Anal Geez Ick

So my doctor told me that I needed a colonoscopy. Such a wonderful concept... Stick a camera on the end of a hose and insert it into a person's rectum for some landscape shots. I don't know how I could have gone so long without one.

Anyhooooooo....

So my doctor told me that I needed a colonoscopy. Sadly, this wasn't my first. I had one a couple of years ago. So this one should be easy, right?

First, I needed to be "cleansed". This consists of a day or mild torture. First, you can't eat anything that isn't "clear". Apparently, Jell-o is clear, no matter what color it is, and all forms of broth are "clear", no matter how unclear they actually are. I wanted to have pizza with anchovies and onions, but apparently anchovies aren't clear enough. So instead I ate nothing that day except melted vanilla ice cream. Hey, if beef broth is clear, so is vanilla ice cream.

Then, in the afternoon, you have to take some stuff that's going to "clean you out". I got the stuff at a drug store. It cost $60, and wasn't covered by my insurance. I was thinking that maybe I should just drink half a bottle of milk of magnesia and wash it down with two liters of Gatorade, but I didn't want to make mistakes. So I forked over the moneyI had earmarked for some "AAA" batteries and was handed a box the size of a small dog carrier.

The kit contained two pills and a plastic jug with some powder and three small flavor packets. The idea was to take the pills, add water and one flavor packet to the jug, refrigerate the jug, wait six hours, have a bowel movement, and then start drinking the contents of the jug, eight ounces every 15 minutes. And not have anything to eat or drink after midnight.

Now, if I followed the timeline on the instructions, I would still be drinking the stuff at 2:00 AM. So I just popped the pills and started to wash them down with some of the mixture from the jug.

Big mistake.

The stuff in the jug was salt. When I added water, it created salt water. When I added the flavor packet, it made no discernible difference. One swallow of the stuff was enough to induce vomiting. I managed to hold it in, but just barely. I decided that next time I'm definitely going with milk of magnesia and Gatorade.

Anyway, I washed down as much of the vile concoction as I could and then poured the rest into my roommate's dog's waterbowl.

I slept fitfully that night, probably because I had taken an industrial grade laxative (the pills from the "cleansing kit"). I got up at 7:00 that morning and spent some quality time on Mr. Potty. The youngest child had seen me enter the restroom, so naturally she followed and spent the entire time pounding on the door, shouting, "Ashley, I golla go potty!!!"

I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything, so naturally, as soon as I thought this, my stomach started growling profusely. I watched my roommate, Anna, prepare breakfast for the children. Pancakes. My favorite. Crap. Then, I had to go to the bathroom again.

I got dressed, trying to figure out the best thing to wear to a place where I was just going to take everything off when I got there. Usually, this means I would wear something short and tight, but on this occasion I decided to go with casual attire. (This wasn't a date, and my doctor's just not that cute.) Then, when I finished getting ready... I had to go potty again.

Anna had agreed to give me a ride, because for some reason hospital people don't like you driving after being anesthetized. So we went.

At the Endo center, sort of a Colon Mills Studios, I filled out lots of paperwork and agreed to give them permission to tell me what was wrong. Then I was informed that the copay was $464. In case you don't know, this is a lot. I'm used to paying more like $20, and then being sent a bill later for services I hadn't known would be done. But no, apparently my medical insurance has a deductible, so I had to pay that, plus a percentage, plus the expected $20. I felt like a dented car door. With a copay.

I showed up half an hour early for my appointment, so naturally I had to wait two full hours to go in. I was in the waiting room so long that the battery in my e-book reader ran down, so I had to watch what was on the idiot box - daytime television. I learned what was up with Erica and Tony, whoever they are, and I also learned about the various medicinal properties of low-fat mayonnaise.

During this time, I was sitting on a chair just hard enough to irritate the area that was my
very reason for being there. I could have brought my donut butt-cushion with me, but I do have my dignity. Or I did until I walked into the back room.

