As the Stomach Turns Part VI

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V

The doctor had my test results and he was smiling, but I really didn't care as I just wanted to sleep.
He very nicely asked me how I was feeling, and I, thanks to the left over effects of anesthesia and painkillers, told him I felt just peachy, and then he showed me a picture.
I fumbled for my glasses and peered at a pink funnel shaped object on the computer printout.
He told me it was my stomach and pronounced it to be in very good condition.
"It looks so clean!" I remember blurting out and then I laughed, "It's so pretty!" I was quite pleased with my stomach.
"Well just take a look at your colon," and with a flourish, he handed me another printout.
Now I was looking at the inside of what looked like a bumpy slimy hose full of bacon grease.
Big blobs of grayish white bacon grease.

This wasn't such a nice picture and I told him so.
"You have Clostridium Difficile Colitis." He proudly announced and sat back, awaiting my reaction.
I was stunned. After all that I'd been through; the crippling spasms, the sweaty hours spent on the toilet, and all I had was colitis?

"Is that all?" I asked, and I think I was disappointed.
"Not just any colitis. Clostridium Difficile Colitis!"
Which meant absolutely nothing to me so I went back to sleep.

My mother's phone call woke me up and I told her I had colitis. My boss called and I told her I had colitis. Hans called and I told him I had colitis. I fell asleep after each conversation and I barely remember any of them. Elizabeth and old Leather Lungs could have held a rousing tea party over my prostrate form and I wouldn't have given a rat's ass, because that's what anesthesia does to me.

Luckily the gastroenterologist came back later that afternoon, just after Hans arrived, thus waking me up, and explained exactly what it was that I had.

He said that Clostridium Difficile Colitis, or C-Diff as it's more commonly known as, is what happens when bad bacteria in the colon takes over and kills all the good bacteria. "It's so contagious that it's been known to wipe out half the population of nursing homes," he cheerfully informed me. "Back before anyone knew what it was, or how to treat it." He added quickly.

So how did this happen to me?

Remember back when I had my root canal and the dentist prescribed antibiotics? Well, they were far too strong (which is why most doctors won't prescribe that particular one) for me and this was the result. He said that normally someone who is as young as me, and in good health, will not develop this nasty condition but once again, the antibiotics were very powerful. Also, I'd been off of these drugs for a couple of weeks before my symptoms manifested themselves, thus adding to the mystery.

The good news was that a regimen of a totally different family of antibiotics should knock this pesky bug out of my system.

Hopefully.

Not everyone responds to this antibiotic called Flagyl but it would be a start. Some people can take weeks, even months to recover. Some have recurring bouts of this awful condition, and Irritable Bowl Syndrome might possibly become a new and unwelcome friend. As to what my future diet restrictions might be? He had no idea. Every case was different and we would have to wait and see.

During the doctor's visit, a nurse arrived and added Flagyl to my IV line. She also brought me dinner, which was a cup of broth.

Two hours later I was still working on my dinner which, for someone who can wolf down a sixteen ounce steak in just a few minutes, shows you how weak I was. Hans tried to interest me in a crossword puzzle but I kept falling asleep.

Suddenly an army of gloved nurses stormed my room and started gathering up all of my stuff. One cleared the bed stand of my belongings and another tossed my garbage can on my feet. Hans was directed to clear out my locker and away we went. I rode down the hall with all my items rolling around on the bed, and my IV pole following closely behind.

I arrived at my new room which I was thrilled to note, held only one bed.

Nothing that touched me could touch another patient. The blood pressure cuff, the thermometer, all of it had to stay in my room. Nurses would be required to don rubber gloves and gowns upon entering my room and they would be thrown away before leaving. Any guests (and any guests other than Hans were frowned upon, but just try telling that to my mother!) who dared to enter would also wear gowns and promise to wash their hands before leaving.

