In which the sous blogger over-shares

One of the most important themes of this blog is the age-related fish-out-of-water story. Most readers know that I’m at least one generation older than the Blogger Himself (and all the rest of you). Think of me (and Mr. Sous) as the advance team - we’re scouting middle age and reporting back to you.

The Blogger Himself has badgered me into posting about my day, and in what could turn out to be a catastrophic lapse in judgment, that’s what I’m doing. In about ten years, it might be of interest to you.

Right now, I’m 23 hours into a clear liquid diet, and I’ve got about 12 hours to go. Before I’m done, I will have looked at my own intestines on a television monitor. (I have been urged to live-blog that, but you shouldn’t get your hopes up.)

The prep for a colonoscopy starts with a clear liquid diet. Nothing milky. Nothing cloudy. Nothing much other than clear broth and variations on sugar water. (Tea is OK, of course. Dinner was orange Jello.)

I took the afternoon off from work, but I did have three appointments this morning. The first person, who I’ve known for years, has raspberry bushes in her backyard, and she brought me a pint of raspberries that she picked just before she came. I couldn’t put even one in my mouth. Then the second person, who is quite new, had stopped at Starbuck’s and brought me a chai latte because she didn’t want to drink alone. I didn’t even take a sip.

Then the third person came with no presents, and talked about herself for an hour. But, you know, that happens a lot so it didn’t bother me.

Anyway, I came home at noon and began Phase 2 of the prep. At 1:00 I drank 10 ounces of citrate of magnesium. Imagine very sweet, thick grapefruit flavor with a strong undertaste, an uncertain bouquet, and a bad finish.

If you need more detail about mag citrate, you should go ahead and exercise your Google skills.

Mid-afternoon I spotted the huckleberry scones post, and I got really fixated on huckleberry scones. The beautiful color. The fact that they were dimensionally stable and that you couldn’t see through them. The use of flour, the possibility of butter.

Himself tried to tell me that they weren’t really that good, but I knew it was just the pity talking.

I sent him this email in reply:

“Well that's sort of good to know, I guess. Or nice of you to say, anyway.
Did they feel like food in your mouth? Did you have a pleasant satisfied feeling in your stomach after you swallowed a bite?
A half hour after you ate one, was there a geyser of water coming out of your butt?”

Uh oh. That was the part I was going to keep to myself.

I had the TV on all afternoon, and avoided the FoodPorn Network, because it’s nothing but pictures of solid food. At 5:00 I drank 10 more ounces of mag citrate, and was flipping channels to distract myself. I’ve never minded Rachel Ray, but today she was cutting up a grapefruit and now I’m pretty sure I have a citrus-related trauma experience on top of everything else.

Phase 3 involved a handful of pills and a lot more water. I look forward to the procedure because the sedation cocktail is a triumph of pharmaceutical creativity, and because when it’s over, I’ve got those raspberries in the refrigerator and they’re all mine.

I hope your day was good.

The End.

Sous Blogger Deb

PS Mr. Sous had his first colonoscopy earlier this summer. A few days later he called me and said, “I got my colonoscopy results back, and I’m clean as a whistle!! Oh. . .wait. . .that’s not a whistle. . .”


Sean said...

Ah bowel prep. As a 41-year-old, I know a day will soon come when I get to experience that special joy.

My issue with it is that I have an almost incomplete inability to eat or drink anything that tastes even a little bad to me, so I'm not sure how I'll ever choke down that Liquid Plumr stuff the night before.

Since today's blog post put us firmly in the real of TMI, I will add that I'm to the age of the annual prostate check, which wouldn't have been as humiliating the first time if my (actually quite wonderful) doctor hadn't quipped during the, ah, exam, that most of his gay patients tolerated the digital intrusion better than his straight patients.

Somehow that just shifted the whole experience from awkward to dirty.

Tom said...

Sweet. May they declare you a perfect asshole.

Stephanie said...

I hope it all goes well in the end!

This reminds me, Ms. Sous, that you still haven't given me your insider's advice on health insurance (I ended up just buying short-term coverage, but I need to decide on a "permanent" plan soon.) Send me an e-mail, and we can talk.

I also have many toilet- and digestive-problem stories from my travels in developing countries, and I'm always happy to share with any attentive audience! (I won't write them here, because I fear they would pale in side-by-side comparison with your blogerary masterpiece.)

Eric said...

Perhaps a forthcoming guest post is needed on the subject of runner's diarrhea.

Stephanie said...

To Eric: only if you promise to post photos of that as well as runner's vomiting. You know, as a cautionary tale for the kids, to keep them away from this dangerous and unnatural activity . . .

Anonymous said...

tom ...

Ms. Sous WAS recently told that she has the gums of an 18 year old ... and at our age, any compliment is welcome.


Tom said...

Eric, I nearly mentioned in my comment the fact that every time we either talk about running or run together the topic almost always turns to poo. Don't worry. You're not the only running friend with running issues. :-)