Cooper Digestive Health Institute

AKA “Donna goes for a Colonoscopy.”

At the end of August I was diagnosed with anemia. My red blood cell count was so low that I was close to needing a blood transfusion. Immediately, the doctor put me on iron supplements 325mg three times a day, which is equivalent to 1083% of the RDA.

My primary physician referred me to a hematologist. The iron supplements aided in increasing my red blood cell count, but the question as to why I became so anemic so quickly still remained.

The hematologist ordered a long list of blood tests. I found out that more tests equal a greater amount of blood drawn from my body.

One cause of unexplained anemia is a condition called Celiac Disease, which is a digestive disorder that damages the small intestine and interferes with absorption of nutrients from food. People who have Celiac Disease cannot tolerate gluten, a protein in wheat, rye, and barley.

I began thinking about all of the things I would have to stop eating...peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cereal, animal crackers, pizza, beer...beer! Without delay, I was online to see if gluten free beer exists, which it does, but I will admit it didn’t sound very appealing.

The good news is that I tested negative for the condition. The bad news was that we now needed to explore other avenues for the cause. Enter the Cooper Digestive Health Institute.

The way I understand it is that my anemia is the result of bleeding somewhere in my body and that my colon is the first place they need to check. The way they do this is by performing a colonoscopy.

If you don’t know what that is or if you kinda know what it is but not in much detail then I am about to do a great service for you.

About two weeks ago I was informed that the FDA recalled Fleet Phospho-Soda, the bowel prep I needed to take the day before my procedure. Apparently there are some serious side effects including destruction of the kidneys, but the nurse told me they had been using it forever and that I had the option of taking that or having something prescribed.

I decided to live life on the edge an opted out of the prescription. The day before my bowel prep party I could not find the product anywhere. It had been pulled from the shelves so that warning labels could be applied. Fortunately the on call doctor prescribed me something called HalfLytely.

The directions were fairly simple. Take two laxatives in the morning and then wait until you poop. Then, select the flavor packet of your choice (pineapple, line, orange or cherry) and add it to the container.

Fill the container with half a gallon of water and drink 8 ounces every ten minutes until the solution, which tastes like salt water, is gone. Ten minutes is just enough time to finish on the toilet before it’s time for the next glass. I spent the next several hours on the toilet.

The entire day I was only allowed to consume clear liquids and Jell-O. I polished off four boxes of Jell-O (8 cups) and two and a half boxes (10 cups) of chicken broth. Let me tell you, it didn’t do much for my appetite.

After midnight I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything, which wouldn’t have been bad if I had an appointment in the morning, but mine was not until 12:30 in the afternoon.

When I met the doctor she told me that the worst part was already behind me (no pun intended). She was right, although I wouldn’t classify having a stranger stick a camera up my ass while I’m unconscious as a completely comfortable experience. The nurse hooked me up to a heart rate monitor, oxygen and stuck an IV in my arm. I felt warm and fuzzy and then I woke up.

A few minutes later, the doctor appeared with lovely snapshots of my colon, which I took home as a souvenir.  

57 varieties

The slogan on a bottle of Heinz Ketchup reads “57 Varieties.” I have always wondered what that meant. Most of the time the thought has crossed my mind while out at a restaurant and I forgot about it half way through my fries. But this week was different. Not only did I remember, but also I have decided to share this information with you. If anything, it makes for a good conversation piece.

 

What does the "57" stand for in Heinz’s famous slogan, "57 Varieties?"

 

While riding a train in New York City in 1896, Henry Heinz saw a sign advertising 21 styles of shoes, which he thought was clever. Although Heinz was manufacturing more than 60 products at the time, Henry thought 57 was a lucky number. So, he began using the slogan "57 Varieties" in all his advertising. Today the company has more than 5,700 products around the globe, but still uses the magic number of "57."

 

 

And while I’m writing I thought I’d use this as an opportunity to plug my new favorite word, which I encourage you to use with frequency.

