The Word of the Day is: Flatulence

So much more polite than  just-farting...and that tells you a lot about the past ten days or so. 

I had the hospital visit from Hell. So I'll be brief and save all the disgusting details-except that I stand by what I said about the colonoscopy when I said that it was so excruciating that anyone who really accepts anal sex is either a masochist or has no nerve endings. As if that wasn't bad enough, they fill you full of air so they can see clearly. And you start breaking wind before the procedure is finished.

There is no dignity in lying on a table with your backside in someone's face as they're shoving a hosepipe up your rectum; there's even less dignity when you start farting in their face. It was terrible.

Then they put me in a room with three other women, and two of them were incontinent. One  of them was not only peeing all over the bathroom floor, but also has really serious diarrhea. And when I would open the bathroom door I would be treated to the lovely sight (and smell) of floods and piles of poo. I ended up stalking the nurses to find a toilet down the hall that was clean and dry. That only worked for awhile; the woman who was only peeing everywhere watched me, and then followed me to the other bathroom. And she left a river on the floor...

I did say that it was hell. But it got worse. And now I've got less faith and trust in the NHS than I had before (which was already none). They forgot about me. Yes, that's what I said: they put me in a bed on Friday, I was supposed to be monitored and released on Saturday morning-and nobody came to check on me. Nobody, Duh!!!

On Saturday I started annoying the nurses, because I kept insisting that they find out where the doctors were, why nobody was coming to make sure I hadn't died (or escaped. Or been peed on). And nobody knew anything. So I persevered in making a nuisance of myself. One nurse said that she has left messages for the colorectal team but nobody had replied. And nobody replied until 11pm. The nurse came to see me and told me that they hadn't come to see me because I "wasn't on their list".

I just about popped a blood vessel. I reminded her that I'd just had surgery the day before; how did any imbecile leave me off their list? I said that I'm very thin but I'm not transparent. No response.

Sunday morning the consultant finally arrived-and apologized. My face told him how angry I was. And I was even less pleased when he said that biopsies were taken and sent, but the fact was that nobody knew what was causing all the weight loss and weakness. I should keep eating as much as possible-and they would do some more investigations. I could go home as soon as they completed the discharge papers. I felt like I was on parole (never been. I wonder if that's what it's like).

They let me go at 6:00 Sunday night. Incredible or what?? I got home and I nearly burst into tears-not only because they were all so incredibly incompetent, or even the fact that they put me into a room with people who made me want to vomit. I was so grateful to be home, so grateful to have my own bathroom, so grateful to be able to go to the loo and not have to wade through urine and excrement. Really, really grateful.

And in nearly two weeks I have heard nothing from anyone. So all I can do is keep eating and hope that whatever this is gets better soon and I get back to normal.

So we are now up to date. I'm still alive and kicking (just not very high at the moment), and very thin (but not yet thin enough to slide under the doors instead of opening them normally). 

And-I can eat all kinds of goodies I wouldn't normally eat and not put on any weight. How lucky is that?

One damn thing after another - when the fertilizer hit the fan...

 Churchill said that first. And Churchill knew a thing or two about the old saying that things come in threes-except when they come in eights or nines and just keep coming.

When I last wrote I'd been away for a few days, and everything was quiet and peaceful. Of course, that was doomed  to end sooner or later. Sooner, in fact, which is why you're only hearing from me now. I'm either a pessimistic optimist or an optimistic pessimist. Either way, shortly after I last wrote, the shit hit the fan. No shit splatter, though, because it didn't just hit the fan. It was as if I was standing still, minding my own business, and a cosmic sized pile of shit fell right on my head. I've spent the past few weeks digging myself out (speaking figuratively, of course!).

I started to lose weight-a lot of weight-and for no reason. I like my food, so there wasn't the eating disorder that would first come to mind. I started losing weight, then I just wasn't hungry. My GP requested a sample. And it showed the presence of blood. So she sent an urgent request to the colorectal cancer surgeons at my hospital (not the local one, which is known for taking your arm off if you go to the emergency room with a headache).

A word about specimens: the specimen bottles used to be little round ones that were easy to fill. These newer ones are plastic, shaped like test tubes, and if you have to provide a sputum sample, good luck: you need to cough with the top of the bottle next to your mouth, then spit and hope for the best. Now-the other bottles are exactly the same, except that the very small lid holds-get this!-a tiny spoon. Someone who designed these-did they really have a degree in engineering?

The easy-ish way is to use a paper plate. Truly. You have to be double jointed, really. Poo on the plate, trying very hard not to miss and hit the floor, and pebbledash your bathroom. Then-wearing gloves,  obviously, and thanking someone somewhere that your doing yours, not someone else's (wouldn't that be gross), and try to use the tiny spoon to fill the tube-while trying very hard not to laugh.

And the colorectal team sent me for a CT scan, which was supposed to be urgent but ended up taking three weeks for the report to go to the surgeons (bless the NHS for crappy timing).

Meanwhile, I just keep losing weight, even though I've eaten massive numbers of calories every day. And-luckily-tomorrow I will have a gastroscopy and colonoscopy to see what is causing all this.It's a good thing, because if this went on much longer, I wouldn't have to use doors. I could just slide under them.

If you've never had the combination colonoscopy/gastroscopy, you are so lucky! You have to only eat white bread, skinless chicken-all bland foods and absolutely no fiber. I'm not hungry and I'm fantasizing over a peanut butter and banana sandwich! The day before, you drink this stuff I call drain cleaner-because it's supposed to flush out everything that's in your system so the doctor can see what's going on inside.

Oh, joy-you're up all night, and on the day someone plays hunt the vein to cannulate you. I always end up with so many bruises on both arms that I look like I've been on drugs. You get sedated-but you feel it when someone shoves a tube the size of a garden hose into your mouth and tells you to swallow. Oh sure. Have you ever tried to swallow a hosepipe? 

There is absolutely no way to maintain any sense of dignity during these procedures. Once they remove the hosepipe from your mouth, you get rolled on your side and another one gets shoved up the back end. At least-I hope it's another one, and they're not rinsing off the first one and reusing it.

I remember years ago, when I had one of these-and I knew the doctor for years before, so it was more or less okay. I asked him afterwards why they just don't shove one hosepipe down and one hosepipe uf and just tie a knot in the middle. He laughed. Now he's in private practice in Harley Street, making the big bucks. If I could, I'd go back to ask him to handle this. 

At the same time, when it was all over, someone asked how I was feeling. I just had a hosepipe shoved up and down both ends, how do you think I'm feeling?? I just said that the whole thing was so painful-I will never understand how anyone-unless they're masochistic, insane, or have no nerve endings-would ever, EVER, want to have anal sex. 

I'm thinking of having a t-shirt made. It'll be white, with black printing. On the back there will be a huge arrow pointing down, all the way to the hem. On the top of that, in big black letters, it'll say:

EXIT ONLY

Maybe on the front, there will be an arrow pointing up, with the saying FOOD GOES HERE

I'm still working on it. Think it'll catch up?

I'm off to have more black coffee, a load of water, the drain cleaner later-so I'll see you at the weekend, and hope that everything goes according to plan. Huh-nothing ever goes according to plan!