have to go again." I wanted to go back to sleep after, but I think they determined that I was ready to go and had me stay sitting up. They brought me some cranberry juice, and when I had finished it, they unhooked me from the IV and helped me put on my slippers. I remember felt sad that I didn't get to finish the IV bag. My doctor came out to see me and talk to me about my results, but all I remember from the conversation was that she was kind of angry and frustrated, because I didn't have any of the diseases she had expected me to have. After that I put on my coat and the fleece Dien had brought for me to borrow, and padded out to the waiting room to find him.
I remember little of the car ride home, other than that I asked Dien to tell me about the time his mother put the cat in a trash bag in order to bring to the vet (it was fine) and about the haunted house he lived in in Hong Kong. Dien laughed long and loud when he remembered the cat story, and I laughed, too. Somehow, I was also able to give him directions, although sometimes I did it too slowly, so we had to keep making adjustments when I would tell him to take the turn he had just passed.
When I got home, I checked my email and started to do some work for school, then abruptly got up and crawled into bed, where I slept for three or four hours. I woke up to talk to my ex-husband, who called to tell me that when he plays the harmonica, our dog Lupe gets the blues and sings along. I told him about my adventures and misadventures of the past 24 hours, and he said that I could always call him if I needed a ride or help with anything. I felt appreciative, yet oddly guilty.
My landlord had picked up some food for me, and I got up to eat it around 5:30, my first solid food in 48 hours. Arielle, the other fifth-grade teacher called to tell me about some meeting at school she had attended, just as I was about to take my first bite. She wanted to talk for so long about this meeting and I could hardly bear it. I was drugged and starving and could not figure out why this woman wouldn't let me get off the phone.
A short time later I was playing Scrabble online, and felt that I had to fart, as I had been doing freely all day. I did, but instead, quite unexpectedly, I pooped my pants. Completely. Like a baby in a diaper. It felt like pudding. I stood up, hollering, "Aw, shit!" I was so angry about it. I waddled to the bathroom and had to sit, all soiled, on the toilet to finish. Then, naked and covered in my own excrement, I scampered past the uncurtained windows of the kitchen to throw my pants away, and hopped straight into the shower.
Immediately after my shower, I anticipated soon needing the toilet again, so, still nude, I put on rubber gloves and scrubbed both the toilet and the bathroom sink. This left me completely exhausted and I was ready to go to bed soon after.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Preparation
The morning of December 10 was my appointment for a colonoscopy/END. To prep for it, I had to fast all day Tuesday--only clear liquids. I followed this, and although I felt hungry and irritable, it went OK. Then, starting at 5:00 PM, I began my regimen of laxatives: 1 bottle magnesium citrate, 24 ounces of water. At 7:00 or so, I took 4 laxative tablets with more water. I started to shiver, so I made myself hot broth. At 9:00, I was still drinking water and broth and was pooping out water steadily, but I was still supposed to drink one more bottle of magnesium citrate. I didn't want to finish it, because I was already pooping so much, and it was all liquid, but I called my mom and asked her if I had to, and she said that I probably should. We Knudsons are raised to listen to doctors.
I felt very full and sick and was having a hard time forcing down any water, but I kept sipping water and juice until I had to stop at 11:30. I felt so full that I was convinced that water was actually filling up my esophagus. (It probably wasn't.) I was still pooping out water every 20 minutes or so. Squirty! I went to sleep around midnight, totally exhausted, but getting up to poop throughout the night.
Around 3:30 or 4:00 AM, I woke up feeling very, very ill. It was drenched in sweat, panting, and felt like I was going to vomit. I also felt light-headed, like I was going in and out of consciousness. I tried to tell myself that I just had to hold out until 7:00 AM, when Josh would pick me up and take me to my appointment. I could ignore the pain and extreme nausea and discomfort, sleep outside the covers so I would stop sweating. However, I quickly realized that this was not normal and that something was wrong. I had gotten up to poop, and was so lightheaded that I had to crawl and rest on the way back to bed.
Lying in bed, I called 911, because I knew I needed a hospital, and there was no way I could drive myself. I was initially incoherent and confused when the dispatcher came on the line. I didn't understand the questions she asked me, and at one point she even asked me how old I was and if I had called by mistake. I was panting and I kept apologizing. I was finally able to articulate my problem and she put me on the phone with someone else, a man.
During this time, I realized that I had to poop again, and stumbled into the bathroom. I was so slick with cold sweat that I was sliding all over the toilet seat. I hadn't peed for hours, and I had been pooping water constantly. At one point, I remember the man asking me if I was sitting down and I said, "Yes, I am sitting on the toilet." For some reason, he chose that time to tell me that he would send an ambulance.
