Colonoscopy

You know how old stand-up comedians used to start their routines with “A funny thing happened on the way to the theatre…”? Well, a few weeks ago, a funny thing happened me in the airport. I took a quick trip to the bathrooms and was alarmed to discover quite a lot of blood on the toilet paper when I was finishing up. (Oh yeah, this post might ick you out a little bit.) There was more blood on the bowl, the sight of which made me the tiniest bit dizzy. Nothing like being in an airport, on your own and bleeding profusely from the back passage to cause a mild panic.

The thing is, it had happened a couple of times that week already, but this was by far the most frightening experience. And after all that’s happened in the past year with dying parents and cancer-stricken in-laws, I decided to take the sensible route and go see the doctor about the problem.

Beyond fart jokes, I’d imagine most guys don’t like talking about medical problems with their backsides. So doctors be warned – if we show up asking for you to check out our rectums, then there’s a fair bit of anxiety lurking in the background. Otherwise, we’d just shelve the problem and ignore it.

Luckily, my GP decided my symptoms were serious enough to warrant a rectal examination. Which was uncomfortable for all concerned. On reflection, I’m glad I didn’t make that quip about “Now you’ll have to marry me!” when he withdrew his fingers. Why? Because he asked if I’d been having the bum sex. Er…no mate, I’m married. With kids. “Oh well, we have to ask,” he waved the topic away. But now I’m paranoid. Do I have an ass that looks like it’s being penetrated by beefy blokes on a regular basis? Oh dear.

Anyway, this leads me swiftly on to a colonoscopy. Just to be on the safe side, the GP referred me to another doctor. We took it private and the consultant recommended a colonoscopy for piece of mind. And about £1,400. Ouch. Thankfully we have insurance we’ve been itching to spend on buttcams.

The prep was worse than the actual procedure. Not only did I have to go without food since lunchtime the previous day, but I had to take this formula which turned me into a walking human power-hose. It was horrible, and I effectively lived on the toilet for almost a whole day. Not fun.

Luckily, and to wrap up my grossest post ever, the whole procedure was over in 15 minutes, with a clean bill of health. As uncomfortable as the camera bit was, I was facing the screen, so I could see all the hot intestinal action. I did wonder for a minute before the procedure if I swallowed a tiny sign saying “You are here”, would it get far enough down to be seen on the colonoscopy!

I’m only a tiny bit miffed they didn’t offer me a DVD of the buttcam footage.

Daniel and the wrist-slashing incident

Right, let’s talk about the night of 1st July 2009 and the bloody, wrist-slashing adventure that ensued.

We’d only buried my father at the weekend, and with that rather large event behind us, there was suddenly a metric ton of paperwork to take care of. Notifying all the various companies he had accounts with, getting utility bills transferred into The Mother’s name and dealing with a few legal matters. Not to mention the insurance claim for their disastrous trip to Lourdes.

Since it was the school holiday, we took the entire brood down to the parental home - hers now, not theirs – with the intention that the kids could play with their cousins while we sifted through his paperwork and got everything in order.

We arrived in the evening, too late to get started, and the kids went nuts. Stick six kids in a small house and watch as they race around dangerously. Repeated nagging – as always – failed to have any impact, but we kept nagging anyway. I was in the back garden talking to the brother-in-law when we heard a tinkle from inside. Unusually, this wasn’t followed by the sound of screaming or ‘angry parent discovering broken ornament’ noises.

Despite the lack of activity, I wandered inside to see Daniel sitting on the floor in the hallway. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t place it. Noticing a change in the light was the first clue that one of the glass panes in the door was smashed. Lisa came running past me, realising that he’d punched through the glass. She discovered a grotesque, deep gash in his wrist and he was starting to bleed heavily.

She screamed at me to get a towel as she cradled him on the floor, and I admit, it took a minute for me to react. Once she had the towel, I had the phone in my hand talking to the 999 service. I can’t even remember dialling – if it was me or someone else.

That was the point pragmatism kicked in, and I explained calmly to the operator what had happened, where we were and that we needed assistance. They ordered a paramedic and stayed on the line until the guy arrived. Lisa continued to apply pressure to the wound – possibly a side-effect of watching too many medical dramas, but it worked out well in the end. Anyway, the paramedic came in and dressed the wound and took him and Lisa out to the nearest Accident & Emergency in a town 30 minutes away. I followed in our car.

I remember just before jumping in the car, my mother and sister both looking at me dubiously. “You can’t handle the sight of blood, are you sure you’re alright to drive?” they asked, noting that I’d already gone deathly pale. I don’t know what propelled me, but I followed the medic and was arriving at the hospital at the same time Lisa and Daniel were. Some speed limits might have been broken in the process.

Whatever adrenaline we’d mustered during his initial wrist-slashing drained away quickly after a few hours waiting in the A&E department. We all felt knackered. And to cap it all, it was the same A&E that my father had been brought to when he collapsed at home and before he was admitted to cancer ward. I even recognized the same staff from that night, and so soon after the funeral, found it hard to cope with. These people wandering around doing their jobs probably didn’t remember the man brought in with breathing difficulties and his worried family. And seeing that place again brought it home how quickly everything changed.

