I've got this weird thing that goes on in my head when I'm dreading something. I think I've mentioned it before, I become sort of emotionally paralyzed or something. So, since my last entry, I've done pretty much nothing except stare at the walls. And worry about the prep for the procedure. I wasn't worried about the procedure (beyond being killed by the anesthesia), but the prep just had my mind in a corner. I don't like lime (except squeezed in margaritas) and I'm not a huge fan of lemon. So, that rules just about everything I could eat or drink, out.
We were supposed to go up to Disneyland last Thursday for my birthday. Brian wanted to do at least two rides, Big Thunder and the Matterhorn. And he wanted to eat at Village Haus in Fantasyland. Wednesday night I said "how about we just go on the two rides, eat, then come home?" He looked at me and asked "you really don't want to go, do you?" No. I really didn't want to go. I wanted to sit and stare at the wall and worry about what I was going to eat on Monday and Tuesday morning. How was I not going to starve to death. I know I have a problem with things like this, I try not to obsess over them. I did get the bedroom cleaned up a little, vacuumed all of the dust bunnies from under the bed, I washed the floor and changed the sheets. I did some laundry. And I worried about starving to death.
We went shopping and got lemon and lime flavored jello and picked up a twelve pack of cheap ginger ale. First carbonated drinks we've bought for the house in over a year. And chicken broth. Sunday we got some Life Savers. I wanted butterscotch candies but we didn't find any at Walmart. As a rule, I've never been much of a hard candy eater. Give me chocolate and nuts and chewy stuff. But we did find pineapple jello. I made pineapple jello and the lime jello on Sunday night so it would be ready for Monday. I shuddered at the thought of it.
Saturday night we went to Black Angus, a local franchised steak house and had a great dinner. Fried zucchini, wedge salad, steamed broccoli with shaved parmesan cheese on it and a really tender filet mignon. Since I had a birthday coupon, we also got a cowboy cookie. Cooked in a six inch pie pan and ice cream for the top and since we'd gotten a "specially priced" meal, which came with a dessert to share, we also got a slice of cheesecake. We brought the desserts home and had them later that night. I had a little of the cookie, half of the cheesecake and all of the ice cream, not that there was much.
Sunday was the first day of the prep meals. Only white stuff. We had eggs and buttermilk toast for breakfast, then I just moped around feeling sorry for myself. We had chicken alfredo on penne pasta for dinner because my noodles were all whole wheat.
Then it was Monday. I just kind of laid on the sofa feeling sorry for myself. I tried to be upbeat about it, but damn. It's not like I mac out all the time, I get busy and I don't think about eating. But right now, that's all I could think about. How was I going to not eat until Tuesday night? I had some pineapple jello. That wasn't too bad. At lunch, I had some broth. How can that be considered food? Seriously? I've never considered soup a meal. I'm hungry an hour later. This broth was worse than that and it was nasty tasting. It needed some rice. And onions. And chicken with a nice white sauce covering it. I kept thinking of the towels I use to wipe up kitty poo. And the brown water that happens when they're rinsed out. Nope, broth is NOT food.
I had more jello. I ate some Life Savers.
Brian had taken his mom to her chiropractic appointment and took her to Target, where she likes to do her shopping. I asked him to see if he could find any butterscotch candies. When he walked in the door, he had the candy. Yay!
He was hungry, not having eaten breakfast and he went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. Peanut butter and jam on whole wheat bread. I was stirring my broth. I went over and smelled his sandwich. It smelled like heaven. I went back to my broth. I started to cry. Seriously, I started to cry. I knew at some level I wasn't going to starve to death, but I just felt so deprived. *lol* Thankfully, I could still take Xanax (I specifically asked on this) and I took one.
I'd prepared the MoviPrep the night before. I had to start drinking at five o'clock. I was to drink eight ounces every fifteen minutes until gone. After the last eight ounces, I was to take a Dulcolax pill followed by at least sixteen ounces of fluid. My first eight ounces wasn't that bad. The consistency was kind of thick, the taste wasn't really bad and eight ounces went down pretty quick. I didn't sip, I stood at the sink and just downed it. By the fourth serving, I was ready to be done with it. Then I took the Dulcolax and the copious amount of water that went with it.
Yeah, you don't want to be far from the toilet. This stuff didn't take long at all to start working. Two hours later I asked Brian "how long is it going to take for me to be emptied out?" I mean, it's not like I'd had tons and tons of food on Saturday or Sunday. And I kept drinking water. One of the things that one needs to be careful of during this preparation is dehydration. The trips finally slowed down and we went to bed around ten. At four in the morning I woke up. In pain.
