However, I'm warning readers now, if you have a sensitive stomach or don't want to have TMI stop reading now and know that I recovered fine. For the rest of you...read on.
Since the commencement of this blog I have talked about getting healthy, losing 25 pounds, doing the Boulder, Boulder, etc. Overall, after almost two months in I feel very proud of my progress and my new lifestyle changes. I figured all is well in Abbey's Little Life.
However, on Wednesday of last week I experienced the most painful bowel movement, well attempted bowel movement, of my life. After an excruciating drive to Albertsons for Magnesium Citrate and (I can't believe I'm typing this) an enema, I returned home. I did as instructions noted and to my very worst fear it became even more painful, without result, than before. After multiple calls to my husband (remember he's out on rotations), we decide that my only option is to go to the ER. Being too shameful to call anyone I know, I conjure up the strength to drive myself.
When I arrive at the ER I can see a waiting line. Because I had been admitted to the ER last November when I threw my back out (I sound like a disaster, I know), I was prepared for the never-ending questions...
"Are you pregnant?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because my husband is out of town on rotations."
"...And you're being a good girl." (This woman thinks she's hilarious)
"I have to ask you suicide risk questions now. I suppose you wouldn't inflict this sort of situation on yourself so we'll skip that question. Is someone hurting you?"
"No."
"Have you hurt yourself in past, etc., etc."
"No. No. No."
"Okay you can go to the next room and they'll take your insurance information."
I arrive in the next room where a really nice maybe 20-year-old takes my information and informs me, "It's a good thing you didn't come up here an hour ago, there would have been seven other people ahead of you waiting for a bed. Instead there's only two." I think to myself, how comforting.
I sit in the waiting room for an hour and forty minutes. At this point I seriously think I am going to die. Tears are streaming down my face, I'm emotionally exhausted and in an ER waiting room. alone.
Once I finally get to an ER exam room, they shuffle me off to get an X-ray. I'm thinking to myself that I'm not sure what they are hoping to see; last time I checked poop was not the same as bone and wouldn't show up on an X-Ray. Later Dan informed me that they very well could see bowel obstructions and impactions on an X-ray and they also might have been taking the X-Ray to make sure I didn't swallow a light bulb, golf ball, or other object.
Obviously I hadn't swallowed anything but food so the doctor performs an exam and discovers that I am suffering from a bowel impaction. If you're not familiar with a bowel impaction, let me educate you.
Bowel impaction: solid, immobile bulk of human feces that can develop in the rectum as a result of chronic constipation.
When I hear the doctor say impaction and chronic constipation, I am in disbelief. I'm a healthy 26-year-old who works out, drinks plenty of water, has a healthy diet and I don't have constipation; I just have a slow digestive system.
Well... turns out pooping one-two times per week constitutes chronic constipation. No idea... that's how I've always been so I figured it was normal. If you're reading this and are only pooping 1-2 per week...one word: Miralax. Get on it, and start pooping once a day.
I warning anyone who has felt nauseous up to this point to stop reading. I'm not even joking.
So this news comes as a complete surprise to me because I didn't feel bloated, sick, constipated or anything up to this evening. I felt like the girls on "I didn't know I was pregnant" whom I frequently criticize and say they were just being in denial. Perhaps there are times when you really don't know what the heck is going on with your own body.
Not only did I get this horribly embarrassing diagnosis but the worst is yet to come. The treatment...
Treating a fecal impaction involves removing the impacted stool. Most often manual disimpaction is performed WITHOUT general anesthesia although sedation may be used. The mass may have to be broken up by hand. This is called manual removal:
- A health care provider will need to insert one or two fingers into the rectum and slowly break up the mass into smaller pieces so that it can come out.
- This process must be done in small steps to avoid causing injury to the rectum.
If you're still here with me, you're a champ. I want to vomit just re-reading that. So, manual removal is my treatment plan. It's now 10:45pm and they've told me I need to call someone to pick me up.
Who do you call at 10:45pm, during tax season, and ask for a ride home? Thankfully our good friend Aaron was still awake and willing to come get me.
The ER Doctor tells me that while I can't have general anesthesia I should be so sedated that I should not feel or remember anything. I breathe a sigh of relief.
The nurse gives me 100xx (I don't know the units) of Fentanyl. For those of you non Rx-ers out there, Fentanyl is 100 times stronger than morphine. Wowza. Then in a half hour they dose me full of a benzodiazepine (Valium) and begin the procedure.
Please remember the Doctor said I would be so sedated I wouldn't remember anything. Well, let me tell you he was a lying sack of shit. I felt EVER-Y-THING. He seemed startled by my wincing reaction and instructs the nurse to give me another 100xx of Fentanyl. While the pain subsides a twinge, I am fully conscious, aware, humiliated and in extreme agony.
After what seems likes forever, the procedure ends. To my horror, I get another enema and have to poop in a commode. Once that is all finished I do feel a million times better. Upon my discharge I am told that for the rest of my life I get to take Miralax.
I hear the drug Miralax and think I might as well start watching the Golden Girls and eating prunes all day....
I get released from the hospital at around 1:00ish and Aaron drives me home. I'm feeling good and hope to go to work the next day without having to admit to many people what has happened.
Again, to my disbelief, I wake up to realize I'm suffering from the worst hangover of my life.
Turns out I'm "narcotic naive" and don't metabolize pain meds very well. Hmm.. there's a shocker since it took twice as much fentanyl as it should have for me to still feel everything. This also sparks my memory that when I threw my back out that they had to give me high levels of percocet to aid the pain.
This ridiculous hangover confirmed I'll never be a pain-pill addict. The side effects of these stupid drugs then lasted for two days and included horrible nausea and vomiting.
Today (Saturday) is the first day I have felt like a human and am please to admit that Miralax is a wonderfully effective supplement to take... in fact, I've already pooped. :o)
