Scoping Things Out

This is what Hubs' entire day of meals looked like yesterday.

Delishy.

An assortment of liquid diet yumminess, accompanied by enough laxative treatments to drain an elephant, chased down by enough Gatoraid to turn his blood into sugary sap. Oh. And some beef broth for added measure. (Side note: I made the Jello completely by myself. Impressive, right?)
This poor fella. He'd been dreading/looking forward to this day for quite some time now. As if enduring starvation wasn't quite enough, he also has to go through the humiliation of being violated by cameras peeking within the darkest corners of his loins. (Oh, the disgrace of it all.) Being the realistic person that he is, though, he could care less about all that. He's just hoping having an endoscopy/colonoscopy will shed light on some unanswered health issues. (But...for his sake I truly do hope they change or at the very least clean the camera equipment before exiting one orifice and entering another. Just sayin'.) Needless to say, he is now fully flushed clean. Perhaps more than he desired. 

As long as we've been married Hubs has struggled with some sort of intestinal/digestion issue. He doesn't like to talk about it much; it's a bit of a dark, lingering cloud that he can't seem to escape. And he certainly doesn't like to complain. I've watched him try various medications, various diets, and go through various tests...with no answers as to why he struggles so. The battle is daily. It's selective of the foods he can consume. Restrictive of the activities he can participate in. And bestows pain and discomfort on him daily. While we've known all this from the beginning...it hasn't always made it any easier to cope with. And with the increasing demands, busyness and stresses of life, it's made things more challenging, in fact. People may not understand just how life-altering living with a chronic illness is. And, although undiagnosed, and most likely not even life-threatening, his symptoms are very real. Even I cannot presume to know all that he goes through, but I can see the affects from his long, tired fight. And so, beginning the process of a series of testing has actually been a welcomed thing.

Early this morning, before the sun even rose, his good friend pulled in the driveway to take him to his date with destiny.  His buddy texted me from the hospital this morning to let me know he survived the IV placement. (His biggest hurdle in the entire even. He may or may not have an intensely strong fear of needles after passing out once having blood drawn.) And I received the call within an hour that he was finished and attempting to get dressed in recovery. I was admittedly sad that I wouldn't get to experience Hubs under the influence of strong sedatives. (Does that make me a bad wife? Because he still gets a chuckle recalling me coming out of sedation after having my wisdom teeth removed. And that was 16 years ago...) 

While they were traveling the hour long drive home, Hubs' friend called and handed the phone over to him. Hubs informed me that he was recruited by NASA for an Apollo 13 mission. I gave him permission for launch. (He claims no recollection of this, of course.) They finally arrived home, and as I watched Hubs stumble through the door I gasped a little. The front of his pants were all wet. But to my relief, his buddy informed me that he had not, in fact, peed his pants...he fell asleep in the car holding a can of ginger ale. (After stating that he was pretty sure he could have driven himself home. I'm suspect that if he couldn't handle his can of soda, he probably wouldn't have mastered a Suburban very well, either.) 

Daddy...and one of his trusty sidekicks.

He promptly laid himself on the couch, and the girls gathered round, eyes wide in anticipation of the "Daddy on drugs show". (I know...we're terrible people.) They were not disappointed. Like a dementia-ridden, sweet old man, he recycled stories every three minutes. Almost like clockwork. It was comparable to a never-ending scene from Groundhog Day. After a half an hour of this, he noticed everyone would smile when he began talking. "Have I said this already?" he would ask. "Yes. You're on your fifth time now," we would reply. I walked our friend to the door to bid him farewell, and when I returned my attention to Hubs, he was undressed down to his underwear. Our girls were all giggly nervous and I gasped, "Ummm, hun? Whatcha doing?" "Just changing my pants." I grabbed clean pants and kept a cautious eye on him before things got beyond a PG level. Poor fella. All the jokes were at his expense, and he was completely oblivious. I read through his paperwork and saw that he had strict orders to not operate heavy machinery for the day, or sign legal paperwork. To which I quickly had a million and one devious thoughts run rampantly through my imagination. (Oh, the trouble I could get myself into.) When I saw his eyes growing heavy, I honed myself back to reality and decided it was time to tuck him into bed. (Last night was a pretty rough sleep for him, thanks to the copious amounts of laxatives. I should know....he told me all about it today. Seven times, in fact.) I helped him up the stairs, tucked him in, and was transported momentarily in time to ponder if this is what life is going to look like in 15 years or so.

He slept a bit of the afternoon away, and when he woke up was much more lucid. (Although, Groundhog Day continued, as he had forgotten the things he previously told us when he first arrived home. ) Needless to say, we're glad to have him back. Mind in tact and all.
Now to see what the next test in this journey may be...