18 April 2011

How violating

I'm done with the enema and have decided to do just about anything to avoid having another one. Yep, it was that awful. I wondered as I whimpered why I couldn't hear other patients screaming. Did they find it as horrible as I did? At one point I was crying but was so dehydrated from the laxatives that I had no tears. The technician and doctor had to tell me multiple times to slow my breathing down as I was panicking and damn near hyperventilating. It was the longest 20 minutes of my life.

What I didn't know before I went in was that a tube would be inserted into my bum (ok, I knew that part) and then a balloon would be inflated to keep the barium inside. The balloon was the single most uncomfortable feeling in my life and I've had two babies. Once the tube with the balloon were inserted, the balloon was inflated just inside the canal. I suspect there is a bundle of nerve endings right there that gives the signal to push the waste out. I know from experience that when waste hits that bit there is no stopping the motion of expulsion. Unless there's a balloon there to plug things up. Then my entire being was screaming to push it out and doing my best not to push was excruciating. And then the barium was pumped in.

Actually, that part really wasn't so bad at all. It was room temperature and I felt full, but the balloon was taking up all my attention. Even injecting some air in there after letting a bit of the barium out wasn't too bad. A little crampy but nothing compared to the balloon doughnut. Moving around as asked was unbelievably horrendous because my body would shift around the balloon creating a fresh and new Hell.

After we were done the technician released more barium back into the bag before removing the balloon and tube. As much as that hurt because my bum was raw and sore from constant wiping and expelling every last bit of fluid in me, it was a relief to have it gone. I was then taken to a washroom to finish getting rid of most of the barium myself. Another relief. Going into the washroom I caught sight of myself in the mirror and briefly wondered what was on the front/side of my gown. Then I realized it was my boob. I am too short for the design of the gown and it must have gaped open at the ties. The technician and doctor may have been flashed by my 41 year old boobie during the procedure. Probably the least sexy way to see boobs.

I almost don't care what the results are as long as I never have to do that again. Not ever in my lifetime.

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