Lights, Camera, Action

 As frustration mounted (I was tired of being sick and tired), I arrived at the new GI’s, feeling hopeful that this “seasoned” GI would listen to me, document that I had a family history of GI blues (dad had Ulcerative Colitis) and ready me for invasive testing. I was ready to excavate the issue and deal, by then the fissure was growing worse, weight falling off, cramps and weakness/brain fog setting in from lack of nourishment. It’s a blessing I had graduated college by then!

GI #2 was jovial, made me feel at ease with his “behind” jokes and we developed a rapport. At first, I felt confident with the validity of the online ratings; the doctor sat down with me, jotted notes, asked questions and helped me feel less desperate. After a long discussion about my symptoms, I asked him to perform a colonoscopy, I was going for the big guns, my water pistol was empty and I had nothing to lose. With chagrin, I realized that this sheriff was pouring from an empty well. He downright refused to perform a colonoscopy, his years of wisdom told me that I was “too young” to have a colonoscopy or any GI related issues. I was 35.

GI #2 went so far as to sit me down in front of a T.V. to watch a video (yes, it was a VHS, horrors) of what happens during a colonoscopy, instructing me that upon completion of this baseless nugget of a persuasion tactic, I would not pursue this nonsensical test any further. Why I didn’t run out the door at that point carrying my parched pistol and an arm full of luxe exam gowns is beyond me. I sat. I watched. I wasted more precious time in this diabolical extrapolation.

As the video concluded, the lights darkened and the Rocky theme played softly in the distance (or was that Dueling Banjo’s)? With a lit stage, GI#2 waltzed into the room, as if on queue, quite chuffed with himself, smiling from ear to ear with apparent self-validation, not asking, but reassuring himself, I mean me, that no, I did not want this life saving procedure. I mean, who wants to help themselves these days anyway? I left his display, called Paul, who, being from Buffalo, had a creative way of expressing himself at this latest superstar solo parade. I fired that GI.

They say the third time is the charm. GI#3 appeared on the scene (minus show tunes, I half expected us to join hands for a sing along with prompts). Before we proceeded with show and tell, I told this GI that he either needed to perform a colonoscopy on me, or I was walking. I did not need to waste my time or his. At that point, I survived on Ensure and Muscle Milk. Had someone attempted a commercial about me – combining and proclaiming both drink products, I’m not sure where they would’ve begun.

G3 did an exam, asked lots of questions and the next week I was in his office, hunkered on one side, surrounded by scrubbed, smiling staff, about to have “a light run up my tail”. That is a borrowed quote for another time. That portion of my anatomy apparently reached stardom, as it was the first of many subsequent gazing’s; I always wonder if the GI directs such adventures with “lights, camera, action.”

G3 clued me into the widely known among the GI community, knowledge of what a fissure represents. Apparently, my appearance, symptoms, family history and the fissure made an impact on this caring, educated GI who did more than test well in school. I was diagnosed with not only Colitis, but it’s mean cousin, Crohn’s Disease. A double whammy. I was a lucky girl.

Needless to say, I could’ve passed while waiting for the first two physicians to figure out what they should’ve recognized first attempt, and perhaps did. I had a good insurance plan at that time and you can figure out the rest.

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