In the back room, first I had to go potty again, and then I had to get undressed and gowned, and put my belongings into a lidless Tupperware container the size of a sandwich. Having spent four years in the military, I was accustomed to packing into small spaces. When I was naked from the waist up, I had to stretch (it was one of those moments) so I did. Of course, after a night of prescription-grade diarrhea when I wasn't allowed to eat or drink, a quick stretch turned into a torrent of abdominal cramps. I spent several minutes trying to stop the cramps so that I could finish changing. In the mean time, I was surrounded by curtains in a room that was crowded with other people. I barely managed to get some covering before a head poked in, asking, "Are you alright?"

So I packed my belongings into the sandwich container and climbed under the blanket. Now, I have to admit, the nice, freshly-laundered blankets, still warm from the dryer, are almost worth the whole thing. Then, a nurse came in and proceeded to stick a needle the size of a Honda tailpipe into the back of my hand. On a side note, I got to spend a few minutes observing the normal happenings there. Mostly, it consisted of one nurse consistently forgetting who I was, one nurse pushing beds in and out of the back room, one nurse forgetting which way was the exit, and one woman who seemed to forget whether she worked there or not. I was beginning to lose confidence when the sudden intense burning sensation in my hand distracted me and I forgot who I was for a moment.

When I was wheeled into the back, a nurse (the forgetful one) superglued electrodes onto my torso to monitor my heart rate. Apparently, something they do when taking rectal photos presents a cardiac threat. I rolled onto my side... let's face it, we all know where they needed to get access, and stared at the instruments, trying to play with my heartbeat. Trust me on this... If you put in the effort to learn to make your heart stop, it's worth it to see the faces on doctors and nurses when you do it unexpectedly while they're in the room. hehe

I noticed at one point that the straight lines on the instruments were suddenly not so straight. I realized that I had been slipped a mickey, or something, and decided to see how long I could resist the anesthetic. I counted to 100 to test my will.

Well, technically, I counted to 3.

I woke up to one of the nurses telling me I needed to roll onto my back and fart. Her exact words were, "I need you to roll on your back and fart."

Being drugged out of my gourd, I complied. Or tried to. In tooted a little, then said, "It feels wet."

The nurse just laughed. "That's normal. There's a towel under you."

The thing is, no matter how drugged up I am, I still have my limits. I tooted as much as I could, but a sensor on my sphincter started howling, "Danger, Will Robinson, DANGER!!!"

Finally, a nurse helped me to the restroom again. I know I keep harping on this, but really, how could they do a colonoscopy and not notice that I still had a round in the chamber?

Anyway, as I sat on the bed, trying to figure out how to stand on my own, I was told that Anna was there to pick me up. They made her stand in the curtained area with me while I got dressed. Weird, huh?

They told me that the doctor had come by to visit. While I was asleep. I guess that's when he informed me of his findings. Yeah, really helpful.

Anyway, I got home and went back to sleep. For the rest of the day. Wishing I had one of those nice, warm blankets.

More doctor sayings

Here's a list of 20 more things I don't ever want to hear my doctor say:

1. How would you like to be in a text book?
2. Do you know how to get blood stains out of a car seat?
3. This is my colleague, Dr. Robbins. He specializes in exorcising demons.
4. Ignore the man behind the curtain.
5. Your insurance company called... How much cash do you have on you right now?
6. Did you know that you can get a doctor's diploma through the Internet?
7. Before I tell you your test results, I need to know if you're prone to fits of violence.
8. I hope you like Jell-o, because that's all you'll be eating from now on.
9. Let me point out that suicide can be quite a painless alternative...
10. Does this stethoscope make my head look fat?
11. I forget, where's the cocyx?
12. I can't read this big words... what does this say?
13. Have you been bitten by insects in the Amazon basin recently?
14. You're not supposed to have three of these.
15. The first thing to remember is that we're all mortal, so you're not alone.
16. I would say that "treatable" is probably too strong a word.
17. Just ignore the gas mask.
18. I hate to be the bearer of bad news... So let me get a nurse.
19. Until I saw the lab results, I thought you were kidding.
20. I saw this once on an episode of Star Trek.

