The consultant was a very nice man who, having listened to the extreme nature of my symptoms, was fairly convinced that I had some variation of Inflammatory Bowel Disease as opposed to IBS. The fact that he mentioned the word Colitus once or twice offered me some degree of optimism as opposed to horror - Optimism that there would be (A) something that could be done about it and (B) proof that this was a physical and not a mental condition. (I have found in the past that peoples sympathy for mental conditions is fairly limited...).
To have someone finally taking my situation seriously was a great relief and, unlike my trips to the GP, I left feeling like there was someone who understood what I was going through and who could possibly help me. So I was packed off to my GP for some blood tests and an anxiety fuelled two week wait for a Sigmoidoscopy began. For those of you who do not know what a Sigmoidoscopy is I will fill you in.
The process starts 24 hours before you are due in hospital with some industrial strength laxatives to "clear your system". These laxatives can take many forms but mine arrived in two innocent looking sachets with an appealing "scorched orange flavour" message printed across the front. I was later to read that they are in fact the pimp daddy of all laxatives. I was instructed to mix a sachet with some water, wait a while and then drink it, leaving an 8 hour gap between each.
At 8am I was poised and ready to go with my first cupful. Now I will be the first to admit that I am awful when it comes to liquid medicines....Tablets are fine....medicines are not. So in the back of my mind lay the concern that I would throw up the mixture before the whole "cleansing procedure" could even start. What followed next was 35 minutes of alternating between wretching and crying and when it finally came to the last few mouthfuls I decided enough was enough and washed it down the sink. Yes, I know, big baby.
Being the proud owner of an irritable gut I am no stranger to spending time on the lavatory evacuating the contents of my stomach so I was fairly confident that the next few hours would be a complete doddle. I had even gone to great lengths to make the day as comfortable as possible - a good book placed in the bathroom, Tesco's entire toilet roll stock relocated to my house and most importantly I had booked to work from home that day - In retrospect this is a vital move for anyone consuming laxatives.
All set to go I made my way back to the living room, settled on the sofa and just waited...an hour later I was still waiting....and then MY GOOD GOD. Over the next 24 hours I was on the toilet twice every fifteen minutes. It was neither a joy nor a pleasure. I hit my emotional and physical brick wall at about 3am when, having also had a bad reaction to the innocent sachets, I had started to be sick into a bucket between my knees.
In a panic I woke my very patient partner who had been ordered to sleep in a room far, far away from where I was making a disgusting racket with my bodily functions. Glad to have some well justified sympathy thrown my way I lay and chatted to him for a while, feeling very sorry for myself.
That night I got next to no sleep and the following morning the effects of the laxatives had not worn off. I called the hospital to see if this would effect my test and also to find out if they had any bright ideas as to how I could make the 25 minute car journey without pooping myself.
It wouldn't and they didn't.
As my friend pulled up in her brand new cream car full of the joys of spring time I could do the only thing left at that stage. I crossed my fingers and prayed that the journey would be quick...we actually managed to make a toilet stop in McDonalds on the way which wasn't so bad...Don't worry we bought a coffee! They hate it when you just use the toilets no matter what type of crisis situation you are dealing with!
Arriving at the hospital I was surprised to discover that I wasn't overly nervous. Sure the idea of having a camera shoved 2ft up my intestine and having biopsys taken all without sedation had been worrying me up until then but overnight I seemed to have developed a level of acceptance. Either that or my preparation of watching a whole lot of porn before hand had really helped - I mean if they could put those big things up there without sedation then I could surely handle a little camera and some air...right?
I also had the small reassuring back up plan of a Diazepam stashed neatly in my bag but with this new found confidence I chose not to use it. Perhaps it was the tiredness or perhaps I knew that I had just had 24 hours of hell ten more minutes wouldn't hurt but I was a lot more brave than I usually am...I refer you back to the wretching and crying over the medicine drink.
The test itself was everything you would expect it to be - Unpleasant and uncomfortable, slightly painful when they are taking the biopsys but altogether over very quickly. All in all it was, to quote Hobbes, "Nasty, brutish and short" although they don't include that snippet on the information leaflet!
I am still waiting for the biopsy results at the moment and I am keeping my fingers firmly crossed that they find something that can be easily treated, that will go away quickly and won't come back. Wishful thinking at its greatest!
For anyone else facing a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy - do not panic. The test is grand, the prep is far worse! And for proof on just how big a baby I actually am I will let you into a little secret....I cried at the blood test...Like I said...Baby.
