Empty

Empty Two words, so innocuous...

Two words, so explosive...

"Bowel Preparation"

Three pages of instructions.

Three. Pages.

Items to purchase:

• Miralax in large bottle (8.3 ounces or 238 grams)
• 4 Ducolax or bisacodyl tablets (5 milligram tablets)
• Large, 64-ounce bottle of sports drink, such as Gatorade (Are there small, 64-ounce bottles?)

A small list. But they forgot the most important thing you need. Think about it...

One week before your test (Oops, might should have read this earlier.):

• Do not take aspirin products or iron tablets (check)
• Do not take fiber supplements like Metamucil, Circel, or Fiberall (I'm regular as clockwork, thanks for asking, so no need for such shenanigans!)
• Do not eat popcorn or any corn (Dodged a bullet there, my annual piece of corn on the cob was in July. Seriously. Once a year—it's about all I can stand. Now, there's nothing here about corn chips, thank the gods. Me likey me some corn chippies...)

So, don't do anything that makes you bleed, poop, or poop small, yellow bits that remind you that you didn't chew really, really well.

On the Day Before Your Test

Drink only clear liquids. Avoid all red or purple colored liquids. Do not eat any solid food or milk products until your test is done.

This is no big deal. The list of options is straightforward. The only problem is the whole red/purple thing. Gatorade and likesuch products are icky. The only flavor I like is grape. Grape is purple. Fek.

Clear liquids:

• Water
• Strained fruit juices (no pulp)
• Popsicles
• Ice
• Soft drinks
• Gatorade
• Clear broth or bouillon
• Jello
• Kool Aid (oh yeahhhh)
• Coffee or tea (no milk or cream)

It's a manageable list. I was glad to see that "ice" is on the same list as "water" and "popsicles". (Am I being too snarky?) The one surprise is coffee. So, red or purple is out, brown is in. And it's a poop-stimulant, too! So, if I start the day with a nice, big cuppa...

My Day

I had a bunch of things to do the morning of my preparation. A lot of paperwork, phone calls, work work, stuff.

I savored a large Dunkin' Donuts half-caf, half-decaf black. I drank white grape juice. I consumed water. I was hydrated. I peed lots.

And I had sympathetic poops, or nervous poops, or preparatory poops, or whatever-it-is-you-call-the-poops-that-poop-when-you're-nervous-and-about-to-perform-on-stage-or-in-competition-poops-that-don't-really-satisfy-but-empty-you-enough-to-do-that-voodoo-that-you-are-preparing-to-do.

And it was OK.

But I don't live in a vacuum, lonely though I am. 

There was a problem with the littlest angel. In short, she banged her tailbone on Sunday, and she was in a lot of discomfort. She had had a great Sunday night's sleep, but she was stiff in the morning, and she was having some trouble sitting.

I had given her ibuprofen and something soft to sit upon, but (and you parents out there already know where this is going...) after stopping by the school to give her more medicine, I saw the dark circles under her eyes, heard the voice, and decided she was coming home with me.

Thus, I was doing daddy duty at the start of doing doody duty.

Sigh...

Before tucking the angel in for a nap, I swallowed the "4 Ducolax or bisacodyl tablets (5 milligram tablets)". Just prior to doing so, I read the box (I know, crazy...). "Adults take one to three tablets as needed for relief of constipation." One to three. I just took four. This oughta be interesting...

Angel tucked, I waited an hour, listening in on meetings (I love it when they don't know I'm there!) and began step two:

Mix the Miralax in a 64-ounce bottle of Gatorade or other clear liquid of choice. Cap the bottle and shake the bottle to dissolve the powder. Most people prefer to drink the liquid chilled so you may want to place it in the refrigerator.

I'm glad that it told me to cap the bottle...

Oh, hey now, what's...oh, boy, here we go...

It seems that shaking bottles is, er, stimulating...

I spoke with the littlest angel's mother, and we worked out a plan for taking the sweetie to the doctor. She was resting well, but we knew from experience that tailbones are notorious for pain and discomfort. We knew she wouldn't want to do any physical education at school, but we needed a doctor's note to support that. So, somehow, some way, I needed to try to control myself just enough to drive her to the doctor.

But I could not stop the process...on to step three:

Start to drink the Miralax. Drink one glass every 10 to 15 minutes. Drink it quickly rather than sipping small amounts because it does not taste that good. Finish drinking the liquid in 2 hours. Be sure to drink all of the liquid.