Flossin

1. Showing off an object in which usually possesses great value.

 eg: Flossin my grill like a dentist

 

2. Rolling in a fine ride with the general intent to enjoy ostentation, prestige.

 eg: Once my Brabus dubs show up, I'll be flossin with the S class like it ain't no thang

 

3. Showing off

 eg: Look at homeboy flossin his ice wanksta

pay it forward

The expression "pay it forward" is used to describe the concept of third party beneficiary in which a creditor offers the debtor the option of "paying" the debt forward by lending it to a third person instead of paying it back to the original creditor. Debt and payments can be monetary or by good deeds. 

I've sat with this one for a while. Usually when I write I try to keep things on the light side, but that's not where I am right now.

Eight years ago I moved back here from a place that very much felt like home to me for two reasons. The first was little boy, just shy of his third birthday. I wanted to be a strong positive influence in his life and to watch him grow. The second was my grandmother (mom-mom) who was 85 and in declining health.

I will spare you the details of the time that has elapsed since then.

If you read my blog about the Chicken Sandwich you know that last year my mom-mom moved into a long term care facility (the nice name for nursing home).

Two weeks ago she was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. As thanksgiving approached it was evident that she would not be at dinner. It just didn't seem right. So, when the turkey and all the trimmings were ready I had my mom make a plate of food and I took it to her in the hospital.

I can't explain the feeling I had that evening, just the two of us, me listening to her critique every bite I fed her. The turkey was good this year, but the rice pudding wasn't soft enough. Those raisins needed to soak a little longer.

Extended time in the hospital can do a lot to break a person's spirit. Medications that help one condition make another worse and in her case, create new problems all together. I have often wondered if it is worse to lose your mind and have your body or to be like her, having mind, but failing body, pain, an awareness of pain, an awareness of the inability to do even the simple things.

Tonight I took the chicken sandwich to her again, but she couldn't chew it. It is finally setting in. I am ok with that and I think she is too.

The past year and a half has been rough. My family has done everything possible to make things more comfortable for her. They are things that are done without having to think twice. They are automatic.

At certain times in my life, my kind actions have been called into question.

I think there are many skeptics out there who have a difficult time believing that there are people who do kind deeds without seeking anything in return.

To those people I offer another way to look at the situation.

Maybe they don't want anything out of it.

Maybe they aren't doing it to prevent something bad from happening to them in the future.

Maybe they are doing it because something good has happened to them.

Maybe they are just paying it forward.

letting go

The thing about sharing your story with other people is that when you do you are letting go a little piece of yourself. I have held on to these for a long time. If you know me well enough then it's very likely that you've either been a part of these or have already heard them, but they are two of my favorites.

 

I was on the crew team in college. While everyone else was sipping fruity drinks on the beach we were spending our spring break rowing doubles on the Schuylkill River. There isn't much that's spring like at 5AM in March. My teammate and I decided to reward our hard work with tattoos. We scheduled appointments in between practices at a place that was on the Main Line, about half an hour from campus.

 

My nerves back then weren't quite as strong as they are today. I remember many tense moments in the bathroom before races or the dreaded erg test. During the ride out to the tattoo shop I began to feel not so great. My stomach was churning and I broke into a cold sweat. I asked my friend who was driving to get me to the nearest bathroom immediately. Unfortunately, that happened to be our final destination. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

 

Moments later, two men arrived on motorcycles. They were the owners of the shop. We were the first customers of the day. We followed them into the shop and sat down. They instructed us to wait a few moments while they prepared. I thought that this was the ideal time to use the toilet. A few minutes later I felt much better, that was until one of the men emerged from the back room and headed toward the bathroom with an empty coffee pot.

 

"Whoa! Man! What is that smell?" the he exclaimed, "It smells like someone stepped in something." He then instructed us to check the bottom of our shoes, while he did the same. Keep in mind at this point, neither of the men knew that I had used the facilities.He called to his brother in the back room, "Hey man, what did you do? It smells like something died in here."  The other man came out to the spot where we had all convened. "I didn't do anything. Man, it sure smells rotten in here!" I looked at him and said "Oh yeah, sure you didn't" and we all started to laugh. Fortunately, my friend kept our secret. An hour or so later we both left with our first tattoos.

 

 

Unsurprisingly, my second story involves the use of the bathroom as well…

 

During my first semester of grad school at temple I enrolled in a class called developmental disabilities. One of the assignments involved a mentoring project. The class was divided into groups of three students. Each group was assigned a mentor, a person with a developmental disability, who would help the group plan an activity.