We were informed that the only thing that will kill C-Diff is soap and water. That meant that the sterilizer pump right inside the entry to my room (and in every room) that all hospital personnel are required to use when entering and leaving, was virtually useless against C-Diff.

I felt like Typhoid Mary.

A very contagious, contaminated Typhoid Mary.

And even though my prognosis was a bit iffy, it was worth it.

Because I finally had a room of my own!!!

As the Stomach Turns Part V

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV

My total exhaustion, coupled with the delayed effects of my sleeping pill, caused me to sleep through the usual morning hospital noises. Nurses changing shifts, breakfast delivery, and a nonstop talking roommate, I slept through it all. I barely remember Hans stopping in on his way to work and suddenly it was time for me to be taken off for my colonoscopy and endoscopy.

Remembering how nasty I'd been to the compulsive talker of the night before I really had no desire to see her face to face but I needn't have worried. She had her entourage on the other side of the curtain that consisted of her husband (who was eating and criticizing his wife's breakfast), the doctor who couldn't get a word in edgewise, and and a nurse who was trying to take the talker's blood pressure etc...

As I was wheeled into a very cold room, my gastroenterologist gave me a cheerful greeting, and the procedures that were to be performed upon me were explained. He said that a mild sedative would be administered through my IV and that while I would be awake for the procedures, I would be in a very relaxed state.

Easy to say when you're not on the business end of a Roto-rooter!

An Endoscopy involved a tube being inserted into my stomach via my nose and I would be required to swallow the tube upon command. I felt a surge of panic as I'm horribly claustrophobic and I wasn't sure I'd be able to follow through.

A colonoscopy involves a tube being inserted in a whole different part of the anatomy and doesn't require any cooperation at all.

I had one simple request.

If they only used one tube for both procedures, I asked if they wouldn't mind doing the endoscopy first.

It took a second before this sunk in and then the doctor laughed and assured me that it wouldn't be a problem at all.

Whether it had anything to do with my request or not, he started with the endoscopy and the nurse explained that they had to spray my throat.

"Now this stuff doesn't taste good and you'll find your throat going numb. When I tell you to swallow, swallow."

She sprayed my throat with what looked like a can of WD-40 complete with the skinny little attachment that causes the spray to zero in on its target.

I gagged as the vile concoction foamed in my throat, and when asked for my description of what I thought it tasted like, I immediately answered, "Hot cat piss." And then I clarified myself. "Sizzling hot cat piss."

The nurse loved it. This was by far the strangest description she'd ever heard and to this day I've no idea if anyone has ever come up with anything better. My throat went numb and I tried my hardest not to panic. I kept assuring myself that I could breath but it was scarier than hell to not be able to feel myself swallow.

And then it seemed like seconds later that I heard my doctor saying I was done and they were taking me to my room.

"But I didn't swallow yet." I said, and wondered why my throat was sore and my voice so hoarse.

They assured me that I had done everything they'd asked, and didn't I remember anything?

No I didn't remember a thing, and to this day I wonder if indeed I was conscious, what the hell I may have said during our time together.

I'm probably better off not knowing.

I arrived back to a room that still contained a chirping roommate and her sullen silent husband, but I was so groggy I didn't care a bit.

The TV blared, yap yap yap went the roommate, lunch time was in full swing, and I still dozed on and off.

I certainly didn't give a hoot about my test results.

There was a great deal of hoopla in the bed next to me when a nurse arrived, with a wheelchair, in order to haul old Leather Lungs away. Did she have everything? Did she have all of her instructions? Did her husband bring the car or the truck because she didn't like the truck, were they sure her sugar was okay, shouldn't her bandage be changed one more time, could she take the mouthwash and kleenex the hospital had given her... I heard her voice trail all the way down the hall to the elevator, and then there was blessed silence.

My heart lurched when I realized that even though she was gone, someone else was sure to take her place, and so far I was batting zero.

Shortly thereafter my doctor poked his head in the door and asked if I was awake and ready to talk to him.