Anyway, that plus the tiredness plus the jagged wound plus the not having eaten anything were slowly taking their toll. Eventually, one of the doctors came in and started trying to remove the dressing from Dan’s wrist. Blood had dried to it and he screamed in a mixture of pain and fear. We tried to distract him while she tried to get to the wound, but eventually she gave up in frustration and called some colleagues in to help.

I took a back seat at that point, but suddenly started feeling dizzy. Yep, that was the colour draining out of my face. This had happened before, and I knew what was about to happen. I muttered to Lisa that I was feeling faint, and she pushed me into that old head-between-the-legs position. Oh, but it was too late for that. I propped my head on my arm on the side of a desk and slowly, gracelessly, slid to the ground as the world literally disappeared and everything went black. The last thing I remember is Dan watching me as my face slid past his on the way to the floor.

The drama queen in me must’ve surfaced, because I remember hearing myself muttering that I couldn’t take this anymore and blah blah blah. shamefacedly, I decided to go and wait in the car while Daniel’s wrist was X-Rayed.

The Update

As you might imagine, this post was written months ago. I wanted to record the event, but forgot to post it.

Daniel’s wrist eventually healed. We were worried that he would have problems using his hand as a result of severed tendons, but by doing the exercises that we’d been given at the hospital, he has recovered.

He still has a horrendous, ugly scar running across his wrist, and he’ll probably always have to explain what happened when people notice his wrist and ask. On the other hand, he’s become much more cautious about touching windows and doors – which is not a bad thing considering.

Cancer everywhere

Let’s come straight out and say it: Lisa’s mother has been diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. The events that led up to this have been unfolding over the past month, and a fairly concrete diagnosis came something over a week or a fortnight ago.

Lisa, naturally, was devastated. She didn’t help herself much by doing some web research into the survival rates and details of the disease. Seems Ovarian Cancer is dubbed the ‘silent killer’…

I can only speak for myself here, of course, but the notion of Lisa and I losing one parent each over the last year was hellish. And having come out one end of a cycle of hospitals, funerals and family complications, the thought of another? I just felt numb, to be honest.

The aftermath of my own father dying hasn’t been a pretty picture. My mother and younger sister are drowining in guilt and grief. My other sister did some fairly horrible things too, including stealing money and documents when we were sorting out the will. And as I devoted myself to my father during his hospital stay, our business suffered.

It’s funny that the tables are turned this time though. I’ve tried to be as useful as possible around the house while Lisa has made herself available to her mother for moral support and more. I think we both understand that it has to be this way.

Luckily, the latest consult seems to suggest that Lisa’s mother detected this cancer really early. Each subsequent consult with a new doctor seems to downplay the extent of the spread. It may be a reasonably straightforward operation followed by some chemotherapy. In other words, no-one’s suggesting this is a terminal case.

How to describe the prospect of another cancer fight? Enormously unsettling. I’ve seen first hand the damage that bereavement did to our family – to the point where I barely want to speak to my mother on the phone. People don’t react in a predictable fashion when they’re scared and/or grieving: some bury their heads, others want to be left alone, others try to turn it into their drama.

Hopefully what’s going on with my mother-in-law will work out well. Strangely, when my father died, my in-laws seemed more attuned to the fact that I was suffering than my own family. It’s horrible to see them going through this so soon after my dad.

My first blood donation

Every time I visit my father in the hospital, I pass the Blood Transfusion Service. It’s been weeks now, and with each passing day I’ve been questioning why I don’t give blood.

This last week though, I’ve been trying to push myself towards making a donation. I’ve had to accept that I’m slightly nervous about blood – I once had a white-out at a First Aid course when they started talking about the different types of bleeding! However, that slight fear finally spurred me on today. The other motivating factor was the amount of time I’ve spent in hospitals lately and the fact that donating was a quick and efficient way to make a difference.

During my visit to the hospital, I decided to put on my “man of action” head and just do the donation. I’d had lunch at the hospital, thus satisfying the requirement not to make the donation on an empty stomach. I had Dan with me, but left him with my mother for an hour while I walked over to the transfusion place.

In case you’re thinking of donating, the procedure is quite simple – you go in, give them your details and fill in a questionairre about your medical history (and laugh at the idea you’ve ever been paid for sex – unless you’ve been a prostitute at some point). They do a little pin prick test on your finger, and then another medical type comes in and goes through your medical history questions again.

After that, you’re led to the very airy donation area, your right arm swabbed and disinfected. At that point, though, I felt compelled to look away as the needle went in. This nipped a little bit, and continued to sting a little throughout. The nurse chatted away to me throughout (I suspect I’m quite a chatty donor) and after a few minutes, it was done. A cold drink and a snack later, and I was headed back to the hospital to pick up Dan.

There was a tiny bit of light-headedness, which stayed with me for a while, but I was pleased to receive the little pin confirming my donation. Later on today, my father received a blood transfusion to help him out. Clearly it wasn’t my donation, but there’s a warm buzz knowing that perhaps someone else’s relation will benefit from what I’ve donated today. And despite the mild discomfort, I think I’ll be happy to do it again.

Have any of you guys donated blood in the past? Share your experiences here!