 

Our mentor (let's call her Joan) could not attend the first ice breaker/mixer gathering. We were given her phone number and instructed to schedule a get together somewhere on campus. We decided to meet at the Starbucks on campus one evening after work. Joan rolled in slightly after 5pm and greeted Carolyn, Maria and myself. She said that she hadn't eaten dinner yet and asked if we could move the meeting next door to Wendy's. We all agreed and packed up our things. I needed to use the restroom so I told them I would catch up with them in a minute. Joan informed me that she had to go as well and so she followed me down the hall, explaining that the medications she was taking made her have use the bathroom frequently.

 

There were two stalls. I slipped into the regular stall and Joan navigated her power wheelchair into the handicapped one. I was out quickly, washed my hands and waited for Joan who chatting up a storm. Suddenly, the conversation stopped. The next thing I heard was "There's no TP in here and I just took a giant shit!" No problem, I thought to myself as I grabbed a wad from the other stall and attempted to hand it under the door. She couldn't reach. I tried again, this time standing on the toilet and handing it over the door. She couldn't reach. She told me I would have to come in and hand it to her. Fabulous, I met this woman less than five minutes ago. I slowly backed in and handed it to her. A few seconds later she resumed her story right where she had left off, only to have it interrupted by another moment of silence, pause and "More TP please." Several minutes later the experience was over and we resurfaced at the Wendy's. My classmates had wondered where we'd disappeared to for so long and trust me, they got an earful at the end of the night.

a day at the beach

The first thing that I need to put out there is that I am somewhat challenged when it comes to fashion. Just a few weeks ago I learned that print shorts and print t-shirts should not be worn together. The evening before my day trip to the beach I spent several hours trying to find something to wear that was not only comfortable, but also matched. I came up with a pair of tan shorts and a green t-shirt and was oh so proud of myself.

 

It has been said that having a bird poop on you is good luck. I guess this is going to be an excellent week because as I was walking on the boardwalk last Friday a seagull unloaded a three course meal all over me. Thankfully, it was me and not my friend whom I was with at the time. She seemed to be just as traumatized by the experience as I was. She quickly instructed me to remove my shirt, sacrificing her newly purchased "life is good t-shirt" and offered me a wet paper towel to clean up the mess.

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon wearing a shirt that didn't match.

sleep

This one will be a little bit different. Let's call it a work in progress. Check back for updates.

 

Sleep.

 

I envy the people who are able to pass out as soon as their head hits the pillow. It takes me anywhere between thirty minutes to an hour to fall asleep at night. If and when that happens it doesn't last long. It seems like I am up every two hours to use the bathroom. Yes, that is one of the downfalls of being properly hydrated and having a small bladder.

 

I watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose a few months ago and for several weeks following, feared waking up to see the clock read 3:33AM.

 

But that is neither here nor there and if you didn't see the movie then it's actually nowhere.

 

And so my whole point here is that I wanted to share with you a list of things that wake me up in the morning. I encourage you to leave your own comments with some of the things that wake you up too.

 

Trash Collection

 

Recyclable Collection (love the sound of glass bottles clanking around!)

 

In the fall, leaf collection

Air compressor (gotta make sure those tires are inflated at 6AM)

 

The dishwasher being emptied

 

An alarm that is not mine, snooze, alarm, snooze, alarm

 

The dog barking at the cat

 

The neighbor whistling for the cat

 

The dog barking at the neighbor whistling for the cat

 

The newspaper hitting the step

 

Birds chirping, specifically the "I need you" bird

 

Landscapers

 

The neighbor's car from 1985 trying to start

 

UPDATE 5/19/08: An angry fox "popping off" at the neighbor's cat. Have you ever hear a pissed off fox? It is not a pretty sound.

 

Update JUNE:

 

- charlie horse

- poison ivy

- the neeighbor's new and improved whistle for the cat

- wood pecker pecking at the aluminum siding on the house

UPDATE FEBRUARY 2009

- shovels and snow plows

unexpected surprises

I don't particularly enjoy unexpected surprises. That is the reason why I tend to stay away from the haunted house scene at Halloween time. I don't see the point in paying money to have people pop out of the dark and scare you.  

