"So," said the colonoscopus (that can't be right), gastroenterologist, "Why are you here?"
Why am I here? Let me think of the myriad of reasons I might be sitting in front of this doctor. I am betting if he would actually look down at my file which is spread before him, he might discover that my other doctor has sent me over for a colonoscopy consultation, seeing as how I am 50 now, & am considered to be 'high risk' with my family history. But, okay, maybe this is just his way of breaking the ice.
"Well," I said, "My colon is feeling rather neglected & unappreciated, as no one ever looks at it, so..." No, I didn't really SAY that! I said something like, "...My other doctor has sent me over for a colonoscopy consultation, seeing as how I am 50 now, & am considered to be 'high risk' with my family history."
He nodded sagely, as if he could actually tell this by my appearance ("What? My colon's hanging out? Why didn't you say so?"). Not a bedside manner guy, he didn't even blink when I said I was 50. Then he finally looked down at my file, I guess to verify that I was speaking the truth. Meanwhile, I was wondering what a "colonoscopy consultation" would entail. Back in the States, I don't ever remember "consulting" which the specialist: I just showed up for my procedure.
He whipped out his appointment book. "Tuesday next week?"
"No, how 'bout Wednesday?"
He agreed & wanted to know where I lived. I told him I lived close by.
Then he searched his filing cabinets for some papers & did some scribbling on them. He brought the papers around the desk to sit next to me. Ah, I thought, here comes the bedside manner.
"You will have to drink this stuff I will prescribe. It tastes, well, truly awful."
"Mmmm." I said.
He waved the papers at me. "This tells you everything you must do to prepare. You MUST follow these directions."
I scanned ahead to the actual appointment time. "5 O'clock? In the afternoon? Isn't that a little late in the day? The previous times I have had this done they did it early in the morning."
"Well..." he said, "You said you lived nearby. I save the early appointments for people who come from far away."
Okay, what is THIS, discrimination based on my address?
"I could go far away & come back..." I said.
He shook his head with a little chuckle - I'd not fool HIM!
"See you next week." he said.
For this I paid him $70.
I went home & read the forms. I especially enjoyed the part that said "The surgery may be delayed or cancelled if other emergencies arise...if you are not willing to be patient, please seriously consider not accepting this appointment!"
Now he's telling me that after 2 days of prep that I should be patient? Maybe that is why these appointments are supposed to be scheduled early in the morning, just to avoid such circumstances? But, who am I to mention these things, just a 50 year old housewife with a high risk colon. What do I know?
So, I drove around to 2 different pharmacies to get the 2 bottles of "stuff" & the 4 pills. I swear the pharmacists smirked at me at both locations. I smiled sweetly, thinking, yeah honey, you'll get YOURS...
In order to begin my preparations I was first required to worry about the procedure for the next few days. The doctor had forgotten to write that on the paper, but I knew it needed to be done. There was much to worry about.
First off, here I am in a country not my own, which is a little disconcerting - tho, at least we all speak English. I probably didn't have to worry about anything being lost in translation that would cause removal of my spleen or something. There WAS that.
Then, there were the horror stories by friends I needed to assimilate, "...there was this friend of a friend of a friend of a friend's SISTER who had HER colonoscopy done HERE & SHE had to go back to the States for ANOTHER SURGERY...". There was that, too.
The next day, I had a phone call from the hospital advising me of my cost (I pay upfront & bill my insurance after, in case you are curious) for the procedure. "Your cost will be $66,000." There is always that split second of *gasp* & *dropping elevator stomach*, before the mind converts the Jamaican dollars to US. "Okay." I told her, taking comfort in that the roughly $750 price tag seems to be less than the US price - so at least my insurance company shouldn't have a melt down. There was that.
Then, before I knew it, I was ruining a perfectly good can of ginger ale with that first bottle of vile liquid.
But, don't worry. I will spare you the details of "prep".
Let us happily skip forward to my admittance to the hospital. They don't mess around here in Jamaica - you pay FIRST! Which actually makes some sense, I guess. Then the nurse came to get me to take my blood pressure & temperature. "Do you have high blood pressure?"
Why do they ALL drag my file around with them yet never ONCE open the dang thing?
"Not usually." I told her. The other nurse in the room told the first nurse to do it over again in a minute. I told both of those nurses that if someone was about to stick something up THEIR whatsis, well, they would have high blood pressure too! They giggled, & the first nurse said, "I had it done. It is not that bad." RIGHT! What else are they supposed to say - "Get out now while you still can!"?
After an acceptable blood pressure reading, they led me away to the basement. "Down into the dungeon..." I intoned.
The nurse giggled again. She came to Room #4. "Don't worry about the odor in here - we have been spraying for mosquitoes. And watch out for the bucket." she gestured at the bucket catching drips in the middle of the room. "The air conditioner is leaking."
"I know that story," I commented, "so is my air conditioner at home." I quickly scanned the room for other implements of torture, but found none.
So, there she left me, in a room with two beds, & a sink hanging half off the wall, to change into my glamorous gown, with matching hairnet & booties. I stretched out on the bed & listened to the dripping A/C. It had a kind of 'homey' feel. I willed myself to fall asleep. I hoped my husband was going to remember to pick me up. I hoped the kids weren't burning down the house making their pizza for dinner. I hoped that they had some extremely potent sedatives ready for me, I hoped that...
Then, another nurse was waking me up. "You have to walk with me to this room." She pointed out the door. "Okay." I said. She asked if I needed my shoes. I paused for a moment, wondering how I would fit my bootied-feet into my flip flops. "No." I waved at them. "They can wait here." & I followed her to my doom... Oops, I mean, that room...
Who really knows what happened next? I received several syringes of medication through my IV. In my opinion they were not quite strong enough. But, before I knew it I was resting again in the first room, feeling like I had accomplished some physically demanding but very important task, listening to the frogs singing outside in the dusk.
That was nice. Probably the highlight of the event for me. Resting gently in my hairnet & booties, & my beautiful gown - drifting away without a responsibility or a care in the world.
I was happy to hear those singing frogs again, & to see the night darkening outside my window as I closed my eyes. It was a great evening to be alive - even in the dungeon of a hospital with a dripping A/C. Even in a room smelling of mosquito repellent.
Even if my husband DID forget to pick me up.
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