My butt cheeks were screaming. I've never in my life felt them hurt like that. It was so bad, I got out of bed and went into the tv room. It hurt to sit on the couch. The pain started to radiate down my legs. This wasn't good. You know the little test you do on a cat to see if she's dehydrated? You pinch up a little skin and see if it tents up or if it springs back into place? Well, you can do the same test on your hands. I did it on the back of my left hand and the skin did not spring back into place, it just stayed tented up. So, I drank about thirty ounces of water. Within a half hour, the pain started to subside. But it was back to the bathroom for me. Holy smokes, how long does this go on? And I have to take my second dose of the MoviPrep starting at six? Where is all this stuff coming from? At this point, I'm starting to wonder if I'm losing little pieces of my intestines and bowels. Because I know damned well there CAN'T be anymore solids in there. I just know it!
I'm starting to get a little concerned.
So, I do the six o'clock dosage (the MoviPrep tasted much nastier than the night before), take the Dulcolax, drink the water and fifteen minutes later, I'm back in the bathroom. WTF? I'm gobsmacked. I don't know where it's all coming from. Three hours later, it subsides. Finally. I lay on the sofa and start to cry again. Dammit. I can't stand this. I haven't eaten anything since eight Monday night and that was the rest of the pineapple jello. I'm hungry. I think about what I could eat. I'm not that hungry. The thought of sweet food just turns my tummy. Chips and ranch dip would be lovely right about now. I take a Xanax instead. It kicks in, the self pity starts to subside.
I look at the clock and start counting down the hours. I can't have anything four hours before the procedure. That's at three, I'll drink my last water right before eleven. Then I'll take a shower, let my hair dry and braid it. I need to shave my legs. I put out my clothes that I'll wear, heavy stuff that I know will keep me warm (I got incredibly cold during this whole thing). I take the shower, get out, put on warm clothes. Wait a minute. This is TOO warm. I change into a teeshirt.
Soon, it is time to leave. Brian gets on the phone. I don't understand why he does this, why he picks up the phone and starts calling people ten minutes before we're supposed to leave. It makes me crazy. I'm ready to go, he's on the phone. I go into the tv room and turn on the television. I'm beyond irritated at this point. He finally gets off the phone and we leave. Traffic is light, we get to the facility with just one small wrong turn (into the parking lot) and we're in the building and I'm checking in, we're only five minutes late. They call me back almost immediately.
I had to take off everything (well, I could have left my bra on, but I didn't wear one) and put on their special socks with the skid free coatings and the nice gown. The nurse took my vitals and asked me questions and got the needle in my hand, ready for the IV. The doctor came in and introduced himself. Then the nurse asked me if I wanted to say goodbye to Brian before I went back. No chance to read the book I'd brought. It was way earlier than my scheduled appointment. I told him "no", thinking let's get this over with.
I was wheeled back by two nurses, one asking me my name and date of birth. They asked me again when they wheeled me into the procedure room. They asked me a third time when they were rolling me over and positioning my butt for easy access. I looked at her (pretending to be alarmed) "don't you have that information?" And then I told her again who I was, when I was born and why I was there. They connected the things to my chest for monitoring my heart rate and other stuff and then I was out.
I heard a woman talking, I thought it was a dream, then I heard Brian's voice. I started to open my eyes, the the woman's voice came back and I closed my eyes. Brian's voice came back. I opened my eyes all the way and turned over, Brian was standing there. Yay! I'm done! It's over! I can eat! I turned out I had two small polyps that were removed and sent out for testing and some diverticula, nothing to be worried about. When I was able to stand up without tipping over, I got up and got dressed and I was put in a wheelchair and taken outside to wait for Brian to bring the car over. I got in and we left for home.
We hit traffic on the way and it sucked. Brian talked and I tried to doze off. I was so over this.
We got home and I headed to the sofa. I laid down, knowing I was still under the influence. I remember sucking on a butterscotch candy, I remember Brian having to leave (he had to go pick up parts) and I remember that "uh oh" feeling and I got up and headed to the bathroom, where I threw up the stuff in my belly. Probably the anesthesia. Anytime I've been put under, I end up throwing up later. But after that I started feeling better. Brian made breakfast for dinner, scrambled eggs with cheese melted on the top and fried potatoes with cheese on them. It was pretty yummy. And that's all I remember about Tuesday.
Beforehand I had joked with Brian that they should give you an option for the prep. Appetite suppressants. He told me yesterday that I said that to the nurse when I woke up, but I didn't say appetite suppressants, I said "meth". *lol* I guess she wasn't amused. But it would seriously help out with the hunger problem. Seriously.
I did spend part of Tuesday morning looking at other peoples' experiences and other websites about making prep easier. Coffee is considered a clear drink. I could have had coffee, but I was afraid of the acidic properties on a sensitive stomach. But what most things don't say is that colas are also clear liquids. That would have been nice to know. I could have had root beer. I love root beer.
So, for the next procedure (and I will do this again, because it's for my own good), I've learned two things.
Make the appointment for the morning. And buy lots of root beer.
And I'm back!
Brian told me the procedure itself took twelve minutes. They took me back at 2:10, they called him to be with me at 3:10. Figure ten minutes before I was taken back, fifteen minutes for procedure and transport and thirty-five to come out of the anesthesia. Amazing, isn't it?