subtle messages

Today was already a busy day when the phone rang this morning.

Could I please come in to see my specialist (who was taking it slow after her illness and could only work short hours) at 1:45 today.

Yup. Dropped everything and went to Brandon. After, of course, checking in at the "celebration of learning" translation: open house/show and tell at the elementary school. And returning to drop my children off with my sister-in-law who was welcoming as she thought she could get something done with them occupying my nephew. I'll refer you to facebook to see the photos - she didn't get a lot done, I'm guessing.

I'm still fighting that flare-up. I have discovered things:

#1 - I don't do well without coffee, but have cut down to two cups per day maximum. And that is my only caffeine intake.
#2 - If I sleep when I'm tired, I have a better day the next day. Yes, I'm almost 35, and I finally figured that out. But seriously, if I can hit the hay at 8 p.m., I can almost function the next day. Too bad the kids don't go to bed until 8:30.
#3 - Imodium is a coping mechanism. And it can be swallowed without water, although you have to watch the gagging. That's embarrassing.
#4 - Things that are more embarrassing than choking on your imodium include ordering a baked potato for supper and only drinking water. Expensive restaurant - my bill: $2.52. I tipped really well.

Anyway, my appointment. My doctor sat there with an IV shunt sticking out of her hand and told me that I had lovely bowels. That was surreal in itself. She told me my pictures were "perfect". I'm so proud.

Yet, I explained, I still have pain, and I still have nasty problems with eating. So, after asking me to describe my movements (another moment where I'm glad I am a mom - when did you pay attention to your last BM? And do you have the words to describe it?) she started writing on her little lab sheet. Then the doctor suggested that she wanted an MRI of my pancreas (congratulations, you will now go through another MRI, on another part of your body...) and would like to get that capsule endoscopy done.

Now, she says, if all of these come back clean, we'll have to call it IBS. At this point, I interjected with "and I suffer" - but no, apparently I get better. She believes this has all been triggered by some strange infection last year - like 2007 - which will go away if my lining ever heals up. She weighed me (I'm down a bit, but not into the "underweight" category quite yet) and I wandered down the hall to get my blood work done at the clinic lab.

The receptionist nicely informed me that I couldn't get all of those tests done there, and would have to go to the hospital to get them. Oh. I mentioned that I was from out of town, she suggested that my local lab could help me better. Oh.

So, I went down to my car, dialed my cellphone to my local lab (long distance, of course) and started reading off all of the tests on the little sheet. To the lab receptionist. Who finally clued in and turned me over to a lab tech. Kim informed me that they had to order most of the stuff to do the tests from Brandon and that we'd save everyone some time if I just walked across the street and got them to start them. I thanked her, watched as my doctor winced and grimaced as she got into her car right across from mine and went to the hospital. Behind my doctor, who I think might actually have been a patient.

Anyway, the poor lab receptionist at the hospital had to call for technical assistance on this laundry list of tests that they ran. So I eventually got brought into the little room, they took my blood, and then I was presented with three orange biohazard bags. Full. Of containers. That I had to fill. And then they explained how I had to fill these containers.

I looked at the poopie one. It has a fill line. And if you go over that, apparently it becomes messy when they centrifuge it. Don't think about that. I think that might be the worst job ever. But I asked for another paint-like pail, just in case. I wouldn't want to make the poop-centrifuge-operator's job worse. The lab technicians told me not to return it if I don't use it...

But then they put it in another orange biohazard bag. So I got to leave the hospital, by the spiffy, main, front doors, carrying four large orange biohazard bags. That's a subtle exit, hunh?