Suddenly, I opened my eyes and woke up. I remember having heard a loud cracking or crashing sound. I knew I was lying on my back on the floor, but didn't know where. I thought maybe I had decided to rest on the bathroom floor, but I realized that I was actually in the dining room. I had no memory of how I had gotten there, and the back of my head was hurting from where it had hit the ground. I do remember that when I heard that sound, I thought, "Oh, I must have dropped the phone." I lay there for a while, feeling pleasantly cool and relaxed and thinking maybe I could just stay there, resting on the wooden floor of the dining room. However, this only lasted for a few moments, and then the feeling of faintness returned, and I rolled around on the floor, feeling weak and very ill, panting and clammy. I reached for the phone, which was on the ground beside me, and called Eddie, leaving him some kind of awful message. It went something like, "I passed out. I'm on the dining room floor. An ambulance is on its way." Not at all terrifying. Then I saw red lights flashing outside and knew it was the ambulance. I got myself together enough to find my purse and some slippers, which was a supreme effort. I remember feeling very worried about my insurance card, wanting to make sure I had it. I was less worried about proper clothing beyond my thin pajama pants and sweat-soaked T shirt. They seemed fine, and besides, it was much to far to walk all the way back to the bedroom to find proper clothes and shoes.
I walked to the door and met the EMTs, both women. They refused to come inside, because of the dog. Just as I was about to leave, I realized that I had to poop again, and ran inside, begging them to wait while I went. They seemed annoyed, both by the dog and by the fact that I could walk. It was like it was some kind of rip-off that I called 911 for myself. If I wasn't dying, them I should damn well be driving myself to the hospital. When I explained that I couldn't drive (because I was worried I would pass out behind the wheel), they thought I was a child and asked me where my parents were, and how old I was. It took me a long time to remember, and I finally answered, "thirty.......four." It was difficult. The EMTs made me get my coat, even though it was at least ten miles from the door of my apartment to where my coat was hanging in the dining room, but they refused to help me, for fear of the dog, so I hobbled back, scrabbling at my coat with one hand and holding on to the furniture with the other. I told the EMTs that I was afraid that I would poop my pants in the ambulance, and asked them to tell me it was OK if I did. They didn't.
Because I had told the EMTs that I had hit my head when I had fainted, I had to be put on an orange backboard, all strapped and taped with a neck brace. I tried to tell them I was just dehydrated, but they said it was standard procedure. The backboard was very cold and hard, and I was shivering. At every bump in the road, I slammed up and down against the board. The women asked me to tell them what happened and I was so confused that I couldn't remember. I didn't know when I called 911, or why I had brought my phone to the bathroom with me. They were asking me questions the whole time, like were there children in the house, did I have a roommate, and how old I was. I asked if the ambulance could take me to St. Elizabeth's and they said they had to take me to the closest hospital, Faulkner. They kept me talking about my dog and different things and wouldn't let me rest. Probably in case I had some sort of concussion, which I didn't. I kept trying to give them my insurance card, and asking them to give me an IV on the ambulance. I do not think they liked me very much.
When we got the hospital, I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling as I was being wheeled in. I heard people talking about me as I was being pushed. Their voices seemed very loud, but echoey or muffled somehow. I was brought to a little cubicle, where it was much quieter.
People came to ask me questions, registering me and taking my insurance at last. The nurse put an IV in my arm and also took some blood. I'm not sure what they were testing with the blood. I started to feel better once the IV fluids started going in, and I could remember the sequence of events more clearly. I got all excited that I could sequence the events now, and wanted to tell the nurse properly what had happened. At this point, clearly, no one was interested.
I was shivering and my teeth were chattering, but no one offered me an extra blanket and I was afraid to ask. The liquid from the IV is room temperature, and it felt cold in my arm. I was given a pair of fuzzy blue socks with rubber on the bottom so I wouldn't slip on the floor. People came periodically to check my blood pressure and check my heart rate and stuff. They did some kind of EKG and stuck different kinds of things on my chest and other parts of my body, like my legs, to do different readings. The ones on my chest looked like nipples, but the ones on my legs were rectangular. Mostly the nurse did the readings, but there was a very kind doctor as well. I kept apologizing.
Sometimes the nurse seemed annoyed, and I wondered if I was annoying her, or if she was just tired. At some point they changed my IV bag, and she added a syringe of something to help with the nausea. I got good at slinging wires and tubes over my shoulder and dragging my IV with me as I padded to the bathroom to produce more diarrhea. At first it was just weird cloudy yellow stuff, almost like mucus, but eventually I started pooping out water again. I still wasn't peeing. I finally peed once, only once, and it felt like a triumph. I did not pee again.
