Ok how about this?
Wouldn’t it be great if when someone said, “I’m going for a scope tomorrow”, it meant they were getting a sweet telescope. That they were going to spend their day anticipating the next starry night, instead of drinking clear liquids and shoving enemas up their butthole?
I’ve been due for a scope since June 6th, which was my year post take-down assiversary. I however, promptly celebrated by eating cake and did not have a scope. July…no scope. August…no scope. September…no scope. You see where I’m going with this.
“The time has come”, the walrus said. I’m pretty sure walruses don’t have to get scopes, so he wasn’t talking about a camera up his big ol’ walrus butt.
I’m being a cry baby. I know I should go get my check up, and that I should waltz on in there and be all “Ok here’s my ass, shove a camera up there”.
BUT I DON’T WANNA.
I have successfully gone almost a year without getting ANYTHING shoved up my ass. That’s like a freaking Guinness book world record for IBD patients. A whole year without any fingers, tubes, camera, pills, NOTHING.
And now..my “winning” streak is ending. In our world…a year with no butt intrusion is winning. Take that Charlie Sheen.
So tomorrow, I shall do my stupid scope. Awake.
I KNOW. I vowed to NEVER ever do that again, but this is a pouchoscopy, which means its short and sweet…or so they tell me. And as much as I’d love to get knocked out an anesthetized tomorrow…in lieu of taking the whole day off, and making someone else take a whole day off to cart my doped up ass around, I’m putting on my big girl pants (well actually I’ll be taking them off), and going to go do this stupid thing awake.
Also…its not until 2:45pm. Also…I have to work the morning before.
So I will not be taking the recommended 2 enemas before hand. Why? Because I have a jpouch damn it. It’s practically a build in enema…nothing stays in there more than a few hours anyway. AND…because I’m a rule breaker. I do what I want.
Tonight I had my “go to” clean out meal…a double cheese burger meal, and I’m sure in a few hours I’ll be all kinds of cleaned out.
Secretly though I’m kind of hoping that while I’m sitting there on the table, staring horrified at my own ass as the camera gets closer and closer, that when the scope is all up there doing its thing, perhaps we’ll find the Hamburgler stuck up my ass.
I’m pretty sure that would complete my life.