I need you to help me out here. I'm going to tell a tale that borders on the disgusting. I'm going to try to do it with some delicacy and grace.
Here's what I need you to do.
Imagine my lower gastrointestinal tract is an annoying little boy. Named Colin. Pronounced just like the "Colin" in "Colin Powell." Okay. Okay? Are you with me? Now I can tell this story.
--------------- The Adventures of Colin Bowel --------------
So, I only see my my little friend Colin once a week. He used to come around a lot more often (in fact to an annoying degree) but since I've been taking the antidepressants and Betaseron, not so much. Most of the time he's dead to the world. He doesn't bother me at all (I mean AT ALL) except for once a week.
Then, once a week, Colin will wake up and make his presence known. And when he's awake he is quite the hyper child. He can move. He does all the moving in one hour that most other little boys (named Colin) do in a week. In fact, once Colin slept for thirteen days. That was his personal best. Then he woke up, spent an hour taking care of business, exhausted himself, zonked out, and I didn't hear from him for another week. That's how he is. Either he's comatose or he's making up for lost time. He'll wind up by getting ahead of schedule too, even if things aren't quite ready, then he's out for the next seven days.
Some people might not like this arrangement, but I find it quite convenient. In fact, the day for Colin's weekly visits has been Thursday for the past two months, and I was surprised I did not see him yesterday.
I tried to coax him awake this morning with a grande cappuccino and a baked egg souffle. "Colin," I whispered urgently, "I made this Gynecologist appointment for today because I expected you Thursday. You need to pay me a visit before my appointment at 10:30, otherwise I will be very inconvenienced."
"ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz," Colin snored.
"Well allrighty then," I sighed, "Just so you know I can't spend any time with you from 10:30 till 11 or so."
"ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz."
At 10:20. I said my farewells at work.
"Where you off to?" Hot Mom asked.
"The doctor."
"The MS doctor?"
"Nope," (long pointed look at Manbitch) "The...other doctor." My face added: The one we do not speak of in front of the males because, I don't know, we don't want them to have the mental image of us in stirrups.
"Ahhhhh," Hot Mom said. "I seeeeeee."
"It won't take long," I added, "Just in and out." Bwah! Yuk yuk yuk.
I was in the waiting room at 10:30 when Colin tugged on my skirt. "Hey!" he said.
"Colin, I don't have time for you right now."
"Hey, come on, I'm awake. Let's do something."
"Well, I would if you were quick about it, but I know if we start anything you'll take a half hour."
"Pleeeease" he grunted.
"I don't have time. You'll have to wait."
There was a brief pause.
Colin tugged on my skirt.
"Hey," he said. "Pay attention to me!"
I hopped up and asked the receptionist if the doctor was running on time. "Yes, he'll be right with you." So, he was out of luck, and in a moment Colin and I were in an exam room. Colin tried to pester me while the nurse took my blood pressure, but I ignored him. And like a fool, I believed her when she repeated the doctor would be right in.
"Hear that, Colin? He'll be right in. Then I can spend some time with you."
Colin, however, did not calm down, and during the next HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES I SPENT WAITING IN THE EXAM ROOM he was fidgeting, squirming, rolling, and asking if it was time to leave every five seconds. I tried sitting perfectly still with my hands gripped in fists. It took all my focus.
"Hey," he said, punching me in the gut. "I have a present for you."
"Stop bugging me! We are staying here. I can't pay attention to you right now."
"How 'bout if we go, just for a minute, and then come back?"
"I'm not falling for that. You get started, you get into it, and then you stop paying attention and frankly, your work gets very rushed and sloppy."
There was a moment's silence.
"Hey."
Sigh. "What?"
"See that can over there that says 'biohazardaous waste?'"
"DON'T even think it. Don't EVEN go there. You settle down. I'm not budging."
Finally the doctor showed up and gave me a pelvic exam. Colin wasn't happy when the doctor pressed on my belly, but he knew that meant it was almost our Special Time. (My doctor, if you are wondering, did not try to tickle Colin directly, since we are not old enough to deserve that special attention.)
Finally it was over. I dressed in a heartbeat and marched solidly down the hall to the restroom. Which was....occupied.
"Whhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Colin screamed.
"Shush. There's another one across the parking lot. Hang in there another ... ten minutes, okay?" It was only a two minute hike across the lot, but sometimes you have to lie to Colin and fake him out, otherwise he gets all excited.
At any rate, once we made it there I spent a good thirty minutes of Quality Time with Colin and gave him my full attention. He romped and played. We were both pretty tired after. I'm a little jealous, I had to go back to work and Colin gets to sleep for another week.
Thirteen days?!?! Girl, that is just not right. Eat broccoli. Eat apples and/or applesauce. Drink a lot of water. But thirteen days just scares me.
Posted by: Becs | June 23, 2007 at 07:23 AM
This is tooo funny... and btw? Colin must have a twin 'cause he lives with me. *sigh*
Posted by: sue | June 23, 2007 at 08:18 AM
AW. Good story! I echo Becs: "THIRTEEN DAYS???" That's painful to just...consider....let alone endure. I wish there was something that could be done about it -- sounds like you've tried all of "Nature's Pushbrooms" already! :(
Posted by: Erin G. | June 23, 2007 at 01:01 PM
I'm glad to see you've anthropomorphized your lower intestinal tract as you have done for your derriere. To give both Gladys and Colin more quality time together, I might suggest losing the Gulag diet and eating more fruit and vegetables or get Benefiber.