The area I was in was mostly quiet. There was a big nurse's station surrounded by little cubicles where the patients were. It did not seem like there were many people, but I think that some were sleeping or just lying there quietly, like I was. Across from me, past the nurse's station, was a very old man with no teeth. He moaned plaintively on and off the whole time I was there. He did not speak English and this sometimes frustrated the nurses because I think they couldn't exactly tell what was wrong. The thing that was interesting about the old man was the way that he was moaning. There is an involuntary crying out from pain or distress, like the yelp I emitted during my first bikini wax. But this man's moans did not sound at all involuntary. They sounded more like a deliberate method of communicating his discomfort, like, "This hurts. I don't feel good. Do something." There was also an old woman who may have had a UTI.
I was there for several hours, just kind of lying there. I didn't sleep and I had nothing to read, but I wasn't really bored. I was content just to lie there and rest or look around. At one point I texted Eddie to reassure him, and I called to ask Scott to let Wesley out, and then I called Josh to ask him to pick me up at the hospital, instead of at my house.
They released me around 6:30, because they knew I had my appointment, so they just pointed the way to the waiting room and turned me loose. At first I accidentally walked into some private examination area, because the door to the waiting room had an eye chart on it, which didn't seem like the clearest way to indicate that this was the exit. I wandered out in my PJs, coat, slippers, and blue socks, feeling sheepish to be wearing this ensemble to my appointment. My diarrhea was back to yellow and small amounts, no more water. I waited on a bench outside for Josh, because the air was wet and warm, and I was afraid he would have difficulty finding me inside. It seemed odd to me that a woman in her coat and pajamas could just exit the hospital, no questions asked, but it worked out well for me, because I had somewhere to be. People needed to look at my spotless colon, and I could not be late for that.
I felt very full and sick and was having a hard time forcing down any water, but I kept sipping water and juice until I had to stop at 11:30. I felt so full that I was convinced that water was actually filling up my esophagus. (It probably wasn't.) I was still pooping out water every 20 minutes or so. Squirty! I went to sleep around midnight, totally exhausted, but getting up to poop throughout the night.
Around 3:30 or 4:00 AM, I woke up feeling very, very ill. It was drenched in sweat, panting, and felt like I was going to vomit. I also felt light-headed, like I was going in and out of consciousness. I tried to tell myself that I just had to hold out until 7:00 AM, when Josh would pick me up and take me to my appointment. I could ignore the pain and extreme nausea and discomfort, sleep outside the covers so I would stop sweating. However, I quickly realized that this was not normal and that something was wrong. I had gotten up to poop, and was so lightheaded that I had to crawl and rest on the way back to bed.
Lying in bed, I called 911, because I knew I needed a hospital, and there was no way I could drive myself. I was initially incoherent and confused when the dispatcher came on the line. I didn't understand the questions she asked me, and at one point she even asked me how old I was and if I had called by mistake. I was panting and I kept apologizing. I was finally able to articulate my problem and she put me on the phone with someone else, a man.
During this time, I realized that I had to poop again, and stumbled into the bathroom. I was so slick with cold sweat that I was sliding all over the toilet seat. I hadn't peed for hours, and I had been pooping water constantly. At one point, I remember the man asking me if I was sitting down and I said, "Yes, I am sitting on the toilet." For some reason, he chose that time to tell me that he would send an ambulance.
Suddenly, I opened my eyes and woke up. I remember having heard a loud cracking or crashing sound. I knew I was lying on my back on the floor, but didn't know where. I thought maybe I had decided to rest on the bathroom floor, but I realized that I was actually in the dining room. I had no memory of how I had gotten there, and the back of my head was hurting from where it had hit the ground. I do remember that when I heard that sound, I thought, "Oh, I must have dropped the phone." I lay there for a while, feeling pleasantly cool and relaxed and thinking maybe I could just stay there, resting on the wooden floor of the dining room. However, this only lasted for a few moments, and then the feeling of faintness returned, and I rolled around on the floor, feeling weak and very ill, panting and clammy. I reached for the phone, which was on the ground beside me, and called Eddie, leaving him some kind of awful message. It went something like, "I passed out. I'm on the dining room floor. An ambulance is on its way." Not at all terrifying. Then I saw red lights flashing outside and knew it was the ambulance. I got myself together enough to find my purse and some slippers, which was a supreme effort. I remember feeling very worried about my insurance card, wanting to make sure I had it. I was less worried about proper clothing beyond my thin pajama pants and sweat-soaked T shirt. They seemed fine, and besides, it was much to far to walk all the way back to the bedroom to find proper clothes and shoes.
