So the last time we left off, I'd basically blown a hole right through the bottom of my torso where my butt used to be. That night I tried to stay up as late as possible to avoid any middle-of-the-night disasters. I ended up waking up a few times throughout the night, which was totally okay with me because at least it meant I wasn't doodooing all over the bed.
The next morning I was feeling pretty good and looking forward to getting this test (of my willpower and strength) over with. By the time I got checked in at the hospital, my stomach was basically eating itself. Boyfriend and I hung out in the waiting area for a few minutes (I was the youngest person in the room by at least 100 years) before they called me in. The nurse asked me some questions, handed me a gown, and I waited on a gurney for probably another twenty minutes.
TILTE weak from the starvations.
Finally, a nurse came in to set up my IV. This broad must have been new to the game, because she couldn't manage to get her act together. First she tried my wrist. "Try making a fist... hm... Ok, relax your hand... hm... ok... I can't seem to get it to thread... let's try your arm instead." So she poked my arm and then gave me the same old song and dance about not being able to get it to thread. At this point my brain was imagining the needle doing a window-wiper effect, scraping back and forth inside my vein. She ended up calling another nurse over and they finally got me hooked up.
They rolled me- on my gurney- from one room, through a hallway, and into the "official" room. This was the first time I'd ever been on a gurney and it felt weird. Like, real weird. I was pretending I was starring on an episode of ER and I felt like some really top secret doctor shit was about to take place.
I was in and out of sleepiness for the rest of my visit, but from what I remember, it went something like this:
Nurse: Okay, we're going to start the drip.
(five seconds later)
TILTE: UhhHhHhHh... I feel totally wasted...
Next thing I know, I'm waking up and it's all over with. There was some farting taking place, which the doctor had warned me about. (Not to mention I got to experience the symphony of flatulence from other colonoscopy patients when I was first waiting for the nurse to turn my arm into swiss cheese.) Boyfriend came into the recovery room and I'm pretty sure I thanked him a million times and told him how much I loved him and probably daydreamed about an Arby's Beef n Cheddar.
Once I had become lucid enough to go home, they sent boyfriend outside while a nurse helped me get dressed. Thankfully, I was still like 80% loco from the meds so I wasn't even embarrassed when the nurse wiped my butt not once, but twice. After I was dressed, she put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me out to boyfriend where I greeted him with a "Oh hai! What are you doing here?" (I don't really remember this, but boyfriend said it happened.)
TILTE being "...sooooo wasted..."
As soon as I got home, I fell straight back to sleep for another hour and a half. Boyfriend woke me up to let me know I had to eat (Waking me up because I need to eat?? Match.Made.in.Heaven.). So where did I go for my first meal in
THE OLIVE GARDEN.
What. I wanted delicious, knock-off Italian food, okay. Sue me.
HellooOoOoOo all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks.
And for the piece de resistance...
OhhHhHhhh Tour of Italy. You'll never do me wrong.
So that was my experience with a colonoscopy.