I went to Gloucester Royal Hospital this morning for my colonoscopy and am delighted to report that I'm in the peak of health. One largish polyp was discovered and removed, and this has been sent for analysis, but the chances of it being cancerous are extremely remote. Its presence does, however, explain the source of bleeding detected on my last bowel screening test.
To say I'm relieved is an understatement, though the chances of anything serious being discovered were always low, not least because I had none of the other symptoms that one might associate with bowel cancer. But the relief doesn't stop there.
Starting yesterday and ending this morning, in preparation for the colonoscopy, I had to drink 4 litres of a strong laxative to clean out my bowel, and at least a further 3 litres of liquid to prevent dehydration. Several friends told me to expect violent, uncontrollable diarrhoea, but it really wasn't too bad. By the 4th litre of laxative, though, I was getting rather fed up with the taste, even with the addition of generous quantities of lime juice.
I had been strongly advised by friends to accept the offer of mild sedation during the examination. One lady I heard of said that she nodded off completely; others described a sense of detached euphoria. And me? Well the sedation must have worked since I felt nothing uncomfortable as my bowel was probed, but I was chatting with the surgeon and nurse throughout, and contentedly watching the camera view on the monitor.
I freely admit to being worried when that first letter arrived from the bowel screening unit, advising me of the abnormal result. I coped with this by writing about it here and by sharing my 'news' with friends and family. In doing so I discovered that most other folk are far more secretive, so only now do I know that three people at church, and even my sister-in-law and her husband, have also failed the dreaded poo test and had colonoscopies. Perhaps, for those of my vintage, one might even call it a right of passage!
It's a while since I've posted here but I wish you to know, dear reader, that I have not been idle. Flushed with the success of my bricklaying exploits, and with the lounge still resembling a building site, I've decided to tear apart the bathroom.
This time I'm letting the professionals do the really hard work, such as removing the old bath, WC and wash hand basin, and installing new ones. I shall content myself with a spot of wiring and with re-decorating the one wall that is not going to be clad in snazzy (and rather expensive) bathroom panels. But a stripper I shall never be! The kind person who papered the wall, also painted it with gloss paint, and it's the very devil to remove as no amount of soaking with Angie's specially formulated wallpaper stripper will permeate the gloss. So I've resorted to scoring the wall with a surform, soaking it all in the aforementioned specially formulated solution, then attacking it, inch by inch, with a scraper.
The person who first attached this solidified pulp to my bathroom walls foolishly wrote his name on the wall, and today it saw the light of day once more. And so, H.W.Temble, a thousand curses on your balding head! No, no - that's unfair. You're probably a really nice guy, but you'll surely understand if I don't repaint your wall gloss pink.