Posted by: Friend #3 | June 23, 2007 at 03:22 PM
Becs - Yeah, I was a little surprised that thirteen days shocked the neurologist too. He knows people with MS don't "go," since the "go" nerve is one of the first to ... uh ... go. He said if its been more than eight days, do something about it. He didn't recommend food or Metamucil, he seemed to prefer more direct methods.
sue - Twin Colins! Separated at birth?
Erin G - Doesn't hurt at all. The "go" nerve must be the same nerve as the "I am so uncomfortable" nerve. Wakes up on Thursdays.
Friend #3 - You know, Gladys and Colin are pretty close already. Diana and Daphne, on the other hand, are just looking down on the whole thing with distaste.
As I am now. I am such a dirty girl, hoarding all my e-Coli. On the other hand, maybe this all began when Zayrini got me to keep my hands off the dirty sink faucets.
Posted by: TheQueen | June 23, 2007 at 10:03 PM
This is just too funny. I am putting together the next edition of the Disability Blog Carnival and in looking for humorous posts, I stumbled on "Colin". (The theme of this carnival is "Laughter, the Best Medicine")
http://kuusisto.typepad.com/planet_of_the_blind/2007/06/of_comedy_and_d.html
I'm delighted to have discovered your blog this way. It's wonderful! If you don't mind, I'd like to include your post in the Carnival. And now that I know there's a post about "Gladys" I'd love to read it too. Where might I find Gladys?
Posted by: Connie | June 24, 2007 at 09:34 AM
Connie - Hi! Carnival! Party On! Sure, you can use it. In response to "Where can I find Gladys" the answer might be "Right above my upper thigh," since Gladys is my ever-widening ass. She has grown into her own person and as such deserves a name. I work with Friend #3, and she knows that at work quite often Gladys will brush past something and knock it over, and we all sigh, "Oh, Gladys..."
Posted by: TheQueen | June 24, 2007 at 10:40 AM
"Oh, Gladys..." So I take it your readers haven't been formally introduced to Gladys by way of a tell-all post? Something to look for ward to perhaps?
Speaking of your readers, count us in! Pleased to meet you - we look forward to getting to know you!
Posted by: Connie | June 24, 2007 at 11:36 AM
Nope, unless Gladys does something dramatic like shrinking to half her size, she probably doesn't deserve a post. I'm looking forward to reading your blog too.
Posted by: TheQueen | June 24, 2007 at 05:48 PM
Man, you are one lucky wench, well, lucky with respect to "Colin" being a heavy sleeper. I don't want MS, but I need an off button.
I guess if I were going to name my large intestine I would call it "The Hulk" on account of it reacting to emotions.
The Hulk is quiet until I want to leave the house. Then he makes his presence known. Violently.
Can I have some of your drugs?
Posted by: Zayrina | June 24, 2007 at 11:02 PM
Trust me, Colin and I went through years of anguish before we hit on this arrangement. Colin would get carsick. I couldn't drive in the express lanes on the highway for years.
Does the Hulk turn green - never mind.
You want my drugs? Oh, baby, I still have ten of my Lotronex from the days when Colin was an insommniac. They banned it, we fought back, and they renamed it Alosteron. It is the best drug ever. Like a mood stabilizer for your belly.
Posted by: TheQueen | June 24, 2007 at 11:26 PM
Damnit Queen, now you have me naming all my organs, Penelope pancrease, Sally spleen, etc.
Thanks for adding a new dimension to my already consdierable weirdness.
Posted by: Zayrina | June 26, 2007 at 12:10 AM
"...your work gets very rushed and sloppy"
You slay me.
Posted by: sgazzetti | June 26, 2007 at 02:04 AM
Whoa! You remain the hoot! You have mastered the art of beating around the bush, in so far as not mentioning the unmentionable! Yes, my little friend, "Brutus" is quite the active fellow, too. Better than the old days though, when stress was a contributing factor. If you want a more active routine, get yourself some more stress!Bad bosses, cranky husbands or strained relations with friends/relatives can all help.
Posted by: judibleu | June 26, 2007 at 12:03 PM
Thanks for sending your little buddy on my roadtrip with me last night. He was a most unwelcome travel companion. And worse, I later ate dinner with a 7yo boy named Collin and could not look him in the face, despite the fact that I have already selected him to be my future son-in-law.
Posted by: Caroline | June 26, 2007 at 04:48 PM
Zayrina – Only a nurse would know enough about the spleen to name it. All I know about the spleen is that it makes black bile and is the seat of all anger.
sgazzetti – Snort. I was wondering if that was too subtle…
judibleu – Ah, Brutus the Traitor. Apropos!
Caroline - Okay, if it was pronounced “Kawl-in” like our dear friend Colin from work, then he can marry Rebecca. But…Colin like “Colon?” No.
Posted by: TheQueen | June 26, 2007 at 10:36 PM
I want you to know that my husband, a poet and professor of creative writing, thinks that your post about "Colin" is Mark Twain worthy. "It's brilliant" he says!
Posted by: Connie | June 29, 2007 at 04:57 PM
Connie - Oh, there's a sequel in there ... somewhere ... in there ... ew. Oh, and thanks for the fifty BILLION referrals!
Posted by: TheQueen | June 29, 2007 at 10:07 PM
My mind is like a fog. Oh well. My life's been really dull today. Eh. Today was a total loss. I've more or less been doing nothing , but I guess it doesn't bother me.
Posted by: cotton candy girl | August 14, 2007 at 04:53 AM
Cotton candy girl - why, you sound just like bible books Marden something. And you have a porn star email name! Sorry to see your website has been shut down.
Posted by: TheQueen | August 14, 2007 at 11:31 PM