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?
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