anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

Warning: This entry contains graphic details of an unpleasant subject matter...

...and probably should not be read while eating.

Today's experience was...horrifying, to say the least.

I went for the medical appointment with the stomach/intestine specialist at Mount Elizabeth Hospital first thing in the morning. On the way there I had nice thoughts of what I was going to do when I got home in the afternoon - watch Hit for Haiti, re-watch the Australian Open final, watch my new episodes of Chuck, or better still, sleep. I thought maybe it'd end at noon, latest. The day before I was even contemplating whether or not to go back to work after the appointment so that I wouldn't completely lose one day.

But guess what time I left the hospital? 4 p.m. What I thought was a routine check-up at best and an unpleasant stuffing of a scope down my throat at worst turned out much worse, much more disgusting, and, basically, horrifying. The doctor was all, "We should take a look at your stomach and your intestines."

Then I was all, "Okay, great. I haven't eaten anything since midnight."

The doctor went, "Okay. We need you to be clean."

Clean not as in I had to shower, wash my hair, clean my hands, my mouth; clean as in I had to flush out the contents of my bowels. They administered two types of medicine - one tasted like salt water (but wasn't nearly as bad as the Chinese medicine I took when I had Bell's) which I gulped down, and the other had this sickeningly sweet taste to it. The latter was worse - it was half a big bottle and I had to keep drinking, and drinking, and drinking, until the point I felt nauseous. The thoroughly unpleasant taste of that thing, plus the fact that I was sleepy, plus the fact that the room was REALLY cold, pretty much meant I was very uncomfortable and rather miserable.

A while later things started to get flushed out of my system. And when I use the word "flush", I don't use it flippantly; I don't use it meaninglessly. I mean it literally. It was like peeing after you've resisted the urge for a couple of hours, after you've downed a lot of liquid - a gush of liquid coming out of your pee hole, except it was a gush of liquid coming out of your fucking anus. It was like peeing from your anus.

I went so many times that by 1-ish p.m., my anus was so damn sore that it hurt like a mad bitch whenever something came out - to the extent that my body instinctively resisted and at one point I was sitting on the toilet for the longest time because I didn't dare to let anything out. It hurt so badly. The best part was, the first time I went after I was hospitalised, the nurse said my bowels weren't clean enough. So what did she do? She stuck a tube up my anus and squeezed medicine into it.

That induced more toilet-going, more flushing. But it still wasn't good enough. She added water this time, and when the fucking tube was going in, it hurt like hell. Hurt. Like. Hell.

But this nurse was nice. She was gentle. She didn't hurry it and was patient and, well, good. But after the water, when I was stuck in the toilet for the longest time, another nurse came in and added more medicine up my arse. This nurse, on the other hand, was all business-like: came in, told me to lie on my side, lifted up hospital gown, stuck the thing into my arse and pulled it out, seemingly with no regard to the pain it caused.

After THAT I went to the toilet again. After a lot of moaning in pain and wanting to cry, more stuff got flushed from the bowels. But it was so bad, so fucking painful, that I came out and said, "That's it. If it's still not okay I'm not doing this anymore."

Maybe I should have said that the first time or something because it was finally okay, nevermind the fact that whatever crap I passed out barely resembled urine (which was what they were trying to achieve). But who was to complain? Certainly not I.

They wheeled me into the room with the relevant equipment. They put an oxygen tube into my nostrils and wrapped a piece of cloth around my arm to monitor my blood pressure. Then, when all that was done, they stuck a needle into my right hand, into one of the veins on the dorsal side. That, too? Hurt like a mad bitch. Best part was, unlike normal injections whereby the needle goes in and comes out, for that procedure, the needle stayed in. Purpose of that was to inject sedatives into my bloodstream so that I'd be asleep during the procedure. They also stuffed this plastic thing with a big hole into my mouth to keep my mouth open, since I'd be asleep during the procedure and everything.

I think I was asleep for a bit, but then, I suddenly regained consciousness when I felt that something wasn't quite right down there. I felt like emptying my bowels, and it was almost an uncontrollable urge. Then I realised - oh they're sticking a monitor into my ass right now. How pleasant.

It carried on for a bit with me in a drowsy state which I think no one noticed 'cause I wasn't moving around or anything. I kept hearing the doctor say "red", "patch", "patchy redness"; then, "A girl at such a young age shouldn't have this."