The author of the instructions really does not like commas...

Because you asked, Orange was the flavor I chose. (Actually it had some stupid marketing name like "Citrus Blast", but it was orange colored and tasted vaguely like oranges. And who gets paid to come up with those asinine names? I'm just happy we have moved beyond "extreme" everything. I'm not sure my bowels could have handled an "Extreme Citrus Blast".)

I drank. I drank some more. I clickityclacked. I drank some more.

Time passed. My alarm rang. Time to take her to the doctor. I stood. My stomach lurched. Actually, it "gglurched", which is an odd mashup of "gurgle" and "lurch", and then it settled. Sort of. I had the very real sensation that I had a ticking time bomb in my stomach.

We loaded up into the car and headed to the doctor. Gglurch.

We got to the doctor and checked in. Gglurch. Gglurch.

I spied the bathroom. But it was all in my stomach. It didn't feel like it had moved down yet, so I was hopeful. Gglurch.

Smiles, kisses with eldest little angel. Talk with their mother. Hug the LAs. Gglurch.

Goodnights. Gglurch. Gglurch.

Drive home. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch.

Walk in. No gglurch.

Huh?

I drank the remaining mix. I cleaned up the house. I was heading up the stairs...

Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. RRRRUUUUUSSSShhhhhhhhh.

It left my stomach. Flush. Flush.

Window open? check


Big-ass fan on? check

Toilet paper? Erp?

Toilet paper? Fek.  

A small list. But they forgot the most important thing you need. Think about it...

It seems that I finished the roll during my nervous-poop, and I was so brain-dead that I failed to replace it.

So, here I was, mudflow man, lacking the SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT THING I NEEDED!

The wave passed. Actually, several waves passed of varying duration and intensity.

I engaged in "creative problem solving".

Dressed, I got my keys and wallet, puckered my pooper, and drove to the store.

Have you ever noticed That Guy walking through the store who looks...uncomfortable? He might be a little bent or shuffling. Maybe he sweat-glistens, a grimace on his face. If you listen, you might hear some grunt, or hum, or some other prehistoric sound—something that long pre-dates language, primal.

That guy was me.

I don't actually remember much. All higher functions were suppressed to serve my intense, waterproof focus.

I shopped. I paid. I drove. I got home.

Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. Gglurch. RRRRUUUUUSSSShhhhhhhhh.

Flush. Flush.

Jeeezus, I think my soul just passed through me...

And so it continued.

I got cold. Really cold. T-shirt, sweatshirt, fleece vest, fleece jacket cold.

I got hungry...strangely. I poured a container of chicken stock into a pot and heated it, while I packed for the journey north. I drank the hot stock. It tasted marvelous. I felt it flow down my throat, warming me. I felt it in my stomach, warm, comforting. I was happy. I felt it move...south. Warm, but a little alarming. And it moved down and over and up and over and down and over and... RRRRUUUUUSSSShhhhhhhhh.

Made it. And I had plenty of toilet paper.


It's alarming, knowing you're pooping but hearing sounds like you're peeing.

I was peeing out my arse.

Lovely.

In-between sessions, I drank grape juice or water. At some point I sensed a rhythm, a correlation... Every time I drank, I pooped. It was like drinking beer. When you "rent" beer, you know you will pee—it is what it is. When you drink water, you don't expect to pee from your arse. And that's what bowel prep does: it makes you pee out your arse.

I finished packing and got into bed, clothes on. I was still cold to the core, and I didn't trust myself to not crap myself.

My instructions told me to not drink anything after midnight, so I wanted to make sure I was sufficiently hydrated after my hours-long purge. I continued to drink water, but it sent me to the throne every time.

I slept. I woke with a start, rushing to the throne room. Is this the way it was going to go all night?

Yes.

I slept. I rushed.

I slept. I rushed.

I slept. And the alarm blared all-too soon. 0400. Time to... RRRRUUUUUSSSShhhhhhhhh.

Made it.

And I still had plenty of toilet paper.

And it was done. I showered, dressed, and headed for the train.

And that, Honest Reader, is where I am now, clickityclacking away.

On my way for another biopsy. Hopeful. Nervous. Empty.  

What will be will be what will be.
I got this.