All Shook Up

For the few, the proud, the unrecognized who continue to search unrelentingly for a smidgeon of entertainment and could care less about who was booted off Dancing With the Stars this week, here is my attempt at a bit of online folly. I like to call it the Barium Enema Rumba. May I?

As many dances begin, I started off with a drink, a fizzy 10oz bottle of Magnesium Citrate, which is like homemade lemon soda. Not bad, considering I was expecting to have to down chaulky sludge in preparation for this adventure. Patients tend to have a reaction anywhere from 30 minutes to 6 hours later. Since I got called into work that night, I am happy to report that this did not kick in for 5.5 hours, by which time I was joyfully at home, in close proximity to my toilet, I might add. Just before dozing off into what I thought would be a pleasant slumber, I ingested four enteric coated Bisacodyl tablets like a good little patient. And thus began the frequent flyer miles from my bed to the commode, peeing through my butt. Too much information, you think to yourself. Well, my friend, read on. I finally did get a stretch of sleep only to be interrupted at 4:40am by an unsympathetic operator. So what the heck, while I was up, I might as well rack up that mileage I began accruing the night before. To finish the checklist off, I administered the Fleet Bisacodyl Enema 45 minutes before I had to leave for the hospital, having timed it by the 15-30 minute reaction time spelled out on the preparation sheet. No worries, since my colon was running on empty, right?

Turning the corner from Churchill onto El Camino, I was struck by a sudden feeling of "was the sushi I ate last night bad?", even though I had not eaten since Sunday. Oh, and then the feeling that can only be described as explosive diarrhea fell upon my seatbelted self. Debating whether to turn into Pali High and then Town and Country or just simply pull over to the side of the road, while scanning the entire front half of my vehicle for a plastic bag (I need not tell you what primitive idea I was toying with), I mustered enough mental capacity to beg God for the physical strength to keep my britches clean. I, of course, tagged behind the slowest senior citizen with no knowledge of the workings of the parking garage, but eventually found a spot near the elevator entrance. Let me tell you how slowly an elevator can travel one flight when there is impending tragedy at hand. Needless to say, relief did come not just in time, but in time.

I'd like to proclaim the actual procedure to be uncomfortable yet bearable, but then I'd be lying. Descriptive phrases that come to mind include disgustingly painful, terribly long, and embarrassingly unprivate (thanks Adam and Eve, for making us need fig leaves). It's an intriguing process to have someone inject barium solution into your colon, stand the table you're sprawled out on up to drain the fluid, pump air into you between x-rays, and roll you around to make sure every nook and cranny is covered. I now know what it feels like to be shaken and not stirred. The nurse and doctor tried to warn me about how my body would react to introducing foreign instruments where the sun don't shine, but let me just say that my mind was not prepared for the inflation of the balloon that was supposed to keep the tip from being pushed out. God designed the muscles down there to push in one direction, and one direction only. But I was in this for the duration, as if I had any choice. The first introduction of air made me feel like I instantaneously acquired a stomach virus; my whole body felt ill. That feeling decided to accompany me on my entire 45 minute journey. And every twist and turn caused my insides to struggle for relief. So much so that in the midst of my second 360 degree log roll, that balloon proved ineffective. Couple the doctor's cautionary warning to "just keep the barium in!" with the sudden realization that I might have to endure this torture again, and let's just say that barium stayed put. Who thought of this test anyhow??

How wonderful it was to see the radiologist leave. That meant 12 more pictures and then freedom. And that finally came. Finally.

I do not recommend having this procedure done. But I give thanks for all the prayers and the virtual hand holding - the Lord spared me today with clean results! Phew. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to visit the little girls' room...