When that was done and the tube was taken out of my ass, which felt distinctly uncomfortable, the doctor came over to me and saw that I'd woken up. I think I said hi to her. She immediately administered more sedatives. I think I vaguely felt a tube going down my throat but that was all.

And then it was over. It took about an hour but it felt like less. When I was groggily waking up from the sedatives, the first word that came into my mind, which I almost muttered, was: "Muffin?"

Well, for whatever that's worth.

In any case, post-procedure was painfully boring. Stomach/intestine was still rumbling, urge to go to the loo was still there, didn't feel comfortable and therefore couldn't sleep. I watched Channel News Asia and ignored the urge. Some guy came with some food and water and that was the first thing I ate all day - some sandwich, at 3-ish in the afternoon. Ironic, right, that I was in there because of a gastric problem?

Anyway, they called my mom to talk to the doctor and I got whisked away immediately after that. I have to go back to see her at fucking 8.50 on Friday morning. Let's just say that I'm not super looking forward to it.

Basically I have no idea what's going on with my intestines. The "redness patch" whatever shit on the report tells me nothing. Stomach-wise, as predicted, I have gastritis and apparently I also have bile reflux, nevermind the fact that I hardly ever feel nauseous.

Oh well, it is what it is.

I'm eating now and my stomach, as always, isn't feeling great. My chest area now isn't feeling great. I'm not feeling great. The last thing I want to think about right now is work - how I have shit due tomorrow at 3, then at the end of the day, shit on which I haven't started. But I can't take the day off, primarily because I don't want to delay my call break, but also because I purely, simply cannot take the day off. Closing submission is due next Thursday. We're trying to finish it by Friday. I haven't finished the fucking research.

And I'm supposed to take a break how? I'm supposed to rest how? Maybe today's ordeal would end up being for naught; the constipation is going to come back FOR SURE, the minute I go home later than 7, and all that red patchy whatever nonsense is caused by the constipation.

Do I know what causes the constipation? No, I don't. Didn't get to see the doctor. I don't know what's going on. I don't know what can be done. I am sick and tired of feeling the discomfort in my stomach at 6 every single fucking day, despite the fact that I'm off all forms of caffeine. I am sick and tired of feeling bloated as fuck, with the tummy sticking out, every time after I eat, especially if I stay late in the office.

I am sick and tired of not knowing; sick and tired of being sick. I hate having this problem. It's not a one-time thing you can just discard with; it's something that stays with you. It's been with me for such a long time, and it's become such a big part of my day-to-day existence that I honestly cannot even remember when it started. My only time marking at the moment is 7 months, because Wei Chuen said I've been complaining about it ever since we got together.

Trust me though: it's way more than seven months. It's possibly a few years. It only became noticeable and a real problem when I started dating him and when I started work - the former because I always complain to him about it and also because we sometimes ate later than my usual time (which was no fault of his, may I emphasise; it just so happened that taxis take a while to get to places and food takes a while to get prepared and served) which threw up the problem even more, and the pretty much self-evident.

All I can say at this juncture: I CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE. The doctor better has some answers for me on Friday, a fucking cure, because I CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE. It's not fun to wake up in the morning with pain around the intestinal area (this happens especially on Monday mornings - coincidence? Think not), not fun to HAVE to eat at a certain time, not fun not to drink coffee, not fun to stay away from foods that I like, not fun to be bloated every. single. fucking. night. I swear, there hasn't been one night in recent memory that I haven't been bloated.

Perhaps the fact that it's a recurring issue that isn't rendering me half-dead on a hospital bed makes it seem trivial to some. But it's not trivial to me. It's a huge burden on my mind, especially when I have to work late. I just - I just wish it'd go away. I wish I didn't have to feel bloated every single time I finish a meal. I don't even know why that happens.

I don't know what the fuck is going on. Pretty upset now, as is rather obvious by the tone of this entry. And I accept I'm a self-serving bitch, but I need you, and the first person I wanted to see was you, and so I was hurt and angry.

Cookies for you later.


Need to shower. Have to reach work at 8.30; going for criminal mention. Well, that's an incentive at the very least.

No idea how the fuck I'm gonna finish the stuff due at 3 but I guess I'll figure it out, somehow.


I came home and watched the first set of the AO final before I went into my room and slept from 6.30 to 9.

I am still very, very tired right now.

Time to wash the crap off my ass.

Tags: australian open, chuck, gross, health, hospitals

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