I walked to the door and met the EMTs, both women. They refused to come inside, because of the dog. Just as I was about to leave, I realized that I had to poop again, and ran inside, begging them to wait while I went. They seemed annoyed, both by the dog and by the fact that I could walk. It was like it was some kind of rip-off that I called 911 for myself. If I wasn't dying, them I should damn well be driving myself to the hospital. When I explained that I couldn't drive (because I was worried I would pass out behind the wheel), they thought I was a child and asked me where my parents were, and how old I was. It took me a long time to remember, and I finally answered, "thirty.......four." It was difficult. The EMTs made me get my coat, even though it was at least ten miles from the door of my apartment to where my coat was hanging in the dining room, but they refused to help me, for fear of the dog, so I hobbled back, scrabbling at my coat with one hand and holding on to the furniture with the other. I told the EMTs that I was afraid that I would poop my pants in the ambulance, and asked them to tell me it was OK if I did. They didn't.
Because I had told the EMTs that I had hit my head when I had fainted, I had to be put on an orange backboard, all strapped and taped with a neck brace. I tried to tell them I was just dehydrated, but they said it was standard procedure. The backboard was very cold and hard, and I was shivering. At every bump in the road, I slammed up and down against the board. The women asked me to tell them what happened and I was so confused that I couldn't remember. I didn't know when I called 911, or why I had brought my phone to the bathroom with me. They were asking me questions the whole time, like were there children in the house, did I have a roommate, and how old I was. I asked if the ambulance could take me to St. Elizabeth's and they said they had to take me to the closest hospital, Faulkner. They kept me talking about my dog and different things and wouldn't let me rest. Probably in case I had some sort of concussion, which I didn't. I kept trying to give them my insurance card, and asking them to give me an IV on the ambulance. I do not think they liked me very much.
When we got the hospital, I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling as I was being wheeled in. I heard people talking about me as I was being pushed. Their voices seemed very loud, but echoey or muffled somehow. I was brought to a little cubicle, where it was much quieter.
People came to ask me questions, registering me and taking my insurance at last. The nurse put an IV in my arm and also took some blood. I'm not sure what they were testing with the blood. I started to feel better once the IV fluids started going in, and I could remember the sequence of events more clearly. I got all excited that I could sequence the events now, and wanted to tell the nurse properly what had happened. At this point, clearly, no one was interested.
I was shivering and my teeth were chattering, but no one offered me an extra blanket and I was afraid to ask. The liquid from the IV is room temperature, and it felt cold in my arm. I was given a pair of fuzzy blue socks with rubber on the bottom so I wouldn't slip on the floor. People came periodically to check my blood pressure and check my heart rate and stuff. They did some kind of EKG and stuck different kinds of things on my chest and other parts of my body, like my legs, to do different readings. The ones on my chest looked like nipples, but the ones on my legs were rectangular. Mostly the nurse did the readings, but there was a very kind doctor as well. I kept apologizing.
Sometimes the nurse seemed annoyed, and I wondered if I was annoying her, or if she was just tired. At some point they changed my IV bag, and she added a syringe of something to help with the nausea. I got good at slinging wires and tubes over my shoulder and dragging my IV with me as I padded to the bathroom to produce more diarrhea. At first it was just weird cloudy yellow stuff, almost like mucus, but eventually I started pooping out water again. I still wasn't peeing. I finally peed once, only once, and it felt like a triumph. I did not pee again.
The area I was in was mostly quiet. There was a big nurse's station surrounded by little cubicles where the patients were. It did not seem like there were many people, but I think that some were sleeping or just lying there quietly, like I was. Across from me, past the nurse's station, was a very old man with no teeth. He moaned plaintively on and off the whole time I was there. He did not speak English and this sometimes frustrated the nurses because I think they couldn't exactly tell what was wrong. The thing that was interesting about the old man was the way that he was moaning. There is an involuntary crying out from pain or distress, like the yelp I emitted during my first bikini wax. But this man's moans did not sound at all involuntary. They sounded more like a deliberate method of communicating his discomfort, like, "This hurts. I don't feel good. Do something." There was also an old woman who may have had a UTI.
I was there for several hours, just kind of lying there. I didn't sleep and I had nothing to read, but I wasn't really bored. I was content just to lie there and rest or look around. At one point I texted Eddie to reassure him, and I called to ask Scott to let Wesley out, and then I called Josh to ask him to pick me up at the hospital, instead of at my house.
They released me around 6:30, because they knew I had my appointment, so they just pointed the way to the waiting room and turned me loose. At first I accidentally walked into some private examination area, because the door to the waiting room had an eye chart on it, which didn't seem like the clearest way to indicate that this was the exit. I wandered out in my PJs, coat, slippers, and blue socks, feeling sheepish to be wearing this ensemble to my appointment. My diarrhea was back to yellow and small amounts, no more water. I waited on a bench outside for Josh, because the air was wet and warm, and I was afraid he would have difficulty finding me inside. It seemed odd to me that a woman in her coat and pajamas could just exit the hospital, no questions asked, but it worked out well for me, because I had somewhere to be. People needed to look at my spotless colon, and I could not be late for that.
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