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good for ten years
October 21, 2014,
Had my upper & lower GI yesterday; everything looks good and I don't have to do it again for 10 years, so I have that going for me.
I weathered the process as best I could. Friday's low-residue diet started out fine; I had two boiled eggs & white toast with some clear juice for breakfast, and fettucine alfredo from Trader Joe's for lunch. Dinner got a little sticky--Spouse asked me where I wanted to go, I said where--Pete's--I could get something that would work for my diet restrictions, and there were plenty of things he likes as well. I was thinking of a hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes for me. He initially agreed--but then told me he wanted--get this--PIZZA instead.
Let's see--cheese that's not in a sauce? Spicy tomato sauce? Cured meats? Unless I want to scrape everything off and gnow on the plain crust, pizza is pretty much on the forbidden list. I told him to get what he wanted, and I would scramble myself an egg and have some toast. And once he saw that he wasn't going to be able to maneuver me into doing what he wanted, he decided that if we added bacon, then eggs and toast would be fine for dinner. So he made bacon, I scrambled eggs, he made toast, and we had that for our meal. I ate ONE piece of bacon, and let him think he'd somehow conquered my will.
Saturday, despite being repeatedly told what my restrictions were, he decided we needed to go to Panera for breakfast. At this point, I saw how it was going, and said screw it, I'll just do the best I can. I had my annual Panera pumpkin spice latte, and a chocolate croissant.
We went and did all our shopping, and I picked up some stuff for Sunday--now keep in mind: he's with me, I'm talking all the time about stuff I want to get because I can't have solids on Sunday--he should be totally aware of this, right? He starts talking about how he's going to make fresh, homemade breakfast sausage for Sunday breakfast. I remind him again--not so gently, I think I mentioned getting a lawyer--that I could not have solids on Sunday, which was why I was buying clear juice, and broth, and popsicles.
I also stopped at shopko to pick up a box of knee-hi stockings for work, and ended up with four pair of pants, four tops, and THREE new purses! Hey, the purses were darling, practical, and a measly $8 apiece on clearance, so I went for it. All PVC, a saddle brown satchel with a sort of cross-hatched texture, one just like it only in bright red, and a pebbled shopper in navy with camel trim. The pants and shirts? Plain, ordinary, comfy knit pull-on slacks, 2 pair of blue, 2 of black. Four simple, long-sleeved knit tops. If I can find affordable work clothes, I jump on it! I was pretty happy, and got all that (plus my socks!) for $160.00, which made me even happier. I think it kicked his control-freakiness up still another notch, though.
Sunday was no food day, so I did a lot of housework to try and keep my mind off of it. First thing Spouse says to me in the morning is "do you want some boiled eggs?" Now I've officially given up on him.
But when he mentioned he wanted to run errands, I said I'd go along. Now, I'm trying to not make a huge deal about the whole thing--he could eat what he wanted, I would drink what I had to, and no big whoop. Really. I was trying so damned hard to make sure he wasn't deprived for one damned second because of my thing.
So. What errands does he want to run?
The fragrant, delicious-smelling spice store. That is located next to the fragrant, delicious-smelling BBQ pit. The AT&T store, where he parked next to the fragrant, delicious-smelling Chinese restaurant, and left me in the car while he went in.
And the grocery store, where he walked me through the whole store. On free samples day. Sunday, when they carve fragrant, delicious-smelling hot ham or turkey while you wait. And with a stop at the hot food bar in the deli, where he got some fried checken to have for dinner. And got mad because I tried to remove myself to the floral department, to avoid the tantalizing aromas.
What are we voting for here--complete, unconscious, obliviousness? Totally aware, dick move, subtle torture? Given how things had gone the previous couple of days, I have to figure it was the power trip thing.
I don't know why he needs to do it, I don't know what goes through his mind. But I get so FRACKING sick of it.
Come Sunday at 4:00, the cleanse began. That Moviprep muck could not have tasted more like ass coming out than it did going in. And by the time I'd finished two quarts of it, and the quart of additional fluids, I was so full I sloshed. As much as I was dreading the cramping, at least that would have given a bit of warning--this stuff just...happens. Got though the whole process by 10:00, though. And got a decent night's sleep, despite being sore and very hungry.
Got up at 4:58 and took a quick drink of water, since my cut-off was five. Then slept till six. Got up, shaved, bathed, dressed, and ready to go. He's not always a coffee drinker, but he made sure he had a cup before we went. He didn't want to miss one single opportunity to torture me, I guess.
I checked in at the hospital admitting desk about 8:15, then went to the GI lab. Which, of course, is right next to the cafeteria. Nice planning, Aurora. I was prepared to wait, but they had a cancellation right before I came it, so they got me into my room, gowned, into bed and all wired up--IV and all--by 8:45. I always seem to have that luck--getting in early because somebody cancelled. Yay.
I sat and had Spouse make fun of me for a few minutes, and then they wheeled me into the lab room. I remember them putting a toasty, a pre-warmed blanket over me, giving me the versed & fentanyl, putting a bite block in my mouth--and that's it. Next thing I know, I'm getting wheeled back to my room. Didn't see the doctor at all. Good news is, I didn't hurl all over the doctor this time, as far as I know. And everything looked as it should, so now I don't have to deal with this for another decade.
After I shook off the anesthesia a little, and got dressed, and discharged, it was time to get. me. fed! I told him prior to going in that I wanted DQ for lunch.
We all know by now that I didn't get it, right? Instead of stopping at the DQ on the way home from the hospital, he took me all the way downtown and bought me a Chicago-style hot dog and fries for lunch.
After a quick stop for me to pick up some ice cream at the grocery store, I went home, crashed in bed, slept like the dead for four hours, and only woke up because HE thought I'd slept long enough.
And what did I wake up to?
He's decided he's "sick".
Of course he's "sick". Every single time I ever do one little thing in the way of taking care of myself, he gets "sick". Same old thing, over and over, I don't know why I bother to write it down anymore. After a decade of posting on diaryland, I could just post a list of earlier references to this kind of stuff, instead of writing a new entry. Click a link, second verse, same as the first.
So I was suffering from a sedation hangover all evening. I just grazed some leftovers and had some dessert. Read and played games, laid out my stuff for morning, and tumbled back into bed to sleep solidly--but intermittently--all night. This morning was a little unpleasant, but well within the normal range for post-procedure. Some residual runs from the laxatives, a bit of blood. Still feel a little weird & fuzzy, but only a bit.
Reading: "The Vision of Desire" (c. 1922) and "The Hermit of Far End" (1920), both by Margaret Pedler. I'm back to these, actually, after not really doing any reading this weekend. I was getting my full measure of infuriating without resorting to the novels of Margaret Pedler.
Listening: After counting up the ratio of commercials to songs on my morning commute last week, and finding that it came out to eighteen commercials for every five songs (3.6 to 1), I gave up on my former favorite radio station. I need to put some CDs in the car, and some batteries in my transmitter so I can listen to my MP3 or Pandora.
At Random:
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