The Procedure

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.