Dr. D-- the 'patient'

Two weeks ago my husband came home and said, "Well, I made an appointment with Sklow for next week."

"Okay," I say, "Isn't he the weird colorectal doc?"

"Yes. It feels like I am pooping glass and two of my stools today were painted with blood." (Yes, if you are thinking this is too much information, so was I.) He elaborates furthur, "Yeah, I would look at my own anus if I could, but I can't, so Sklow will have to do the dirty work." If you are picturing my wonderful husband bent over backward trying to look in between his legs, I am sorry, but I guarantee he tried it. To no avail. Thus, the appointment.

Fast forward one week (last week). D calls me at 4:00 PM on Wednesday. "I'm in the waiting room at Sklow's clinic. I gave myself an enema an hour ago-- that was weird." He added some more, but I will spare you the details. He calls me back at 5:00, "Bad news: Sklow couldn't find the source of my blood, I really thought he'd find a fissure. To be safe, I've got to do a colonoscopy."

I'm thinking, 'A Colonoscopy? On a 30-year-old?' but say, "That stinks. Literally-- that STINKS."

So today was the big day. D worked out his schedule to get today off (why was that so 'easy' when it is impossible to get weddings, holidays, or other such events off?) Last night involved lots of cramps for D and quick runs (no pun intended) to the bathroom. I left for an hour in the evening and when I came back the kids explained to me that Dad was going to have a camera in his bum tomorrow. (thank you so much for being so open with the kids). I mentioned to a neighbor that D was getting his colonoscopy today and he said, "Oh, I need one too." (he's about 50). Later that night, the kids told Dad that Gordon (our neighbor) was also going to get a camera in his bum, so Dad wouldn't be alone.

This morning I woke up to the kids talking with Dad in the bathroom. D is sitting on the toilet, giving them a play-by-play of what he was doing, "Did you hear that? It sounded like pee, but it wasn't pee, it came from my bum. It is liquid poo (Eliza adds, "Ewwww."). I walk into the bathroom and say, "Twins, what are you doing? Give Dad some privacy."

D defends them, "It's okay, they were just curious and I was explaining to them what was happening." Since when did a Dad who was on the toilet, experiencing the effects of osmotic diarrhea have to explain this to a 5-year-old? "Get out, kids!" I say, and give D 'the look.' You know, 'the look'-- a mixture of disdain, with the eyes rolling (secretly trying not to chuckle at my dorky husband). When D emerges from the bathroom he announces, "Well, the phosphosoda has done its job: my poops are completely liquid and completely clear."

We arrived at the hospital just after 10:30 and left at 1:30 (3 hours--nearly all of it was wait-time.) D was like, "I don't get what the big deal is about waiting-- you get to just sit there and watch T.V." Poor guy apparently doesn't get enough sitting time in his life unless it involves a mandatory colonoscopy-- ah, the injustices of being a surgeon-in-training. He said the experience was not bad at all--he didn't remember anything and woke up feeling "refreshed" (meaning the anesthesia makes you feel well-rested). He was also STARVING because he couldn't eat anything solid yesterday or for breakfast today, and all food particles in his system were, ahem, flushed away last night.

The verdict: he was clear, polyp and cancer-free! We assume that the source of his "glass poops" and blood in his stools was a quickly healing fissure (think the cracks on the edge of your mouth when it gets dry, only LOWER)? I used the excuse of Dad recovering and got take-out for lunch and dinner. During dinner the kids asked if he still had a camera in his bum . . . .