Other examples that fall into this category include: turning the corner to find someone walking directly at me, getting into my car and discovering that the seat is wet because it had rained the night before and I did not roll the window (yes, I said roll) entirely shut, waking up in the morning and the first thing I see when I open my eyes is a spider crawling across my pillow.

Don't get me wrong, there are some unanticipated events which are pleasurable, such as seeing someone at the gym who is wearing a pearl necklace and moccasins while working out or going up to the self check out at the grocery store to find that the person who had used it before you forgot their change. The other day I was walking to my office and saw a hair extension lying on the sidewalk. No doubt, that put a smile on my face.

I'll catalog the next one in the "neutral" category because while it wasn't enjoyable at the time, it has made for a good story.

Here's how it all went down:

I was talking on the phone and left my bedroom to get something in the bathroom. I walked out of my bedroom door and looked down the hall, where I saw a bird sitting on top of the ledge by the linen closet. I screamed, which probably made my friend on the other line one step closer to going deaf and told her that there was a bird in the house and that it was probably a good idea if we ended our conversation.

I called for my dad. He asked me how I thought we should get it out...because apparently, I must think like a bird...I instructed him to shut all of the doors except for the bathroom and then to open the bathroom window (mind you, I am barking out these orders from my bedroom, through a one inch crack in the door). Then, he took the swiffer (the dry swiffer, not the wet swiffer or the swiffer sweeper, or the swiffer duster) scared the bird into the bathroom and closed the door. I tapped on the door about every fifteen minutes for the next hour or so until I no longer heard him stirring.   I figured he found his way out the window, but let me tell you, using the bathroom for the next week is going to be a little nerve-wracking.

two for the show

All in a day's work:

It's Saturday morning and I drive to a house in North Philadelphia to meet a subject (aka research participant) to interview. He greets me and we move into the dining area to sit at the table. The room is open and his siblings are playing Nintendo and watching TV. Five minutes into the interview I heard a noise, but dismiss it, thinking that it must be either the TV or the video game. Another ten minutes go by and I hear it again. This time I figure that it's probably the battery on my cell phone about to die. When I hear it a third time I stop and ask "Was that a rooster?" and the guy responds "Yeah."  He said it in a matter of fact tone, as if a hearing rooster in north Philadelphia is a common occurrence. "Oh," I said and proceeded with the interview, but the rooster chimed in again. "Where is it coming from?" I asked.  He told me that it belongs to the neighbors and that it just runs around in the yard. I tried to play it off, like everyone has a rooster in their yard. "A rooster," I said, "that is like the male version of a chicken, right?" "Yeah," he said. "Oh," I said, "so I guess they have it back there with a chicken for eggs or something or they eat it or whatever."  At that moment, his younger brother walked up to the table, holding both index fingers about five inches apart. "I just killed a mouse that was this big" he said. I thought to myself, maybe they need to get a rooster too. Then, I continued with the interview questions.  This is just one of the many reasons why I love my job.

  

The original chicken sandwich:

A few months ago my mom-mom (aka grandmom) went into a nursing home (I like to call it a long term care facility). Soon after, she began to complain about the food. I have done my best to visit once a week and bring her a meal so that she doesn't have to eat and overcooked turkey burger  with a side of red beets or something that resembles a sausage on a piece of bread with mystery red sauce. She has taken a liking to the original chicken sandwich from Burger King. In fact, now, that has become her only request on the evenings that I visit. My routine is as follows: drive to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street from the facility and get a small coffee with the cream on the side. Then, back across the street to the Burger King which is next door to her facility for the original chicken sandwich and a small order of fries. When I enter her room she is, wheeled up to the table and ready to go. As instructed, I pour half of the coffee into a plastic cup "you take that half" she says. Next, I cut the sandwich in half and take my end. We sit and talk and she gobbles down fries, telling me to "eat more" because she cannot finish them. Inevitably, at some point during the course of the meal she becomes distracted and I shove what's left of my sandwich into the bag. I have convinced myself that those calories and fat really don't count.

Half of the original chicken sandwich, a few fries, coffee in a plastic cup and a memory that will last forever.