Movie appeal

So, my roommate, Giordi, and I were discussing movies this evening, and I tried to convey my concept of the movie, Mortal Combat. The first one, not the second one. I described it as having lots of "gratuitous action". Now, most guys would have a problem with this concept, but Giordi has a gift for understanding things conceptually. It gets him in trouble, sometimes. Anyway, I was explaining how sometimes, during a plot gap, they would just insert a random fight.

Giordi said, "So, it's like porn, but instead of sex, there's fighting." I started to laugh, but then I realized that that's exactly what it is. So I laughed anyway. Then, he started describing how he saw it as playing out...

"Hi, there."

"Well, hello."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

"Just fine, thanks. Say, you look like a fighter."

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

"Would you like to fight, then?"

"Certainly! Let us."

I'll never see Mortal Combat the same way again.

World of Wargrift

So, today, as I sat at my desk at work, listening to the weather on the phone so that I would appear to be working, I pondered ways in which I might earn some extra money. Getting a regular job had seemed like a good idea, until I found out that after seven years I'm still making less money than new-hires on the cleaning staff.

Note to self: Next time, shoot the guidance councilor and become a bomb squad technician.

Anyway, I was pondering ways in which to earn more money. It occurred to me that with my biggest World of Warcraft character, I can earn nearly 100 gold per day without doing anything special, and that's a lot of money in WoW terms.

So I decided to try to earn money like she does. Now, I asked myself, how does she make money? Well... She goes around killing stuff. If it's skinnable, she skins it and makes leather goods. Otherwise, she loots the bodies. It seemed reasonable. So if I want to earn money that way, all I have to do is go around killing people and taking what's in their pockets. And also killing their animals for the leather.

Don't get me wrong... I'm not a cold-blooded killer. I needed a good target. I thought about driving past the courthouse and trying to take out some lawyers with my car, but the traffic downtown is nasty, and also I would never get the lawyer smell off my car.

I also thought about those police you see everywhere. I know they can't be busy, because I've called them for help before, and they never failed to disappoint. But then I noticed, after the first few, that they were all wearing guns, and I realized that if I weren't careful one of them might pull out the gun and shoot me.

I didn't want to target the wealthy, because they would sue me. And I didn't think that it would even make sense to target the poor. They don't even have money in their pockets. That's why they're called "poor". Also, I came from a poor background, and I don't wanna dis my homeys, y'all.

I reasoned that the leatherworking route was the best way to go. I could just run over some animals, peel off the leather, cure it, and sell it to places that buy leather from shady sources. And if the animal targeted had a person attached, such as a dog with a leash or a horse with a rider or a cat attacking someone's face, then I could both get the leather and raid the person's pockets.

Of course, there are drawbacks. In WoW, you have to periodically get your armor repaired to fix wear and tear (and poke and stab and burn). In TRL (The Real World), I would have to get my car fixed. That would be a big more expensive. Even just one horse could conceivably do 10 gold worth of damage to my car. So I needed to explore other options.

My father has lots of advice on earning extra money. But despite the fact that my father is actually one of the wisest men I know, I already listened to him regarding daily updates on my blog. I can't just accept another piece of advice this soon. I don't want to give him the impression that he runs my life. What kind of a daughter would I be?

My roommate (Giordi) has lots of avice, too, but I don't think I have that many organs that I can sell. I already donated my appendix last year, and I'm still using my duodenum.

My other roommate (Anna) still isn't speaking to me after reading my recent blog entries. Her last words to me (two days ago) were "You seriously need some professional help. No, really." Hrm.

My daughter's advice sounds all complicated and uses phrases like "day trading" and "forex", a word which I'm sure she made up.

I asked my cat's advice, and he just bit me.

