Sharing my life experiences challenged with Stiff Person Syndrome and diabetes, two chronic and disabling disorders; living forward with determination and humor, flying with wings of hope..."in spite of."
This Christmas was a mixed bag for me. I celebrated within the physical limitations and mental anguish of having a rare neurological illness, somehow looking 'normal' to most folks. Humor is an irreverent way I cope.
I love Christmas carols, the beauty of the Christmas tree, childish magic, once-a-year goodies, and the secretive excitement of anticiptation. Christmas is reverent to my soul for it is when the world celebrates the birth of my Savior, Jesus Christ.
"Good news from heaven the angels bring. Glad tidings to the earth they sing. To us this day a child is given, to crown us with the joy of heaven." ~Martin Luther~
The relevance of Christmas is giving. Time and love are two of the most precious things in life to give and to receive, not just at Christmas but all year long. It's not about having time but making time for those you love.
"Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas." ~Peg Bracken~
I hope you had a blessed Christmas, filled with laughter, God's grace, and time with those you love.
Several people prepped me for my colonoscopy with tales, (interesting pun), of orbit-blasting day before colon cleansing as being the worst part of the 'procedure.' (Procedure emphasized with an ominous hush.)
The day before my 'procedure', I stopped at the store for my intestinal purge supplies while selecting from a severely limited list of food choices from the clear diet menu. I decided against the beef bouillon jello, jiggles as it moos.
Looking for the listed powdered laxative to mix in a Gatorade cocktail for my evening date with the bathroom, a female customer nabbed one of the two shelved bottles I needed. In a parody of a Black Friday sale, I grabbed the remaining bottle and consulted pharmacy...again. He had my second bottle behind the counter.
Getting my mojo going (?!?), I bought some magazines at the checkout, keeping the bathroom library current. I was prepared to prepare...grazing on Jello as I watched the clock for the appointed time to drink and be merry, sans eat.
I waited, and I waited. Finally the purge began to work, but it was not with the blasting urgency described by my talebearers. Toilet occupancy wasn't wasted time. I read. I learned how to make a decorative snowman from packing peanuts. I kept gravitating to the Christmas recipes, appetizing yummies decadently portrayed in the magazines I had bought...torture when you are food-deprived.
Fasting was the most difficult part of the preparation for me. I was informed I could not consider it a religious fast even though I was praying for safety and positive results.
I arrive at the clinic, purged and starved. The receptionist asked me, in the now familiar hushed tone, if I was there for my 'procedure.'" Endosocopy and gastroenterology are visibly displayed outside and inside the clinic. What am I missing? Obviously I am not here for teeth cleaning.
Entering the waiting room, I am handed papers at another window with the same whispered seriousness, "for your 'procedure.'" Joking with the medical assistant about the espionage approach with the term 'procedure,' she explains some people are sensitive to privacy. I'm thinking, "Colonoscopy, privacy, sensitivity...better get over it, fast."
An airport-type arrival/departure ticker displays the ten 'procedural' physicians and if they are on time or delayed. My doctor is on a 30-minute delay pushing back my anticipated meal. The waiting room filled with the privacy sensitive have the same check-in paper work as I do. Secret's out.
My flight has arrived as my name is finally called. The 'procedure' holding area is filled with men and women laying on gurneys in tiny cubicles wearing hospital gowns (obvious slit in back), the one ultra-thin issued white blanket, connected to IV poles. Can we say colonoscopy yet?
Dressed down and hooked up, I am wheeled to the 'procedure' room, given something in my IV much better than the laxative laced Gatorade the night before...and I am awakened a few minutes later...
As I am perimenopausal, diabetic, and have a rare disorder, my medical test results rate me as remedial patient. I was ecstatic to have aced my colonoscopy...a 'normal' healthy colon with a 4.0! I am not scheduled for another one for 10 years. I just have to live that long.
Good news called for a celebration at Cracker Barrel's, a feast of chicken and dumplings, with three sides.
On a serious note: Having a rare disorder, Stiff Person Syndrome and diabetes, my social calendar involves dinner after appointments. It is hard to work in routine screenings, but important. SPS can make routine screenings a challenge.
The challenge for my colonoscopy was the sedation because of me having SPS and the medications used to treat it. I emailed information to my doctor prior. My doctor, anesthesiologist, and I discussed how SPS specifically affects me and made some strategic 'just in case' plans. Thankfully, everything went very well.
I did not dread having a colonoscopy. I dreaded the possible result...colon cancer. Colonoscopies have evolved, in my opinion, into not that big of a deal. My peace of mind was worth it.
Now, I will have to explore the Freudian aspect of why I ate at a 'Cracker' Barrel after a colonoscopy? ...I mean...procedure.
"Everything is funny as long as it is happening to somebody else." ~Will Rogers~
I found the featured t-shirt slogan online at Cafe Press. How to decide between bright yellow or a soft pink t-shirt with the slogan, "I love colonoscopies." Neither is on my Christmas wish list. It is a gift idea for that relative or ex who is a pain in the wazoo.
Having one of my periodic checkups with my GP in September, he wrote a script for a colonoscopy. I hadn't made the appointment as of Thanksgiving. They found me. I am trying to decide if locating me is due to their professional abilities as anal PIs or a desire to schedule me before the end of the year to slide under my insurance deductible. (With multiple diagnoses, I usually meet my deductible by January 2nd.)
After a consult, I will be directally scheduled. I am familiar with the slang "Hershey Highway," but Butterfinger comes to my mind along with Hitchcock's 1954 thriller Rear Window.
From listening to the experienced wisdom of friends, the worst part is the day before prep: a diet of clear liquids with a turbo colon cleansing. The challenge is to get the foul nuclear blast laxative past your gag reflex and beat Olympic track records to the toilet when the kick butt action begins. (I am wondering if it will work on drain clogs?)
The 'to do' list on this shirt is personally fitting, having three of the four "procedures," (the professional term for lack of dignity, invasion of privacy (?!!), and expensive.) in the final quarter of this year.
This is one doctor appointment I will not need to shave my legs. I hope I have a good report for the end of my saga.