So, it's back to the drawing board. Maybe I should play some World of Warcraft. It doesn't earn me extra money, but it helps me forget that I seriously need to go to bed. I say, going to bed when you're tired is the coward's way out.

All that training...

Today, I compiled a list of things that I don't ever want to hear a doctor say to me:

1. The good news is you won't be in pain much longer...
2. Before we start, I'd like to get my payment up front.
3. You remember last year when I said you looked healthy? Well, funny thing...
4. I'll make this quick, because you don't have time to waste.
5. Just out of curiosity... Have you thought about making your peace with God?
6. This would be an excellent time to take out a huge, long-term loan and just spend it.
7. Great news! According to the lab results, you'll never grow old.
8. I've seen your x-rays, and I would like to be the first to welcome you to our planet.
9. You should cancel any plans for this weekend.
10. I thought we had fixed this...
11. I don't suppose you took a cab here on the off chance you wouldn't be driving your car home.
12. It's like this... Do you remember that scene in Alien, where...
13. To be honest, this sort of thing almost never happens, since the end of the Great Plague.
14. Any other time, this would be really funny.
15. You know that saying about doctors being "only human"? Well...
16. Ouch, that's going to hurt, if the feeling ever returns.
17. Is your apartment rent-controlled?

Daily updates

So, my father was telling me that I should make it a point to update my blog every day. That I should force myself to get into the habit. And he's right. I should. Here's today's.

Engineering Decree

This morning, as I listened to the mellow tunes of The Phantom of the Opera on my way to work, I took pleasure in visualizing this guy at work exploding. He used to be my manager, and when I decided I was tired of his crap I went back to my previous job and let him take up the load. Since then, he has bugged me nearly constantly... "What's the master password, again? How do you plug in a monitor? Which slot takes credit cards?"

For that last question, instead of pointing out the floppy drive, I told him I had to run the card manually and now I have his credit card. teehee

Anyway, I was listening to The Phantom's Overture, my favorite song from the soundtrack, I visualized him exploding. I rewound the song a few times, so that I could see the gooshy part again. It was relaxing, and made the drive seem to fly by.

When I arrived at the office, there was an ambulance outside the building. I was elated. Finally, I thought, my quest for superpowers has come to fruition. Soon, I shall rule the world with an iron fist! But when I got upstairs, I found him still alive. Apparently, someone else had exploded, or whatever, and I was saddened. Not because someone had exploded, or whatever, but because it wasn't someone on my "list". This, of course, led to much pondering and introspection.

I mean, I have to do something for eight hours a day, right?

Eventually, I realized that it's not just me. I'm an engineer, and being an engineer means being a Harbinger of Death.

No, hear me out.

I know that human death never really bothered me, but I never stopped to think about other engineers. Who designs new guns? Engineers! Who built the first (and second) atomic bomb? Engineers.

We can peer inside the atom or build a supercomputer that fits on the head of a pin, but civil engineers don't design buildings that bend rather than collapsing during an earthquake? And those same civil engineers put skyscrapers close together in earthquake zones!

When the brakes fail on a car, who designed the faulty brakes? Automotive engineers. And don't even get me started on the number of people killed by airbags.

HIV? Genetic engineers. Assault vehicles? Mechanical engineers. Putting detergent and gasoline into a light bulb so that when the lamp is lit the mixture becomes napalm and explodes? Custodial engineers.

The list goes on.

But is all this really a sign of bad things? No, I think it's good.

No, hear me out!


In evolution, how do you get to the top of the food chain? Is it by marching for animal rights and eating vegan? No, you do it by eating the competition. The way of getting ahead in nature is to kill. It's natural, and it's right, and it feels oh, so good.

Some day, the descendants of today's engineers will be either disembodied godlike beings of pure energy or will have their essence hosted by perfect, mechanical bodies, granting them both immortality and easy cleaning. And if any of our minions try to rebel, we'll make them explode.

And we'll like it.